Quotes About Femininity

Becoming the new feminine ideal requires just the right combination of insecurity, exercise, bulimia and surgery.

I can be a lady - surprise!

You'd be surprised. Girls like sensitive, namby-pamby guys.

I don't go up to guys. I'm all about a guy sending me flowers, getting me chocolates and surprising me.

I don't believe that a female character needs to surrender her femininity in order to be an action hero.

Her eyes were wide-set and there was thinking room between them. Their color was lapis-lazuli blue and the color of her hair was dusky red, like a fire under control but still dangerous. She was too tall to be cute. She wore plenty of make-up in the right places and the cigarette she was poking at me had a built-on mouthpiece about three inches long. She didn't look hard, but she looked as if she had heard all the answers and remembered the ones she thought she might be able to use sometime.

She approached me with enough sex appeal to stampede a businessmen's lunch and tilted her head to finger a stray, but not very stray, tendril of softly glowing hair. Her smile was tentative, but could be persuaded to be nice.

I opened the other envelope. It contained a photograph of a girl. The pose suggested a natural ease, or a lot of experience in being photographed. It showed darkish hair which might possibly have been red, a wide clear forehead, serious eyes, high cheekbones, nervous nostrils and a mouth which was not giving anything away. It was a fine-drawn, almost a taut face, and not a happy one

Dames lie about anything - just for practice.

She thought. It was nice to watch her thinking. She still had her legs crossed, and still carelessly.

She had that fine-drawn intense look that is sometimes neurotic, sometimes sex-hungry, and sometimes just the result of drastic dieting. I

It's so hard for women – even nice women – to realize that their bodies are not irresistible.

She was quite a doll. She wore a white belted raincoat, no hat, a well-cherished head of platinum hair, booties to match the raincoat, a folding plastic umbrella, a pair of blue-gray eyes that looked at me as if I had said a dirty word.

Her hand was small and had shape, not the usual bony garden tool you see on women nowadays.

The calves were beautiful, the ankles long and slim and with enough melodic line for a tone poem.

She went out slowly. The way she did it hadn't been learned at business college.

While covering her from neck to ankles, it was thin and clung to her figure with alarming tenacity.

In the myths, women keep turning into other things because being a woman is too difficult, too dangerous.

When Giverny came out with a Gemina B. perfume advertised as with the slogan 'the fatal flower', I wondered if women should aspire to smell like a mutilated corpse.

The moon loved them. Not because they were beautiful, or because they were perfect, or because they were perky, but because they were her darling daughters.

Sidda was tired of being vigilant, alert, sharp. She longed for porch friendship, for the sticky, hot sensation of familiar female legs thrown over hers in companionship. She pined for the girlness of it all, the unplanned, improvisational laziness. She wanted to soak the words time management out of her lexicon. She wanted to hand over, to yield, to let herself float down into the uncharted beautiful fertile musky swamp of life, where creativity and eroticism and deep intelligence dwell.

Très Ya-Ya-No!

That shows how impossible it is to be a woman. One's whole life depends on one's looks but one mayn't speak of one's own beauty

There is no human alive today who was not created and held inside the living altar of a woman.