A Quote by Saint Augustine

Beauty grows in you to the extent that love grows, because charity itself is the soul's beauty. — © Saint Augustine
Beauty grows in you to the extent that love grows, because charity itself is the soul's beauty.
Since love grows within you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul.
Pretty isn't beauty. Pretty is how you look; Beauty is who you are. Pretty is in the face and body; Beauty is in the heart, mind and soul. Pretty fades; Beauty grows.
The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mode but the true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives the passion that she shows. The beauty of a woman grows with the passing years.
Every day my love for you grows higher, deeper, wider, stronger... It grows and grows until it touches the tip of where you are and comes back to me in the loving memory of you, and my heart melts with that love and grows even more.
Whenever Beauty looks, Love is also there; Whenever beauty shows a rosy cheek Love lights Her fire from that flame. When beauty dwells in the dark folds of night Love comes and finds a heart entangled in tresses. Beauty and Love are as body and soul. Beauty is the mine, Love is the diamond.
Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.
Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly lies to the bone. Beauty dies and fades away, but ugly holds its own! Create and cultivate Inner Beauty that never fades away but grows and matures with Time!
My hair grows and grows; you cannot stop it - that fellow grows, it grows wild.
The most important beauty is not that with which you were born, but the beauty of character which grows through a woman's life and maybe never stops growing.
I believe that love expands. As you give love out, it's received and reciprocated and it grows. That's the beauty of it.
When we love, we see beauty; we speak in beauty; we walk in beauty. In love, we are beauty itself.
It was the upward-reaching and fathomlessly hungering, heart-breaking love for the beauty of the world at its most beautiful, and, beyond that, for that beauty east of the sun and west of the moon which is past the reach of all but our most desperate desiring and is finally the beauty of Beauty itself, of Being itself and what lies at the heart of Being.
Beauty captivates the flesh in order to obtain permission to pass right through to the soul. . . . When the feeling for beauty happens to be associated with the sight of some human being, the transference of love is made possible, at any rate in an illusory manner. But it is all the beauty of the world, it is universal beauty, for which we yearn.
The mind grows narrow in proportion as the soul grows corrupt.
Moss grows where nothing else can grow. It grows on bricks. It grows on tree bark and roofing slate. It grows in the Arctic Circle and in the balmiest tropics; it also grows on the fur of sloths, on the backs of snails, on decaying human bones. ... It is a resurrection engine. A single clump of mosses can lie dormant and dry for forty years at a stretch, and then vault back again into life with a mere soaking of water.
The body grows slowly and steadily but the soul grows by leaps and bounds. It may come to its full stature in an hour.
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