Quotes About Woman

I had one woman come up to me in a bookstore and say, 'You know, everyone told me it was a horror book, but when I finished it, I realized that it was a love story.' And she's absolutely right. In some ways, genre is a marketing tool.

Make no mistake, the woman had a heart. She had a bigger one that people would think. There was a lot in it, stored up, high in miles of hidden shelving. Remember that she was the woman with the instrument strapped to her body in the long, moon-slit night.

Make no mistake, the woman had a heart. She had a bigger one than people would think. There was a lot in it, stored up, high in miles of hidden shelving. Remember that she was the woman with the instrument strapped to her body in the long, moon-slit night.

Her hair was a close enough brand of German blond, but she had dangerous eyes. Dark brown.

On her birthday, it was she who gave a gift - to me. It makes me understand that the best standover man I've ever known is not a man at all...

Make no mistake, the woman had a heart. She had a bigger one than people would think. There was a lot in it, stored up, high in miles of hidden shelving.

A SMALL SUGGESTION*** Or maybe there was a woman on Grande Strasse who now kept her library window open for another reason - but that's just be being cynical, or hopeful. Or both.

A woman of wire had laid herself down, her scream traveling the street, till it fell sideways like a rolling coin starved of momentum.

Snow had been falling consistently, and the service to Munich was forced to stop due to faulty track work. There was a woman wailing. A girl stood numbly next to her. In panic, the mother opened the door. She climbed down into the snow, holding the small body. What could the girl do but follow?

Bad feeling is a country no woman want to visit. So they take good feeling any which way it come. Sometime that good feeling come by taking on a different kind of bad feeling.

Ted Rittenhouse saw the relief that flooded the woman's face. She'd obviously come up with a solution she thought would satisfy him. I'm staying with a cousin, Gabe Flanagan. She was so relieved that the words tripped over each other. She snatched a cell phone from her bag. Look, you can call him. He'll vouch for me. Here's my cellphone. You can use it. Seems to me I've heard of those newfangled gadgets, he said dryly, pulling his own cell phone from his uniform pocket.

But strength without flexibility makes one hard. Come September, when those fierce winds blow in from the sea, those hardwoods crack, splinter and fall. But the pliant palms are resilient and they bend with the wind. This is the secret of a Southern woman. Strength, resilience and beauty. We are never hard.

A woman's life has so many demands because she is the axis around which so many little planets spin. I did it and, yes, there were countless delightful moments. But that part of my life died when Stratton did.

worry about you, Caretta. You are a strong woman, true enough. But strength without flexibility makes one hard. Come September, when those fierce winds blow in from the sea, those hardwoods crack, splinter and fall. But the pliant palms are resilient and they bend with the wind. This is the secret of a Southern woman. Strength, resilience and beauty. We are never hard.

Every...woman, the old lady said, loves a ...rogue.

And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.

He visto demasiado como para no saber que la intuición de una mujer puede resultar más útil que las conclusiones de un razonador analítico.

To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and

To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the

There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.' There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world." THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid brought in a telegram.

A faith is not acquired by reasoning. One does not fall in love with a woman, or enter the womb of a church, as a result of logical persuasion. Reason may defend an act of faith-but only after the act has been committed, and the man com­mitted to the act.

Life, woman, life is God's most precious gift; no principle, however glorious, may justify the taking of it.

You need only look at the way in which she is formed, to see that woman is not meant to undergo great labor, whether of the mind or of the body. She pays the debt of life not by what she does, but by what she suffers; by the pains of child-bearing and care for the child, and by submission to her husband, to whom she should be a patient and cheering companion.

Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones - a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered.