Best 5610 quotes in «women quotes» category

If you could see into a woman’s heart you’d be shocked at the cracks and chasms of self-doubt, fear, and pain it holds. It’s a wreck and yet it manages to love like it’s never been broken.

If you don’t look at yourself, you can’t know yourself. If you don’t know your flaws, lumps and bumps then someone else can use them against you to make you feel inferior. I think you’re perfect just the way you are. I believe if you hide from who you are, you let everyone else define you instead of you. You are your power, embrace that and be beautiful.

If you find the dividing line between fairy tales and reality, let me know. In my mind, the two run together, even though the intersections aren't always obvious. The girl sitting quietly in class or waiting for the bus or roaming the mall doesn't want anyone to know, or doesn't know how to tell anyone, that she is locked in a tower. Maybe she's a prisoner of a story she's heard all her life- that fairest means best, or that bruises prove she is worthy of love.

If you go to the craft market you will see them everywhere. They represent the mix of cultures and races here in the Dominican Republic, that are the result of centuries of international commerce, colonization, conquest, and the slave trade. The facelessness means that there is no 'typical' Dominican woman.

If you grow up the type of woman men want to look at, You can let them look at you. But do not mistake eyes for hands, Or windows for mirrors. Let them see what a woman looks like. They may not have ever seen one before. If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch, You can let them touch you. Sometimes it is not you they are reaching for. Sometimes it is a bottle, a door, a sandwich, a Pulitzer, another woman – But their hands found you first. Do not mistake yourself for a guardian, or a muse, or a promise, or a victim or a snack. You are a woman – Skin and bones, veins and nerves, hair and sweat You are not made of metaphors, Not apologies, not excuses. If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold, You can let them hold you. All day they practice keeping their bodies upright. Even after all this evolving it still feels unnatural, Still strains the muscles, holds firm the arms and spine. Only some men will want to learn what it feels like to curl themselves into a question mark around you, Admit they don’t have the answers they thought they would by now. Some men will want to hold you like the answer. You are not the answer. You are not the problem. You are not the poem, or the punchline, or the riddle, or the joke. Woman, if you grow up the type of woman men want to love, You can let them love you. Being loved is not the same thing as loving. When you fall in love, It is discovering the ocean after years of puddle jumping. It is realising you have hands. It is reaching for the tightrope after the crowds have all gone home. Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of woman men will hurt. If he leaves you with a car alarm heart. You learn to sing along. It is hard to stop loving the ocean, Even after it’s left you gasping, salty. So forgive yourself for the decisions you’ve made, The ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night, And know this. Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours. Let the statues crumble. You have always been the place. You are a woman who can build it yourself. You are born to build.

If you invest in a girl or a woman, you’re investing in everyone else.

If you love the women in your life then set them free.

If you make your woman your EVERYTHING - then your EVERYTHING hangs on her perfection. And we all know she doesn't have perfection any more than you do. Do not look for spiritual fulfillment from a woman. Do not look to a woman to give you value. Do not expect a woman to give you purpose. Do not look for redemption from a woman. Do not expect her to meet every need that you have. Do not make her your god. She is incapable of being that for you. There are things no woman can ever give you. I believe many of those things come from God. Whether you do or not, I can tell you this - you cannot find them in a woman. She may be able to help on your journey to find those things, but she can't give them to you.

If you never listen, you can't see. The devil has got so many people so disconnected that they cannot even listen or even sense when the Lord is speaking.

If you only attract Mr. Wrong or Ms. Crazy, evaluate the common thread in this diversity of people: YOU!

If you no longer have a child, are you still a mother?

If you put any effort into anything you do and have a strong sense of self to the point where you don’t even question your choices before you walk out of the house— you’re a fucking weirdo.

If your clothes are tight , you mean a man can hold tight on you , if they are lose you mean you can hold tight to a man

If you're close to her, everyone would know it. If they don't, only you think you're close to her.

[I]f you seek in every way to minimise my firm beliefs by your anti-feminist attacks, please recall that a small dagger or knife point can pierce a great, bulging sack and that a small fly can attack a great lion and speedily put him to flight.

If you think there’s a thing—anything—women didn’t do in the past, you’re wrong.

If you think women are weak, remember they give birth to strong beings.

If you think you are the mermaid, think again. You are the ocean holding the mermaid afloat, trying to change the world one dolphin at a time.

If you think you can kiss her, you probably could have ten minutes ago.

If you try to tame her she will fly away, because pretty little spirits like her, never like to be caged.

If you want to impress a lady, respect her, because respect is an impressive act itself

If you want to see the beauty of any fish, throw it into the water, you will see how best it can swim because that is its source. Do you want to see the beauty in you? Don't look in the mirror, don't put on makeups, no jewelleries or expensive designer clothes, just go back and reconnect to your source and I bet, the best of you will show up. Until you return back to God, your best won't come out because He is your source.

If you were offered the chance to live your own life again, would you seize the opportunity? The only real philosophical answer is automatically self-contradictory: 'Only if I did not know that I was doing so.' To go through the entire experience once more would be banal and Sisyphean—even if it did build muscle—whereas to wish to be young again and to have the benefit of one's learned and acquired existence is not at all to wish for a repeat performance, or a Groundhog Day. And the mind ought to, but cannot, set some limits to wish-thinking. All right, same me but with more money, an even sturdier penis, slightly different parents, a briefer latency period… the thing is absurd. I seriously would like to know what it was to be a woman, but like blind Tiresias would also want the option of re-metamorphosing if I wished. How terrible it is that we have so many more desires than opportunities.

If you women continue to demand your choice to work, you will so upset the economy of this country that the time will come when you will not have a choice. You will have to work.

If you work by faith and not by sight, you will always see a sign. You have to develop a space of comfort to know that there is a difference between signs and sounds, it means God will tell you that He will make a change in your life but He won't show you anything to demonstrate the change for a little while because He doesn't want your faith to be in the change; He wants your faith to be in the promise, so that when the change is a bit slow in coming, you will know how to trust in Him while you wait for it to come to pass.

I gave my heart to a man who loved me, who wanted to be with me. Who ultimately was afraid of all I offered. I didn’t understand why he sabotaged our future at the time – cheating on me, again, as we were making final plans to move in together. By the time he came over to smooth talk his way out of it, I was done. No more crying. Even my tears had given up on him. I’d already moved on, his cheating was simply the key left in the mailbox.

I guess it’s true: it’s difficult for men to understand women.

I got nervous at bulls and eagles, Trying to figure what shape Zeus might take for sex When it could be your turn next. But now I don't care any longer, I've come to my senses, your profile leaves me cold. Why am I different? you ask. I'll tell you. Because you keep nagging For presents. That's what turns me off.

I guess lesbianism wasn't so rampant in those days, they would've gotten a bunk with each other and just left me alone, you know. Which would have been just as well, you know..

I had a dream about you last night. You set a timer on in the bathroom to prove how long it takes me to get ready. So I shaved your legs, made up your face and gave you lashes. An hour later you thanked God for not making you a woman.

I had killed a man, for money and a woman. I didn't have the money and I didn't have the woman.

I had an interview once with some German journalist—some horrible, ugly woman. It was in the early days after the communists—maybe a week after—and she wore a yellow sweater that was kind of see-through. She had huge tits and a huge black bra, and she said to me, ‘It’s impolite; remove your glasses.’ I said, ‘Do I ask you to remove your bra?

I had the impulse to look over my shoulder, to make sure he was not striding across the sky already, his gilded arrow pointed at my heart. But there was something in me that was sick of fear and awe, of gazing at the heavens and wondering what someone would allow me. 'Come in,' I said, and led him through my door.

I had to do something about my longing, so I got up, went to the kitchen in my nightgown, peeled a pound of potatoes, boiled them up, sliced them, fried them in butter, salted them generously and ate every bite of them - asking my body the whole while if it would please accept the satisfaction of a pound of fried potatoes in lieu of the fulfillment of lovemaking. My body replied, only after eating every bite of food: "No deal, babe.

I had to revise all my feelings once again. I pulled out the dregs of affection from the glass of misunderstanding to rebuild my faith. I had to reinvent the cause for love, as it were. It was something I had to draw inside me, a real portrait of her, not just the inspiration but the girl as a whole, with all her shortcomings to be able to love her again.

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 myself that I wasn't there for him. I hate that I could not feel it in him. How could I not know what had happened? How could I not hear it in his voice, his comments, or in his demeanor? He needed my help, and I couldn't feel it.

I have always thought that if women's hair posed so many problems, God would certainly have made us bald.

I have become the woman I hardly dared imagine I could be. There are parts I don’t love—until a few years ago, I had no idea that you could have cellulite on your stomach—but not only do I get along with me most of the time now, I am militantly and maternally on my own side. Left to my own devices, would I trade this for firm thighs, fewer wrinkles, a better memory? You bet I would. That is why it’s such a blessing that I’m not left to my own devices.

I have always been homosexual and it surprises me that more people are not; women's pink bits are moist and forbidding and I enjoy those qualities much more in a Victoria sponge.

I have come to realize that my stupid gestures excites women alot, and if I'm really stupid, i will dare to take them to bed and excite them even more.

I had had the job for three weeks. It was dreary. You couldn't read; they didn't like it. I would feel as if I were drugged, sitting there, watching those damned dolls, thinking what a success they would have made of their lives if they had been women. Satin skin, silk hair, velvet eyes, sawdust heart - all complete.

I had tried to express myself, but couldn't do that because I was afraid that it will hurt someone. I never knew that not expressing myself hurt myself.

I have a little moral trouble with the term “mankind”, as it possesses an innate gender bias, which I cannot approve of, hence, I prefer the term “humanity” over it, and the term “human” over “man”.

I have always believed that women hold this world together with their love, passion, inspiration, hard work, vision and willingness to help others. Yet, increased responsibility in both our personal and professional lives – to become “superwomen” – is taking a devastating toll on our health and happiness.

I have an extremely strong, masculine mind and a feminine sensibility level, which is kind of an unusual combination. Both men and women tell me things and I can relate on two levels simultaneously.

I have been envious of male characteristics, if not the men themselves. I'm jealous of the ease with which they seem to inhabit their professional pursuits: the lack of apologizing, of bending over backward to make sure the people around them are comfortable with what they're trying to do. The fact that they are so often free of the people-pleasing instincts. I have watched men order at dinner, ask for shitty wine and extra bread with confidence I could never muster, and thought, what a treat that must be. But I also considered being female such a unique gift, such a sacred joy, in ways that run so deep I can't articulate them. It's a special kind of privilege to be born into the body you wanted, to embrace the essence of your gender even as you recognize what you are up against. Even as you seek to redefine it.

I have graduated to the extent of not asking what is happening in my life because I trust the maker(God).

I have never been sad because my losses are my profits

I have lived long enough to know that wherever there is crisis there is always Christ. Look for Jesus in the middle of all your crisis. Whenever He comes the whole storm goes down.