"Of Psyche's beauity - at every age the beauty proper to that age - there is only this to be said, and there were no two opinions about it, from man or woman, once she had been seen. It was beauty that did not astonish you till afterwards when you had gone out of sight of her and reflected on it. While she was with you, you were not astonished. It seemed the most natural thing in the world. As the Fox delighted to say, she was 'according to nature'; what every woman, or even every thing, ought to have been or meant to be, but had miss by some trip of chance. Indeed, when you looked at her you believed, for a moment, that they had not missed it. She made beauty all around her. When she trod the mud, the mud was beautiful; when she ran in the rain, the rain was silver. When she picked up a toad - she had the strangest and, I thought, unchanciest love for all manner of brutes - the toad became beautiful."
Till We Have Faces; C.S.Lewis
