Take my advice and lose yourself in three moments of sublimity as you journey through five hundred years of women in Western art. Sit back, let the music soothe your soul, and simply follow the eyes....
And lest we get too carried away in our wonder of women, let us turn to Shakespeare:
SONNET 130 My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
And yet, by heaven--and yet.