The idea of an ordered and elegant universe is a lovely one. One worth clinging to. But you don't need religion to appreciate the ordered existence. It's not just an idea, it's reality. We're discovering the hidden orders of the universe every day.
Even if I did have, you know, a 'Sports Illustrated' body, I'd still wear elegant clothes.
High tea is fun. It's elegant and social and a great way not to have to devote yourself to a big meal but still have a drink and a relaxed time.
Looking feminine is important to me. My personal style is fairly traditional. I was definitely influenced by my mother, who always looks elegant, and by Estee's classic style; she was always in Givenchy or Ungaro.
The flesh and bone leg is just beautiful. It's elegant. You know, when it's working, it's incredible. But if it's not working, well, you know, your life is certainly far from over.
My hands are delicate and elegant, thank you very much. They're well-kept; my nails are clean.
Seven years ago, when I started free soloing long, hard routes in Yosemite - climbing without a rope, gear or a partner - I did it because it seemed like the purest, most elegant way to scale big walls. Climbing, especially soloing, felt like a grand adventure, but I never dreamed it could be a profession.
It's funny because I think that both France and Britain are known for their distinctive styles, and everyone says that France is so chic and elegant but I think, more than that, French women are renowned for dressing in what suits them.
Everything in Italy that is particularly elegant and grand borders upon insanity and absurdity or at least is reminiscent of childhood.
You know, I find people with great honesty, bodily, physical honesty, who sit just the way they like to sit, and walk the way they like to walk, and don't come into a room all pumped up, I find them elegant.