Best 312 quotes in «men and women quotes» category

Everything we men do, everything we men have done for the past 100,000 years, is all about attracting a mate. When a guy tries to impress a girl with his fancy car, or his expensive suit, or his gold watch, or his flashy shirt at the club, or he flexes his biceps, or brags about how much money he makes, he's doing the same thing that animals have done for millions of years. Like a peacock, he's trying to make himself desirable and to attract a mate.

Every woman feels. It just takes the right man to make things combust.

Excuse me,’ I said cheerily. ‘Is the job still going?’ I pointed to the notice. ‘Of course,’ he said, looking back at me with a warm smile. I think he was as hopeful as I was about where this could lead to. ‘We need all the hands we can get.’ I looked at the tight swell of his shirt against his chest, and thought, 'Mmm, yes, I can imagine my hands getting your fucking clothes off right now.

Growth in awareness has always been painful [...] But it does lead to greater independence and, eventually, cooperation in action. For the enormous problems that face the world today, in both the private and public sphere, cannot be solved by women - and men - alone. They can only be surmounted by men and women side by side.

Fue en la cocina donde empecé a comprender el significado de la palabra "esposa”. Ahí estábamos, una pareja de 24 años: un día éramos una estudiante de doctorado y un artista, y al día siguiente éramos marido y mujer. Antes siempre habíamos puesto juntos sobre la mesa las rudimentarias comidas que tomábamos. Ahora, de pronto, Stefan estaba cada noche en su taller, dibujando o leyendo y yo estaba en la cocina, esforzándome por preparar y servir una comida que ambos pensábamos que debía ser adecuada. Recuerdo pasar me cobra y media preparando algún espantoso plato de cuchara sacado de una revista femenina para terminar engulléndolo los dos en 10 minutos, pasarme después una hora limpiando los cacharros y quedarme mirando el fregadero, pensando: "¿Será esto así durante los siguientes cuarenta años?”.

GPS has saved countless relationships because us men do not like to ask for directions. Now if women could only come with relationship GPS we would be one step closer to world peace.

Gender Quotes are social disease.

Gentlemen do not carry a cane or a hat? No gloves?” “Gentleman may still wear them, but I’m afraid the problem is that there aren’t many left.

Happiness held is the beginning; happiness shared is the blossom

Harris, as he occasionally explains to George and to myself, has daughters of his own, or, to speak more correctly, a daughter, who as the years progress will no doubt cease practising catherine wheels in the front garden , and will grow up into a beautiful and respectable young lady. This naturally gives Harris an interest in all beautiful girls up to the age of thirty-five or thereabouts; they remind him, so he says, of home.

Have you ever seen The Last of the Mohicans?" "I love it." "Really?" I'm over the moon. We share a movie. Finally, we're on the same planet. "Don't you love the part where he says, 'Stay alive. I will find you'?" I ask. "I love that massacre scene," he says, like an excited little boy, "where they're walking down that path in the middle of nowhere and they're surrounded by the woods and you know the Indians are going to attack and it's so tense." Things that make you go hmmm.

Have I been conditioned to believe that if I am not solicitous, if I am not forthcoming, if I am not a never-ending cornicopia of entertaining delights, they will take their collections of milk-bottle tops and their mangy one-eared teddy bears and go away into the woods by themselves to play snipers? Probably. What my mother thinks was merely cute may have been lethal.

He hadn't wooed her, but had simply claimed her. A gold mine ready to dig. There should have been a period of quiet dinners together, of flowers rather than diamonds, of kisses given after permission to kiss, of a slow awakening that predisposed her to greater intimacies. But no, not the great Alexander Kinross! He had met her, he had married her the next day, and climbed into her bed after one kiss in the church. There to prove himself an animal in her eyes. One mistake after another, that was the story of his relationship with Elizabeth. And Ruby had always meant more.

He handed the dust pan and brush over. I knew they wouldn’t be much use in cleaning the floor. I also knew the real reason he had given them to me: so he could look furtively at me, as I bent over. That idea turned me on. I welcomed it, and decided to give him a good look at what he wanted.

He disapproved, he didn't believe in girls drinking, he was full of the conventions of a generation older than himself. Of course one drank oneself, one fornicated, but one didn't lie with a friend's sister, and 'decent' girls were never squiffy.

He lashed the belt against my ass again, and I was starting to feel like I was some supernatural being that was more than he was. He was just human, but I felt like something from heaven, an angel from the stars, that had come down to grace him with my presence. How beautiful lust is, when it makes you feel this way. Have you felt this yourself, do you know what I mean?

He looked at me, and then looked away quickly. But I could tell he was interested. I think my tight t-shirt might have had something to do with it. And the way I was pushing my breasts towards him, with an inviting smile on my face.

He pulled my head back further, and I could hear his ragged breathing as his mouth came close to my ear, sounding so desperate for me. God, I was turned on so much…

He was no god, just an artist; and when an artist is a man, he needs a woman to create like a god.

He was the kind of man I wanted: wild, hot, horny, and losing control. And it all pointed back to me, about how much I felt in control of him, with the power of my body. I felt so in control of him; it was dizzying, and intoxicating.

...he's just so out-of-this-world. They don't make them like that anymore.

He was the kind of man I wanted: wild, hot, horny, and losing control. And it all pointed back to me, about how much I felt in control of him, with the power of my body.

How is it a man can walk out the door with only the clothes on his back and he fares well, but a woman needs to compress her entire chamber into the confines of a satchel to ensure survival?

How can men be such lummoxes, such wads of chewing gum on our ballet slippers and still feel so good?

I heard him sweeping with the broom, and then he suddenly stopped. I had obviously got his attention, and he was looking. Take a good look, honey, I thought. Take a good look at what I’m offering. I liked the sound of that silence. Do you know what I mean? Have you heard that silence yourself? I love that silence you get, when a man who you fancy notices your body. In a weird way, it’s so loud, it’s deafening. It could be because of the way you sway your hips, your legs, or thrust your breasts. And you just know his erection is talking to him, about what he’d like to do to your body. How he’d like to have his delightfully wicked way with you, undress you, smother your naked skin with hungry urgent kisses, and thrust his hard and moist cock deep inside the pouting red lips of your mouth… I think you get my drift. There’s a lovely tension in that moment; I call it the lust moment. When a sexy man sees what you’ve deliberately put out on offer, and he stops in his steps as his lust lights up his mind, and puts him on a new track.

I beg women to wait. Wait on God. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t expect anything until the declaration is clear and forthright. And to the men I say be careful with us, please. Be circumspect.

I’d love to have the kind of friend who would visit me before visiting a man. Otherwise I know where I’m ranked, which is below him.

If a man is talking in the forest, and there is no woman there to hear him, is he still wrong?

If only women were not so fickle and men were not so cruel.

If you scratch below the glossy surface of many "enviable" marriages, often you'll find a disenchanted wife whose husband finds the landscape of her emotions as uninteresting as the moon's.

I harbor ill feelings toward a society, and a clergy, that allows marriage partners to split over the smallest incompatibility, where divorce comes in a multitude of flavors, like Baskin Robbins ice cream, where men and women can blame one another and everything except themselves for matrimony's mess. They look for externals over which they have no control and, fingering them, take no responsibility.

I hate parties. And a wedding is the biggest party of all. All the guests arrived and Orpheus is taking a shower. He's always taking a shower when the guests arrive so he doesn't have to greet them. Then I have to greet them.

I have discovered," he said to Charles Dewy, "that when a man marries, peace of mind and freedom go out of the window." "Well, old boy," said Charles comfortably, "that's the price we have to pay for having company in our old age and for ensuring that we have heirs to follow us.

He drank some more wine, feeling he was about to commit a forbidden act. A transgression. For a man should never go through a woman's handbag. . .

I like the sounds of words. Words are very enjoyable. I like words because they are... seductive. And I like words because they can contain... fantasies.

I love being aroused. I relish that delicious feeling of freedom, the delirium of being naked, and my flesh being born again. It’s like I’m being made new.

I could feel his whole body trying to claim me, want me, own me in lust, and it made me feel so valuable and wanted. As I was bent over the table, I felt like I was the world to him, and he could think of nothing else, could feel nothing else: he was consumed with my body, dedicated to exploring my female sexual power and energy, and his desperate hitting of me with the belt felt like he would rather die, than be without the chance to connect with me in sex.

I dressed to their murmurs in the other room, their voices soft but strained, and I wondered if men ever talked like this, if their sorrows ever spilled into these secret cadences.

If men and women were surer of their God there would be more genuine manliness, womanliness, and godliness in the world, and a whole lot less fear of each other.

If we were in a restaurant sometimes Orpheus would look sullen and wouldn't talk to me and I thought people felt sorry for me. I should have realized that women envied me. Their husbands talked too much. But I wanted to talk to him about my notions. I was working on a new philosophical system. It involved hats.

If you are what you eat, then why aren’t you what you desire?" Desire stands in the great no-man’s land of human activity: the zone of most conflict, fear, and anxiety. It scares us. We are often asked to hate it—by those who claim to have given it up for “better” things, and who often, hypocritically, haven’t.

If you fear the man who takes care of you, no one has ever loved you truly.

[…] I have a date this afternoon." "Oh, Lord." Jake closed his eyes. "Who are you going to destroy now?" "I beg your pardon?" "The hotel would appreciate it if you'd just throw back the men you don't like without maiming them." "I haven't maimed anyone." "You almost drowned Lance, you scared Peter into heart palpitations, you stabbed Donald with a fork, and you hit Brad over the head with a bottle." Jake shook his head. "And they still ask you out.

I have to say, her blonde bob was amazing. The delicate way it hugged her face and neck. The softness of it...

I have watched him as only a woman can watch a man upon whom her fate depends, but it has always been in vain.

I love being aroused. I love how that feeling overcomes me, as I look at a man’s erect cock, as I feel his hands ripping my clothes from my body, as the air caresses my naked skin, and how I feel like I’m blossoming like a flower.

I'm fine," Kate said. "In fact, since my last two dates were so awful, things can only get better." "Bad deduction," Jessie said. "If that were true, I'd be dating Harrison Ford by now.

I'm the one who should apologize,' he said. 'I want to help, but I know I won't be able to. I haven't go the answers to anything.' 'That's what men think, isn't it?' 'What?' 'That unless you've got some answer, unless you can say, "Oh, I know this bloke in Essex Road who can fix that for you", then it's not worth bothering.' Will shifted in his seat and didn't say anything. That was precisely what he thought; in fact, he had spent half the evening trying to think of the name of the bloke in Essex Road, metaphorically speaking.

I'm sorry on behalf of my species.

I read things that male relationship experts write about women and I read things that female relationship experts write about men, then I feel a true sadness in my heart. Why can’t there be a simple, pure, direct openness? Why can’t there be a simple, real, open trust? The truth is that male or female, gay or straight— we are all people— we have all been broken and put back together in so many different ways... it’s really just about learning how to recognize the sound of the other one's cracks. And that’s what it’s really about, just that.