Findings:

Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "prove to her that she was beautiful to me"

you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She was never mine. I always shared her.
She always was devious in her beauty
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
I got the feeling the Fairy Council was mad at me when the president knocked over her coffee to get a better grip on my neck
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
She asked me to read her a poem
She was an intellectual prostitute, seducing me with profound truisms
She was watching me and I didn’t know it.
She was very beautiful. Y'know?
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
I don't like her because she won't like me
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
I said I was sorry. Then she looked at me.
Her photography captured little beautifuls and me
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
I was throwing around useless proverbs when all she needed was to be held and told that she was beautiful
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
The portion of her face she allows me to see
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
She was too beautiful to be human
They hate me because I'm beautiful
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
I was discovered by scientists, what will they call me?
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
His ex-wife was so frigid, her clitoris was only the tip of the iceberg.
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
Death was a part of me then, too.
You knew I was a rattlesnake when you picked me up
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
for a moment the whole world was beautiful
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
What makes me beautiful
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
She always confused her greys with white.
She keeps her lies everywhere
She pulled the "I love you" on me
She just looks at me
She told me I'd make a good Satan
I asked her not to forget me
I was sure it was her
I don't think I was rude to her, just cold and curt
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
She Will Have Her Way
the way she wears her weary
Don't tell me about her
does she need to touch her own face to know?
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
making certain he was touching her
she gave her heart to a falling star
Do my skinned knees prove something about me?
She approached me with some vague line
The cactus that told me my mom was asleep
She said she loved me
She kissed me gently, just once, then walked away crying
She writes notes to me, to keep me in check
I was a homeless bum
The sun was caught playing unashamedly in her auburn hair, setting our world on fire with giddiness
She thought about giving him her heart
Don't tell her she's beautiful
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
1.) Everything is beautiful; 2.) Except me
Anna and her Mother: spinning me in circles
An ocean away and here he was, seeping into her
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
i hate this beautiful world o please let me stay here forever
At night, her eyes closed, she would
she had already found her party
You're so beautiful you wake me in my sleep
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
Every beautiful woman has someone who is tired of her
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
She practices her speech
she lit her thumb on fire
That week with her was like drinking bubbles
I was the center of gravity of Chicago for one beautiful Saturday
Seems I might have stolen the blue part of her rainbow, but all I really did was make it bigger, a way bigger blue
Nah, these random encounters with beautiful strangers won't destroy me at all. But I guess I thought it'd be a good way to die at the time.
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
She is not beautiful
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
If I was beautiful like you
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
Kiss me, you are beautiful. These are truly the last days.
That was what her hunger was like: mesmerizing, directed, floating like a public secret just under the cloud cover.
I Hear it was Charged Against Me
She doesn't know what he sees, but sometimes it makes his face beautiful
Her sleeves ride up on her arms when she moves
If I was beautiful, I'd know it
I think I was watching the most beautiful thing I have ever seen
She dumped me when she found out I'd been faking my Scottish accent
I was once smaller than a jellybean, but now look at me - I am macroscopic!
That one makes me scream, she said
She Loves Me
She misses me
The skyline was beautiful on fire
there was more poetry in her shopping lists than in any of my rhymes
Everything Was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt
her arms around me
It Was a Beautiful Day When Aunt Norma Died
Bathe her and bring her to me
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
Her name was Natalie
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
She flies with her own wings
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
She's beautiful in ways that make her seem fleeting
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
I don't remember what her name was so let's call her Doris
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
Her eyes were beautiful in the moonlight
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
serene. She sips her tea
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
All that was left of her was a damp handkerchief
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
I set my sister up with her husband, and all I got was this great dress and a trip to Hawaii
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
"My God," she said, "I'm beautiful."
her hate keeps me warm. her shadows keep me guessing.
I'm the only person who'd ever told him to his face he was beautiful.
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
All he left her was alone
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
Now she's in my doorway, accusing me with her soft breasts and long legs, strong hips.
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
Her hair was seaweed and the Pacific wind sang
Two of them. Hovering there like bloated gas giants in the heavens. Good God, it was beautiful.
Despite her station, the quarry was never alone
let her take me, feed on me, devour me
Where was her angel all those times the sky clouded over
She knows no truth except her own.
she couldn’t go and be beautiful

If you Log in you could create a "prove to her that she was beautiful to me" node. If you don't already have an account, you can register here.