Quotes About Femininity

Out of the ash I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air.

If I didn't think, I'd be much happier; if I didn't have any sex organs, I wouldn't waver on the brink of nervous emotion and tears all the time.

She has folded Them back into her body as petals Of a rose close when the garden Stiffens and odours bleed From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower. The moon has nothing to be sad about, Staring from her hood of bone.

Soon, soon the flesh The grave cave ate will be At home on me And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die. This is Number Three. What a trash To annihilate each decade. --from Lady Lazarus, written 23-29 October 1962

She. Silent, fawn-eyed. Clever.

The dress was cut so queerly I couldn't wear any sort of a bra under it, but that didn't matter much as I was skinny as a boy and barely rippled, and I liked feeling almost naked on the hot summer nights.

You're still vulnerable, because you still don't have faith in yourself, you talk a little fliply, a little too wisely, just to cover up so you won't be accused of sentimentality or emotionalism or feminine tactics.

Since my woman's world is perceived greatly through the emotions and the senses, I treat it that way in my writing - and am often overweighted with heavy descriptive passages and a kaleidoscope of similes.

I am part man, and I notice women's breasts and thighs with the calculation of a man choosing a mistress ... but that is the artist and the analytical attitude toward the female body ... for I am more a woman; even as I long for full breasts and a beautiful body, so do I abhor the sensuousness which they bring ... I desire the things which will destroy me in the end...

I remembered a worrisome course in the Victorian novel where woman after woman died, palely and nobly, in torrents of blood, after a difficult childbirth.

These are my hands My knees I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman

Seré una de las pocas poetisas en el mundo completamente feliz de ser mujer, no una de esas amargadas y frustradas, retorcidas imitadoras de hombres, que en su mayoría acaban destrozadas

Now the one thing this article didn't seem to me to consider was how a girl felt.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.

Perchè mi sento libera di scriverle [le parole]? La mia identità prende forma, si modella - sento che i racconti fioriscono mentre leggo la raccolta del New Yorker - sì, quanto i tempi saranno maturi, io sarò tra loro - le poetesse, le autrici.

Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair-

The lady of situations.

Uncorsetted, her friendly bust Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.

The secret of the charm of the lotus is that none can say wherin its beauty lies; for some say this, and some say that, but all agree that it is beautiful. And so indeed it is with woman.

Inside I am a beautiful woman,' Okha said... 'The Trickster tapped me in my mother's womb and placed me in this man's shell.

Boys worry just as much about their looks as girls do. We only hide it better.

Electra Chenti in crimson almost black, a diadem of Grechian influence in her uncombed hair from which unravelled a veil like a golden spider's web, studied her narrow hands and the thirteen rings that gripped her fingers. She cared little for any of them. There was only one she hated-on the marriage finger of her left hand. The scalding room had not tinted her white cheeks at all. Yet she had warned a fraction. To a perverse, bitter joy that her daughter, too, must suffer marriage.

Only a woman could make so much out of so little. Give them a single fact and they'd fashion it into a story before taking a single breath.

All pretty girls are a trap, a pretty trap, and men expect them to be.