Best 5610 quotes in «women quotes» category

She was gracious and yet fading, like an old statue in a garden, that symbolizes the weather through which it has endured, and is not so much the work of man as the work of wind and rain and the herd of the seasons, and though formed in men's image is a figure of doom.

She was learning something important: how to live within the sound of her own slow breathing, how to love the view when her eyes were shut.

She was neither widow nor mother: she only yearned for the dignity of a woman who had once belonged, somewhere, to somebody. She had belonged to no one, for she had never wanted chick nor child. Her idea of home had been any side-alley entrance and a pint of tinted gin. All she had ever striven for was small change left lying by strangers on North Clark Street bars; and any man's bottle at all.

She wasn't easy to be around at the best of times, and during the worst, well, she sucked flaming balls of mean...Still she wanted his eternal admiration.

She was glad that she had not let on to Lonzo how she felt; a woman has business to be as strong as a man. No, a woman has to be stronger than a man. A man don't mind laying the ax between a calf's eyes; a woman does mind, and has to stand by and watch it done. A man fathers a little un, but a woman feels it shove up against her heart, and beat on her body, and drag on her with its weight. A woman has to be stronger than a man.

She was not the sort of woman guys settle for. She was the one they lust after and strive for. She was the one who ruins other people's relationships simply by existing, but she will always be surmounted as guys come to realize the virtues of the approachable girl next door. She was, in brief, too pretty to be trusted or had.

She wasn't like a jukebox; you never had to put in a dime and she never came unplugged.

She wasn't ordinary, I liked her that way. Mystery oozed from her pours as she walked so lightly I could have mistaken her for an angel.

She was having a violent reaction against beautiful clothes and the slavery they impose on one, her experience being that the instant one had got them they took one in hand and gave one no peace till they had been everywhere and been seen by everybody. You didn't take your clothes to parties; they took you. It was quite a mistake to think think that a woman, a really well-dressed woman wore out her clothes; it was the clothes that wore out the woman- dragging her about at all hours of the day and night.

She was no intellectual, but men were scrupulous about avoiding intellectual women unless they had the sense to keep it well hidden.

She wasn’t a bird in a cage. A bird in a cage, when the cage is opened, can still fly away. She was a bird embroidered onto a screen — a white bird in clouds of gold stitched onto a screen of melancholy satin. The years passed; the bird’s feathers darkened, mildewed, and were eaten by moths, but the bird stayed on the screen even in death.

She wasn't my kind of woman and that's why, that night she was. This wine is the Blood of Christ. Brings the truth out of a woman sooner than any confession box does. Makes you trust a stranger with your life, your car keys, your best-guarded secret.

She wasn't the kind of lady that depended on a man and I think that's what made her so irrestible to them, any man she had loved; she wanted ~ and the men that loved her back couldn't handle not being needed, so she showed them the door and grew her own wings as they walked out. Love to her isn't a maybe thing, nor is it attachment and any man whom thinks he will ever own her would be best not to try at all.

she wasn't very interesting but few people are.

She was shocked when she followed her aunt and cousin down into the city proper. The streets were crawling with people, all hurrying to and fro, mindless of one another. They brushed by with barely even a glance, stepping down into the busy roads between horse drawn buses and draymen’s carts with such confidence, seemingly oblivious that they could be run down at any moment. Children dodged in and out amongst them, ragamuffins all, some barefoot.

She was too honest, too natural for this frightened man; too remote from his tidy laws. She was, after all, a country girl; disordered, hysterical, loving. She was muddled and mischievous as a chimney-jackdaw, she made her nest of rags and jewels, was happy in the sunlight, squawked loudly at danger, pried and was insatiably curious, forgot when to eat or ate all day, and sang when sunsets were red.

She was wearing a sleeveless top that held her breasts in the most marvelous way, the balance between what it revealed and what it left to the imagination as poetic as a Shakespearean sonnet.

She was tall and well-made, on an ample scale; her skin looked as if it had the flavour of fresh cream which it resembled, her childlike mouth that of strawberries. Under a mass of raven hair, curling in gentle waves, her green eyes gleamed motionless as those of statues, and like them a little cruel. She was moving slowly, making her wide white skirt rotate around her, and emanating from her whole person the invincible calm of a woman sure of her own beauty.

She worked there for several months as a slave in a Mexican family until they sold her to a wealthy Hispanic man from Santa Fe, N.M. He also purchased another young captive Apache woman from New Mexico to accompany them. Both women were loaded onto an oxcart bound for Santa Fe in a journey that could take at least three months.

She would only let you know her, little by little ~ never giving too much away but willing to share the small parts that make up her life, she falls slowly like that ~ love isn't a maybe thing in her eyes & her heart is the prize, she knows her worth and she will withstand the wait.

She wore her body like a mistake she hoped to one day be forgiven for.

She who leads with her heart is never forgotten.

She wore trousers, because skirts were stupid, and boots, 'cuz stuff needed to be kicked.

she will change the world someday, her cure of love in a world gone mad; is the gentle kind of touch that will teach women to grow and men to rise.

She will outstrip all praise and make it halt behind her.

She would begin to view them ... with greater objectivity; their need for her started to look like something less discriminating, more parasitical. She felt duped by them into believing herself to be generous, tireless, inspiring, when in fact she was just a self-sacrificing victim. It was this feeling that often brought her to a position of clarity about her own life. She would start to give them less and herself more: by draining her, they created in her a new capacity for selfishness.

Shouldn’t we respect that fewer women want to go into some areas of study than other areas of study?

Shooting Willoughby carrying Marianne up the path. ... Male strength -- the desire to be cradled again? ... I'd love someone to pick me up and carry me off. Frightening. Lindsay assures me I'd start to fidget after a while. She's such a comfort.

SILENCE does not always mean 'NEUTRALITY'! Sometimes, it may mean 'consenting' to a wrong, sometimes it may mean 'condoning' a mistake and sometimes it may mean giving space to the wrong doer....SOMETIMES, we need to get up and FIGHT!

Silencing women silences justice.

Similar to a butterfly, I've gone through a metamorphosis, been released from my dark cocoon, embraced my wings, and soared!

Since she's discovered men would rather drown than nibble, she does just fine.

Since the beginning of humanity, man's thirsty nature, seek females to procreate. Not all have the ability to contemplate; whatever shape, naked or not, for its beauty. There shall always be with those, the need to greedily and physically have them all. Only a few, instinctively desire every woman, but to one's only sensuality, beauty, nudity, will surrender.

Since men are not equals in white supremacist, capitalist, patriarchal class structure, which men do women want to be equal to?

... since I was still, and must for long remain, in that period of life when one has not yet separated the fact of this sensual pleasure from the various women in whose company one has tasted it, when one has not reduced it to a general idea which makes one regard them thenceforward as the variable instruments of a pleasure that is always the same. Indeed, that pleasure does not exist, isolated and formulated in the consciousness, as the ultimate object with which one seeks a woman's company, or as the cause of the uneasiness which, in anticipation, one then feels. Hardly even does one think of oneself, but only how to escape from oneself.

Since little-girlhood, we're trained to find the Big Bad Wolf seductive.

Since patriarchy is the perpetual poorhouse in which women are stored/restored, afflicted with poverty of spirit, imagination, intellect, passion, physical vigor, as well as economic poverty, it is clear - and clearer than ever - that we have basically Nothing to loose.

[S]ince you are angry at me without reason, you attack me harshly with, "Oh outrageous presumption! Oh excessively foolish pride! Oh opinion uttered too quickly and thoughtlessly by the mouth of a woman! A woman who condemns a man of high understanding and dedicated study, a man who, by great labour and mature deliberation, has made the very noble book of the Rose, which surpasses all others that were ever written in French. When you have read this book a hundred times, provided you have understood the greater part of it, you will discover that you could never have put your time and intellect to better use!" My answer: Oh man deceived by willful opinion! I could assuredly answer but I prefer not to do it with insult, although, groundlessly, you yourself slander me with ugly accusations. Oh darkened understanding! Oh perverted knowledge ... A simple little housewife sustained by the doctrine of Holy Church could criticise your error!

Single, childless women are the only women who report that they have the time and freedom to pursue interests, ambitions, and hobbies at the same rate as married heterosexual men do.

Singing you home my creed is simple. My soul, a seeker of love.

So, around age 31, I finally began to connect the dots, I think. The reasons for why women so often act in fucked up, selfish, whorish, hypocritical ways must be the same reasons for why my grandmother loves me unconditionally, and why after years of unemployment my mother still won’t kick me out of her house. It doesn’t make any fucking sense to a rational person (usually a man), but if you do look at the two sides of it… it sort of makes sense… even though it doesn’t… I guess.

Small and intentional Circles can be a panacea for the loneliness that stalks us, and that the rage-venting, dream-sharing, heart-listening, and cosmos-digging are all the healing activities that happen once you know you truly belong.

Smothered by control a tormented soul trapped in his castle Her tears rolling mist proof she exists in Snow White Darkness.

Sob aqueles véus negros parece não haver mais mulheres de carne e osso. Parecem pássaros negros, misteriosos, inabordáveis.

Social justice activists in general, and animal advocates in particular, must work to expose the injustices they have learned to see . . . . To correct social problems, we must expose them to the light of day.

Societies where there are worthy men and women of God, not necessarily preachers or religious men, but men that know the ways of God, they stand up against the collapse of equity in their land

So get up, pretty woman! And from your beautifully shaped body don’t be ashamed For we are meant to be different, Rounded shapes and squared We come in a small, medium and a large size And to each there is still a wide range This is to create a beautiful portrait for the eyes And we are not supposed to please the “media-thinking” and change! So woman up! Whether your size is infinity-X large or infinity-X Small In love with “you” you should fall Don’t let them and their meaningless words or shallow looks Make you lose it all As to this nature you belong, The beach, the mountains, the oceans And the colorful life this mother earth has to give So embrace this with your body and soul No matter how they evolve… For as long as you live!

Soldier's fashion accessory is his weapon just like a jewelry for women.

Somebody with a flair for small cynicism once said, 'We live and do not learn.' But I have learned some things. I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesterdays are buried deep -- leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance. The cloud clears as you enter it. I have learned this, but like everyone, I learned it late.

Someday every woman will have orgasms- like every family has color TV- and we can all get on with the business of life.