Best 5610 quotes in «women quotes» category

My advice for those of you who felt being marginalised, undervalued and taken for granted; guess what? That is the Arena where God creates Leaders.

My aunt says, she is a very bad wife to her husband, because she is busy serving orphan kids and physically challenged people of our society. Everyone praises her work that she is doing really good for society. But yes! She is only a very bad wife. She says proudly and laugh.

My brave husband came back from fighting the Turks and brought me a robe of silk and a necklace of human teeth. He sat up at night by his hearth telling tales of battle. Apparently the Turks are ten times more ferocious and fearless than the Scots. 'Perhaps we should invite them here to drive the Scots back,' I suggested, and he laughed, but he didn't kiss me. That's when I learned the truth about scars. A man with a battle scar is a veteran, a hero, given an honoured place at the fire. Small boys gaze up fascinated, dreaming of winning such badges of courage. Maids caress his thighs with their buttocks as they bend over to mull his ale. Women cluck and cosset, and if in time other men grow a little weary of that tale of honour, then they call for his cup to be filled again and again until he is fuddled and dozes quietly in the warmth of the embers. But a scarred woman is not encouraged to tell her story. Boys jeer and mothers cross themselves. Pregnant women will not come close for fear that if they look upon such a sight, the infant in their belly will be marked. You've heard of the tales of Beauty and the Beast no doubt. How a fair maid falls in love with a monster and sees the beauty of his soul beneath the hideous visage. But you've never heard the tale of the handsome man falling for the monstrous woman and finding joy in her love, because it doesn't happen, not even in fairytales. The truth is that the scarred woman's husband buys her a good thick veil and enquires about nunneries for the good of her health. He spends his days with his falcons and his nights instructing pageboys in their duties. For if nothing else, the wars taught him how to be a diligent master to such pretty lads.

My brunette with the golden eyes, your ivory body, your amber Has left bright reflections in the room Above the garden. The clear midnight sky, under my closed lids, Still shines… I am drunk from so many roses Redder than wine. Leaving their garden, the roses have followed me… I drink their brief breath, I breathe their life. All of them are here. It’s a miracle… The stars have risen, Hastily, across the wide windows Where the melted gold pours. Now, among the roses and the stars, You, here in my room, loosening your robe, And your nakedness glistens Your unspeakable gaze rests on my eyes… Without stars and without flowers, I dream the impossible In the cold night.

My cock was hard, but my spirit wasn't in it.

My dis-interest in what people speak of as "women's problems," "women's literature." Have women a special sensibility? No. There are individuals uniquely talented & uniquely equipped to interpret the complex symbolism of the world but they are certainly not determined by gender. The very idea is astonishing. [...] Energy, talent, vision, insight, compassion, the ability to stay with a single work for long periods of time, the ability to be faithful (to both one's writing and one's beloved)--these have nothing to do with gender. [...] The sensibility of a Virginia Woolf, for instance. It's her own, it's uniquely hers. Not because she is a "female" but because she is, or was, Virginia Woolf. Not more sensitive than Henry James or Proust or James Joyce, consequently not more "feminine" in the narrow & misleading sense people use that term today....But then I suppose critics must have something to write about. [...]

My faith gives me the ability to say, whatever is next, I'm ready. If it is Hillary or Trump I am ready because they might sit on the desk but they do not sit on the throne.

My father always says, choosing a wife is like putting your hand into a bag full of writhing creatures, with one eel to six snakes. What are the chances you will pull out the eel?

My father might not have held my hand or expressed his love openly, but he taught Callie and me that we had inherent values, that we were fully formed human beings without a boy by our side.

My father came first," says a Missouri painter who consistently faces a work slump whenever she commits herself to submitting paintings for a show. "My mother was defined by him. If she behaved well he would love her, buy her presents, and take care of her - she was a queen. He did take care of her. She behaved, she ran the house. He bought her presents all the time." "Was she smart?" I asked. "I don't know," the woman replied. "I think she may have been, once. She stopped thinking." One reason Mother remains shadowy is that she was intimidated by the forceful, vivid personality of her husband. The peacemaker, a kind of half-person who chooses to tag along safely behind her husband, Mother is protected from the more abrasive aspects of life in the world. Huge fights, open power struggles - these were not characteristic of the girl's relationship with her elusive mother. (...) Mother was there (...). But she was also not there. (...) Father is active; Mother is passive. Father is able to rely on himself; Mother is helpless and dependent.

My fundamental position is that women are human beings, with the full range of saintly and demonic behaviours this entails, including criminal ones. They're not angels, incapable of wrongdoing. If they were, we wouldn't need a legal system.

My father was a man, and I know the sex pretty well.

My heart does not desire what my eyes does not admire.

My lady Silk, remember that a man always gains in stature any way he chooses to associate with a woman - including adultery...but in her association with a man, a woman is always in danger of being diminished.

My life. My choice. Live life only once. So to hell with the world

My Lady, you certainly tell me about wonderful constancy, strength and virtue and firmness of women, so can one say the same thing about men? (...) Response [by Lady Rectitude]: "Fair sweet friend, have you not yet heard the saying that the fool sees well enough a small cut in the face of his neighbour, but he disregards the great gaping one above his own eye? I will show you the great contradiction in what the men say about the changeability and inconstancy of women. It is true that they all generally insist that women are very frail [= fickle] by nature. And since they accuse women of frailty, one would suppose that they themselves take care to maintain a reputation for constancy, or at the very least, that the women are indeed less so than they are themselves. And yet, it is obvious that they demand of women greater constancy than they themselves have, for they who claim to be of this strong and noble condition cannot refrain from a whole number of very great defects and sins, and not out of ignorance, either, but out of pure malice, knowing well how badly they are misbehaving. But all this they excuse in themselves and say that it is in the nature of man to sin, yet if it so happens that any women stray into any misdeed (of which they themselves are the cause by their great power and longhandedness), then it's suddenly all frailty and inconstancy, they claim. But it seems to me that since they do call women frail, they should not support that frailty, and not ascribe to them as a great crime what in themselves they merely consider a little defect.

My motto? Don’t trust someone who is just as cagey as yourself." "What kind of detective are you?” “A lousy one and proud of it. I write, remember?” She looked down at her hand & laughed. “Berretta doesn’t make lighters.” "Why I was a writer! My life revolved around fiction. I could make something up" "She looked down at her hand & laughed. “Berretta doesn’t make lighters.” "So they're not Tolstoy, they're a little shorter...Okay, okay a lot. Go ahead, read my mystery series anyway." "A detective has their boundaries especially me. So mine shifted occasionally...okay a lot" “Beat it, Buster. My temper and this mace have a hair trigger.” “Interference could be lethal.” I got right up in his face, hissing, “Don’t push me, I’m hormonal.” I'm not really a lousy detective, just rough around the edges.

My mother? My own mother told my lady governess that if the baby and I were in danger then they should save the baby.

My mother once wrote a poem about rivers. They were women, she wrote. Starting out small girls, tiny streams decorated with wildflowers. They were torrents, gouging paths through sheer granite, flinging themselves off cliffs, fearless and irresistible. Later, they grew fat servicable, broad slow curves carrying commerce and sewage, but in their unconscious depths catfish gorged, grew the size of barges, and in the hundred-year storms, they rose up, forgetting the promises they made, the wedding vows, and drowned everything for miles around. Finally they gave out, birth-emptied, malarial, into a fan of swamps that met the ocean.

My mother’s dress bears the stains of her life: blueberries, blood, bleach, and breast milk; She cradles in her arms a lifetime of love and sorrow; Its brilliance nearly blinds me.

My MOTIVATION was struggling..I got Tired of it!

My name is Nathan, just twenty-three and given to the curation of stories. I listen, retain, then polish and release them over the fire at night, when the others hush and lean forward in their desire to hear of the past. They crave romance, particularly when autumn sets in and cold nights await them, and so I speak of Alice, and Bethany, and Sarah, and Val, and other dead women who all once had lustrous hair and never a bad word on their plump lips. I can remember this is not how they were; I knew them, I knew them! Only six years have passed and yet I mythologize them as if it is six thousand. I am not culpable. Language is changing, like the earth, like the sea. We live in lonely, fateful flux, outnumbered and outgrown.

My self is a thing that I must now compose...as one composes a speech. What I must present is a 'made' thing. Not something born.

Mystery is what makes women, woman. A woman without mystery is no woman. She is a girl who has yet discovered the depths of her heart.

My wife is a thief... She takes the last cookie Takes forever to get ready She takes her time in the shower Takes all of the hot water She takes my favorite seat on the couch Takes the high road when I lose control My wife is a thief... She took my last name Took the time to get to know me, love me She took the back seat and let me lead Took on motherhood and the emotional toll that it brings She took care of me the many times that I've gotten sick Took on the pain of pregnancy so that the Jackson legacy would live on My wife takes, and takes, and takes... I'm so proud of my perpetual thief who stole my heart and won't give it back.

My voice thick with frustration, I declared that if men and women could only meet each other under normal circumstances, that delusions of instant love would be more infrequent. While I do believe that great attractions lead to genuine love, such as it had with my sister, Sara, and her husband, Assad, such a happy outcome is rare. When men and women rarely have the opportunity to enjoy the other's company in ordinary social occasions, spontaneous emotions are quick to rise to the surface, often ending in terrible personal tragedies.

My wife and I said good-bye the next morning in a little sheltered place among the lumber on the wharf; she was one of your women who never like to do their crying before folks. She climbed on the pile of lumber and sat down, a little flushed and quivery, to watch us off. I remember seeing her there with the baby till we were well down the channel. I remember noticing the bay as it grew cleaner, and thinking that I would break off swearing; and I remember cursing Bob Smart like a pirate within an hour. ("Kentucky's Ghost")

My tongue thirsty for superiority, maybe even immortality, ruled me. I was ruled by my tongue. I was ruled by women. I was ruled by alcohol.

Nanny Ogg was an attractive lady, which is not the same as being beautiful. She fascinated Casanunda. She was an incredibly comfortable person to be around, partly because she had a mind so broad it could accommodate three football fields and a bowling alley.

Naar jeg kommer i Mænds Selskab, presenteres mig enten et Glas Viin eller en Pibe Tabac, som aldeeles ikke er min Ragout. Udi Fruentimmer-Selskab derimod faaer jeg Thee, Café og jævn Pølse-Snak.

Nabii wa uongo atampinga Shetani kwa nguvu zake zote, atakuwa na tamaa ya wanawake au wanaume kama ilivyokuwa kwa Sodoma na Gomora na miji yote iliyoizunguka miji hiyo, na atayadharau mamlaka ya Kristo.

...naar jeg er hiemme, er jeg idelig udi et Slags Arbeyd, som foraarsager Hovedbryden, saa at jeg gaaer ud alleene for at lade Hiernen have fornøden Hvile. Saadan Hvile faaes fornemmeligen udi Fruer-Stuer, hvor der forefalder gemeenligen ikke uden jævn Snak, som ingen Meditation behøver. Og er det derfore, at, naar jeg haver studeret mig en Hovedpine til, jeg ingen heller besøger, end Madame N. N., hvilken fortæller mig intet uden hvad Mad hun haver spiset den Dag, eller hvor mange Ægg hendes Høns have udlagt den Uge, eller andre saadanne Materier, hvorved Hiernen ikke brydes eller Hovedets Seener strekkes.

Nature can be cruel. Predators are everywhere. Those who don't need to be protected from outside forces often need to be protected from themselves. In society, women are referred to as "the fairer sex". But in the wild, the female species can be far more ferocious than their male counterparts. Defending the nest is both our oldest and strongest instinct. And sometimes, it can also be the most gratifying.

-Neden adam onun kalbini yemiş? -Çünkü bazı erkekler canavardır. -Kadın neden onu seviyor? -Çünkü bazı kadınlar canavarlardan hoşlanır. -Ben de mi? -Bilmem. Sen de mi? -Ben normal canavarlardan hoşlanacağım -Büyük konuşma, seni de göreceğim.

Nearly everything I know about love, I've learnt from my long-term friendships with women.

Negative prophecies are reversible. The Lord reveals to conquer. You are created to reverse any negative with your prayers and the word of God.

Nessa held her arm up. She was staring at it, trying to gauge how big that was. “Dude, that’s as big as my arm. That’s like being f****d by a limb dude!” She wiggled her arm back and forth. “That's not normal.

...Neruda was right about all mysterious women - The moon lives in the lining of their skin...

Netiquette is overdelicate because kids use the internet. Adult content forms are triplicate, ASL. NetworkEtiquette.net

Never before have you had the chance to build a personal brain like you can today.

Never before have you had the chance to build a personal brand like you can today.

Never Expect Loyalty From A Person That Can't Give You Honesty.

Never in the history of humankind has a woman been told to calm down and then calmed down. We don't like that.

Never go to another woman about your woman. Not unless you want an insidious form of advice.

Never underestimate women; there is a good reason the queen is the most powerful piece on the chessboard.

Never underestimate a woman. In any situation there is usually a woman whose power is greater than yours.

Newsweek never hired women as writers and only one or two female staffers were promoted to that rank no matter how talented they were...Any aspiring journalist who was interviewed for a job was told, "If you want to be a writer, go somewhere else--women don't write at Newsweek.

Ngojak itu Jalan kaki, BerAva Senyum, Berfollower panas ibukota. Dan selalu berharap menemukan kesempurnaan yang ke 5. Sang Narasumber yang bersahaja! Yang siap menguak rasa penasaran

Next minute you’ll be telling me there’s nothing wrong,’ he said softly. ‘One of the all time favourite lies women employ when they’re hiding huge grievances.

Ne zaman kadın olduğunu sen bileceksin. O anı fark edeceksin. Ama bana sorarsan, kalbinin kırıldığı anlardan birinde oluyor bu. Daha önce varlığını bile bilmediğin yerinden kırılan kalbine, kırıktan giren ışık önce seni zehirleyecek, sonra felç edecek. Gözlerini kapatacaksın.