Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. -Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
Beautiful passages are not profound—they don't reveal an inner truth about humans or open our eyes; they simply are beautiful to read. "Yes," I said. "Isn't it nice to think so?" is one of those lines, the last of Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. Within context, it's powerful, but without context, it's beautiful. The beauty which I refer to is the sound of words when placed together, like a musical phrase that begins, grows, and descends to a final cadence. Great writers—not good ones—are those whose writing speaks lyrically. Not every sentence must sound perfect, but a touch of poetry within prose cannot hurt. Writing isn't only slapping words into a story with interesting characters; it's an art and should be treated as such.