Best 5610 quotes in «women quotes» category

He had secret loves all over town, the kind of curly-haired big-bodied girls who wouldn't have said boo to a loser like him but about whom he could not stop dreaming.

He had sent her to the British school, which had a good standard of teaching. And at home, through his guidance, she had become as well-read as her brother. He liked to joke about this, tell her that her intellect shamed them all. But at some point, it seemed, he was content to let her grandmother and mother's plans for her take over. Sometimes she feels that she has become a half-developed thing, a sort of freak. Too educated to be content with the usual lot of her sex, but not enough to do anything with it. At her most angry she decided that her education had been a pastime for her father, an amusement.

He [Hamlet] sees ghosts and listens to dreams. And when his ghost father tells him that he (Hamlet Senior) was killed by his brother and asks Hamlet Junior to avenge his death, in the right, honorable way, Hamlet says yes, yes, yes, he'll do it. But somehow he never gets round to it. Not like the other two young men in the play. The Norwegian Prince Fortinbras(...) has made his life [!!] pursuing the honor that his father lost when Hamlet Senior beat him in single combat. (...). When the lord chamberlain,Polonius, is killed, his son, Laertes, returns to the court immediately, demanding restitution, (...). So there is no shortage of examples of how young men are expected to and do act in this world where honor demands an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. But Hamlet doesn't do it. Instead, he beats up on his girlfriend and he's cruel to his mother.

He hated old women. They frightened him. There was a smell about them that gave him the willies. They were fierce and they had no price. They never gave a damn about making a scene. They got what they wanted. Louie's grandmother had been a tyrant. She had got whatever she wanted by being fierce.

He is a young man with a future of power and opportunity and we are young women destined to be either wives and mothers at the very best, or spinster parasites at the worst.

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 hoped she might make some amends for the many very plain faces he was continually passing in the streets. The worst of Bath was the number of its plain women. He did not mean to say there were not pretty women, but the number of the plain was out of all proportion. He had frequently observed, as he walked, that one handsome face would be followed by thirty, or five-and-thirty frights; and once, as he had stood in a shop on Bond street, he had counted eighty-seven women go by, without there being a tolerable face among them. ... But still, there certainly were a dreadful multitude of ugly women in Bath; and as for the men! they were infinitely worse. Such scarecrows as the streets were full of!

He is not an ideal husband. I am his wife.

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 loved the curves on her body, her soft skin and pouty lower lip, her deep soulful eyes. He adored her voice; sometimes sultry, sometimes fiery. Her laugh, her playfulness... he adored it all. But what really turned him on were the curves in her mind, the twists and turns, the fire, the brilliance - and her compassionate heart; the beat of it harmonizing so sweetly and perfectly with the beat of his. The whole package was beyond thrilling... yet her mind, her heart, those were the immortal aphrodisiacs.

He looked at her and tried to discover behind her lascivious expression the familiar features that he loved tenderly. It was as if he were looking at two images through the same lens, at two images superimposed one on the other with one showing through the other. These two images showing through each other were telling him that everything was in the girl, that her soul was terrifyingly amorphous, that it held faithfulness and unfaithfulness, treachery and innocence, flirtatiousness and chastity. This disorderly jumble seemed disgusting to him, like the variety to be found in a pile of garbage. Both images continued to show through each other, and the young man understood that the girl differed only on the surface from other women, but deep down was the same as they: full of all possible thoughts, feelings, and vices, which justified all his secret misgivings and fits of jealousy. The impression that certain outlines delineated her as an individual was only a delusion to which the other person, the one who was looking, was subject--namely himself. It seemed to him that the girl he loved was a creation of his desire, his thoughts, and his faith and that the real girl now standing in front of him was hopelessly other, hopelessly alien, hopelessly ambiguous. He hated her.

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 noticed that he felt calmer now she was here, still in that grey dress with her dowdy hat, the air around her redolent with orchid oil. Perhaps all women in England had this effect. Perhaps they all smelled of flowers and exuded a calm and measured purpose. He couldn’t remember.

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 needed a stiff drink. With a side of straightjacket.

Her clothing smelled of her anxious unwashed female body.

He remembers which sister I like least and asks how she is doing. (lines 9-11 of the poem 'Divorce')

Here’s to all the strong women out there! Who stand up for themselves and face the world with a heart of soldier. Here’s to all the passionate women out there! Who won’t let the world stop them from achieving their dreams and doing the things they love. Here’s to all the independent women out there! Who have been there for themselves and show that they can. Here’s to all the unbreakable women out there! Who have been knocked down for countless times but they find a way to rise and stand up again. Here’s to all the women in this world You are beautiful, you are worthy, and no one has the power to dim your light ….

Here today, may be gone tomorrow! Never take anyone or nothing for granted! Be sure to count your blessing daily because tomorrow isn't promised.

Her eyes, full of ancient, sacred wisdom. Her bones, deposits of inherited bravery. She is a proud descendant of strong, courageous women who went to the stakes fighting for their truths.

Her eyes spoke the unsaid words.

Her heart is Exquisite! She’s genuine, loving, kind, compassionate, and generous. An awe-inspiring soul is what she is! She is joy, she is light, she is LOVE.

Her husband seemed to her now like a person whom she had married without love as an excuse.

Her hostile behavior had been deliberate. Men make themselves forget women who are unimpressed by them; Konstantin had taught her that. And no one at Fort Bragg remembers Sylvie Dazat.

Her legs were heavy. A grunt followed each step she took. Each step she took sent a painful sensation up her spine. Each step she took caused her knees to wobble. Yet she walked.

Her thoughts became mysteriously tightened and strung up as if a piano tuner had put his key in her back and stretched the nerves very taut

Her soul is Alive. And we are drawn to her.

Her stories were made of badass women teasing monsters and running wild with dragons.

...her view of gender distinction was that men were a different breed from women, you deferred to them in some respects and recognized that they had special needs--cooked breakfast and somewhere to go and smoke.

Her unique observations are about how the war impacted people—from the thrill-seekers going to battlefields for fun, to the nurses working among the wounded in darkness, and London society women venturing into foreign lands to work near dangerous enemy lines.

He said, I won't have one of those things in the house. It gives a young girl a false notion of beauty, not to mention anatomy. If a real woman was built like that she'd fall on her face. She said, If we don't let her have one like all the other girls she'll feel singled out. It'll become an issue. She'll long for one and she'll long to turn into one. Repression breeds sublimation. You know that. He said, It's not just the pointy plastic tits, it's the wardrobes. The wardrobes and that stupid male doll, what's his name, the one with the underwear glued on. She said, Better to get it over with when she's young. He said, All right but don't let me see it. She came whizzing down the stairs, thrown like a dart. She was stark naked. Her hair had been chopped off, her head was turned back to front, she was missing some toes and she'd been tattooed all over her body with purple ink, in a scrollwork design. She hit the potted azalea, trembled there for a moment like a botched angel, and fell. He said, I guess we're safe.

He says that woman speaks with nature. That she hears voices from under the earth. That wind blows in her ears and trees whisper to her. That the dead sing through her mouth and the cries of infants are clear to her. But for him this dialogue is over. He says he is not part of this world, that he was set on this world as a stranger. He sets himself apart from woman and nature. And so it is Goldilocks who goes to the home of the three bears, Little Red Riding Hood who converses with the wolf, Dorothy who befriends a lion, Snow White who talks to the birds, Cinderella with mice as her allies, the Mermaid who is half fish, Thumbelina courted by a mole. (And when we hear in the Navaho chant of the mountain that a grown man sits and smokes with bears and follows directions given to him by squirrels, we are surprised. We had thought only little girls spoke with animals.) We are the bird's eggs. Bird's eggs, flowers, butterflies, rabbits, cows, sheep; we are caterpillars; we are leaves of ivy and sprigs of wallflower. We are women. We rise from the wave. We are gazelle and doe, elephant and whale, lilies and roses and peach, we are air, we are flame, we are oyster and pearl, we are girls. We are woman and nature. And he says he cannot hear us speak. But we hear.

He saw so many emotions mingled on her face: anger disappointment, fear – and defiance. Like her daughter, thought Fenoglio again. So uncompromising, so strong. Women were different, no doubt about it. Men broke so much more quickly. Grief didn’t break women. Instead it wore them down, it hollowed them out, very slowly.

He says that woman speaks with nature. That she hears voices from under the earth. That wind blows in her ears and trees whisper to her. That the dead sing through her mouth and the cries of infants are clear to her. But for him this dialogue is over. He says he is not part of this world, that he was set on this world as a stranger. He sets himself apart from woman and nature ... We are the birds eggs. Birds eggs, flowers, butterflies, rabbits, cows, sheep; we are caterpillars; we are leaves of ivy and sprigs of wallflower. We are women. We rise from the wave. We are gazelle and doe, elephant and whale, lilies and roses and peach, we are air, we are flame, we are oyster and pearl, we are girls. We are woman and nature. And he says he cannot hear us speak. But we hear.

He said I'm the winning lottery ticket, like he's never meant anything more.

He said that when you want to change things, you can't please everyone. If you do please everyone, you aren't making enough progress. Mark was right.

He [Shakespeare] was a wordsmith who loved to act and to see things from many points of view.(...) His genius lay in being able to see all sides of an argument.

Hesitated and uncertain He left the doors behind him Half closed, Naively she kept them Half open Waiting for his hands to hold. But it’ll come the day when he comes knocking , looking for the coziness and calmness In her home. But she won’t be there! Because she closed that damn door hard, changed its locks, let go of him, and moved With her life …

He should in humility have asked her why it was that he was naturally a cuckold, why two women of different temperaments and characters had been inspired to have lovers at his expense. He should be telling her, with the warmth of her body warming his, that his second wife had confessed to greater sexual pleasure when she remembered that she was deceiving him.

He was in love with every pretty woman he saw now, their forms at a distance, their shadows on the walls.

He was a committed ladies' man and obtained a great deal of sustenance from the seemingly inexhaustible supply of women, but he guarded himself vigilantly against addiction, fearful of becoming fodder for that feminine allure which is so paradoxically generous to those who take from it and so destructively cruel to those who give.

He turned to Miss Minerva. "I'm relying on you, at any rate. You've got a good mind. Anybody can see that." "Thank you," she said. "As good as a man's," he added. "Oh, now you've spoiled it!

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 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.

He who controls the women controls the universe.

He went on, but I tuned him out. I made eye contact and nodded occasionally, but I didn’t hear what he was saying. I had heard it all before. Even men who should’ve known better–overeducated progressive types who probably considered themselves feminists–had no compunction explaining things to me.

Hide in the mirror. No one will look for you there.

He would never understand women, he thought. They were life’s great mystery.

Hi girls,' Hank says. I let that slide because Hank is in his seventies. But Diggers have rules. The establishing tenet: We're women. Not girls. I am a twenty-seven-year-old pioneer in the wellness space who reincorporated her company as a B-corp without needing to hire a lawyer. Would you refer to my male equivalent as a boy? Try saying it out loud. It sounds non-native.

Hi Lady, Hi Woman.., all that Naomi had, all that Mary had, all that Esther had, all that Elizabeth had, YOU ALSO HAVE... Go, make your dreams come true!