Pretty is in the eye of the beholder.
Beauty is in the soul. You can’t see it, but you know it when you feel it.

Still I would want to be someone who’d answer to me:
Someone who sees like a child, gives like a saint,
feels like an angel — never mind the broken wings,
and speaks like a picture, cries like the rain, shines like a star,
as long as the fire remains.

You are free as much as you can stand to be; you are free as anything you think that means.