She had curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes; eyes that were very pretty and very good.

She was beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines. She was beautiful, for the way she thought. She was beautiful, for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul. She is beautiful.

She was beautiful - but especially she was without mercy.

Her sculptured face was as perfect as a painting.

She had a lot of face and chin. She had pewter-colored hair set in a ruthless permanent, a hard beak and moist eyes with the sympathetic expression of wet stones.

She was beautiful all right, beautiful in a way that was at once seductive, demonic, and raspberry.

All that remained of Daphne was her shining loveliness

That girl! She was like a touch of destiny

all girls are beautiful in their own way

Was she really beautiful? Was she at least what they call attractive? She was exasperation, she was torture.

In beauty of face no maiden ever equaled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream - an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the fantasies which hovered about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos.

She was a coquette; he was sure she had a spirit of her own; but in her bright, sweet, superficial little visage there was no mockery, no irony. Before long it became obvious that she was much disposed towards conversation.

She wasn't much to look at but she was something to think about.

She was dazzling — alight; it was agony to comprehend her beauty in a glance.