Quotes About Woman

Your heels are damaging my rug. It's an eighty-thousand-dollar rug." I say, "You like me in heels. Money doesn't signify anymore. And at least I'm not burning holes in it." "A wiser woman wouldn't remind me of that time. I'm still pissed about it.

By the time you work your way down the hierarchy to a brunette, you got yourself a woman who knows who she is, likes it enough that she ain't gonna change, and is probably gonna try to change you, if push comes to shove. Pushy, that's what brunettes are. Even the dainty, fragile-looking ones.

Life-giving, life-stealing, beautiful, a challenge to handle, worth learning to ride, full of fresh wonders every day—if he'd had a woman like the ocean in his bed, he'd still be there.

Cease ceasing movement so abruptly! Christ, woman, must you catapult forward after each cessation? Are you certain you've strapped the mirror securely? We should stop and check it. By Danu, wench, try nudging this beast gently, not kicking it with both heels! A silence, a slew of choked curses, then: Horses! What the bloody hell is wrong with horses? Have they all been slain in battle?

A woman is an occasion. My dick rises to it.

Emotions"—he raised a hand, made a fist, clenched it tightly—"are like holding water. You open your hand, there's nothing there. Better to be a weapon than a woman.

Could we please have a fire?" "Of course," Pieter said immediately. He rose and moved to the fireplace, but Barrons beat him there. He glared at Pieter. You may be trying to claim the woman, his eyes said, but make no mistake, she and the fucking fireplace are mine.

A woman had to be kissed by Dageus MacKeltar to fully understand how devastating it was. How it could bring a woman to her knees.

Alone, my arse, he thought. I'll walk in alone, while my men sneak up behind them and destroy every last one of the bastards who took my woman.

She is a fool in too many ways to number: in affairs of infidelity, if a man strays, it is not the fault of the woman with whom he lays. A worthy heart eschews temptation, despite the magnitude. Clearly my heart is not worthy.

hearing again the words from the Gullah woman, All shut-eye ain't sleep; all good-bye ain't gone.

Is there always under the glory of white wings and graceful speed, the scaffolding of a cross? If you meet a woman who sails her life with strength and grace and assurance, talk to her. What you will find is that there has been a suffering, that at some time she has left herself for (hanging) dead. We are so busy doing and achieving that we have lost touch with our inner life – that life that gives meaning to symbols and conversely the symbols that give meaning to life.

But the soldiers would have gladly given up their beds to a woman." "Yes, and I hate them for it." She pushed him away. "It's the arrogance of men that leads them to sacrifice themselves. Not real consideration.

Do you really not know that to praise a woman's mind is to abuse her? Is everyone not convinced that where there's cleverness there's no heart? Has it not been decided that a clever woman is a sort of monster who can feel nothing? Ask anyone, they'll all tell you so.

You, woman, are without a doubt the most senseless female I could have picked to fall in love with.

It is a sad truth, but one acknowledged by any person who can bother to read the law, that the inferior legal status of a woman in Europa means she is best protected by having a powerful family or, lacking that, by finding the strongest protector and marrying him.

I had always been a great talker and teller of tales. 'You should put a lock on that tongue of yours. It's long enough and sharp enough to slit your own throat,' our guardian warned me, the night before I left home to go to the royal court at Versailles ... I just laughed. 'Don't you know a woman's tongue is her sword? You wouldn't want me to let my only weapon rust, would you?

I think people marry far too much, it is such a lottery after all, and to a poor woman very doubtful happiness.

Hitler had described the Queen Mother as 'the most dangerous woman in Europe', because of her effect on the national mood; her daughter was not too far behind.

And sonograms distort reality in another, more subtle way: You can only take a picture of the embryo/fetus if you erase the body of the pregnant woman. As with the famous optical illusion of the duck-rabbit, you can't see them both at the same time. In a sonogram the fetus is the subject, the woman is the background; the case for its personhood is made by turning her into gray-and-white wallpaper.

Justice Harry Blackmun's majority opinion in Roe v. Wade was all about privacy, but the most private parts of a woman's body and the most private decisions she will ever make have never been more public. Everyone gets to weigh in. Even, according to the five conservative Catholic men on the Supreme Court, her employer.

Maybe Blackmun's mistake was thinking that a woman could claim privacy as a right in the first place. A man's home is his castle, but a woman's body has never been wholly her own. Historically, it's belonged to her nation, her community, her father, her family, her husband—in 1973, when Roe was decided, marital rape was legal in every state.

not until this stage, implantation, that medical science says pregnancy begins—because medical science sees pregnancy as the changes a woman's body undergoes to produce a baby, not as a notional, theoretical mini-child that no one knows is there. But the blastocyst is still not a person, if that word means anything at all.

We may revere motherhood, the hazy abstraction, the cream-of-wheat-with-a-halo ideal, but a mother is just a kind of woman, after all, and women are trouble and not so valuable. Low-income mothers drag down the country—why'd they have kids if they couldn't support them? Middle-class mothers are boring frumps. Elite ones are obsessed sanctimommies.