A Quote by Michael Cunningham

There is a beauty in the world, though it's harsher than we expect it to be. — © Michael Cunningham
There is a beauty in the world, though it's harsher than we expect it to be.
Why should sports men and women get punished harsher than people in the normal world?
The world of shabby gentility is like no other; its sacrifices have less logic, its standards are harsher, its relation to reality is dimmer than comfortable property or plain poverty can understand.
I feel like the world is super different now than it was in 2009. And to get at something that's somewhat darker, harsher, rougher, and a bit more challenging feels right.
More than any other beauty (though it is true of all beauty except in art) passion seems to me to have the seeds of its own destruction in it.
It is wrong to expect a reward for your struggles. The reward is the act of struggle itself, not what you win. Even though you can't expect to defeat the absurdity of the world, you must make that attempt. That's morality, that's religion. That's art. That's life.
I'm kind of harsher than most people.
Happily there exists more than one kind of beauty. There is the beauty of infancy, the beauty of youth, the beauty of maturity, and, believe me, ladies and gentlemen, the beauty of age.
If you don't create structure, your time will get eaten up pretty quickly. And the alternative is harsher than you think, because the world will suck it up.
We are often harsher judges than God himself.
I think my own thinking is harsher than my mom's discipline.
I set my standards so high, no one could be harsher on me than I was.
There is no harsher means of punishment, than to answer malice with kindness.
You cannot qualify war in harsher terms than I will.
Little of beauty has America given the world save the rude grandeur God himself stamped on her bosom; the human spirit in this new world has expressed itself in vigor and ingenuity rather than in beauty.
Beauty is that little something that fills the whole world, and is contained neither in a single straight nose, a long eyelash, nor a blue mountain. Some see it in a leg of mutton, others in a compound fracture; and to expect others to accept one's own definition of it is as absurd as to expect all humanity to use the same toilet-brush.
The world was full of beauty. She wanted to grab hold of it and take it down into her bones. Yet always it seemed beyond her grasp. Sometimes only by a little, like now. The thinnest membrane. Usually, though, by miles. She couldn’t expect to be that kind of happy all the time. She knew that. But sometimes you could. Sometimes you should be allowed a tiny bit of joy that should stay with you for more than five minutes. That wasn’t too much to ask. To have a moment like this, and be able to hold on to it. To cross that membrane, and feel alive.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!