Quotes About Stereotypes

I feel sorry for novelists when they have to mention women's eyes: there's so little choice, and whatever colouring is decided upon inevitably carries banal implications. Her eyes are blue: innocence and honesty. Her eyes are black: passion and depth. Her eyes are green: wildness and jealousy. Her eyes are violet: the novel is by Raymond Chandler.

Britain: the land of embarrassment and breakfast.

In truth, he was just another man, behaving as men did in books, and she was just another woman for believing otherwise.

Tendemos a encasillar en una categoría preexistente cualquier relación nueva que entablamos.

Plain girls who were also clever were a ha'pence a dozen.

I may be fat and ugly, but I'm not stupid. If anyone had ever gotten past my looks, they might've noticed I have a brain.

When boys played "guerrilla warfare," which was their version of cowboys and Indians, the enemy side would have thorns glued onto their noses and say "hello" all the time.

Motherfuckers will read a book that's one third Elvish, but put two sentences in Spanish and they [white people] think we're taking over.

it doesn't follow that all bearded men are bullies or heroes. There's the fortuneteller's beard, the Lenin cut, or again the European aristocrat's. And then there's the Castro beard and what is apparently the latest style—the beards sported by youngsters posing as artists, but just what that is called I don't know.

Moneypenny was the brainy female character. Yet another example of how every girl had to be one or the other: smart or pretty. I had long resigned myself to category one, and as long as it got me to Harvard, I was happy. Except, it hadn't gotten me to Harvard. Clearly, it was time to switch to category two.

Women, it seemed, were capable not only of significant acts of treason, but of executing them more deftly than men.

Sweet? Submissive? May as well be a housewife Ã¢â'¬Â¦ it dims my luster, makes me resemble others—that's the worst thing that could happen.

Men are, if nothing else, predictable. Fortunately for us all, women are not.

You couldn't turn on the TV without hearing about the missing teenage girl. Sixteen years old. White. Middle class. Very pretty. No one ever seemed quite as outraged when an ugly woman went missing.

Men never have to be uncomfortable around women. Women have to be uncomfortable around men all of the time.

Inside, he had forgotten what it was like to hear a woman's voice, listen to the sort of complaints that only women could have. Bad haircuts. Rude store clerks. Chipped nails. Men wanted to talk about things: cars, guns, snatch. They didn't discuss their feelings unless it was anger, and even that didn't last for long because generally they started doing something about it.

This women's lib stuff works for rich girls, but all you've got going for you is your face and your figure. You need to take advantage of both before you lose them.

There was one lone Caucasian in the bunch. With her hemp sandals, batik dress and the long, gray ponytail hanging down her back, she radiated white guilt like a cheap space heater.

These were the qualities that painted young me as smart and ambitious and young woman as trouble.

these were the qualities that painted young men as smart and ambitious and young women as trouble.

These are fat mummies sitting with their bags of crisps in front of the television, saying that thin models are ugly. Fashion is about dreams and illusions, and no one wants to see round women.

Most pirates had one eye, one leg and a hook for a hand. I don't know why people feared them. If they were around today they'd be registered disabled and would be entitled to so many benefits they wouldn't have to mess about looking for treasure chests.

But I will tell you that it's maddening to me that men seem to know which way is north, and which way is west—and are always overweeningly proud about that accomplishment, by the way—and yet still you all more than likely will manage to get us poor women lost." "Are you referring to all men, or to your father and brother?" "My father, brother and you," she corrected sweetly.

A 'career woman,' Sylvie said, as if the two words had no place in the same sentence. A spinster, she added, contemplating the word. Ursula wondered why her mother was working so hard to rile her. Perhaps you will never marry, Sylvie said, as if in conclusion, as if Ursula's life was as good as over. Would that be such a bad thing? 'The unmarried daughter,' Ursula said, tucking into an iced fancy. It was good enough for Jane Austen.