Quotes About Femininity

We can all be beautiful girls.

And all that pink. It's like a giant vagina in there

The language of solace, and comets, and the girls we all become, in the end.

And all that pink. It's like a giant vagina in there.

What do women really want? They eat green salad and drink human blood.

Going up, Herzong found a bouquet of violets, dropped from the hand of a woman. Perhaps a bride. Little perfume remained in them, but they made him remember... These violets smelled to him like female tears. He gave them a burial in the trash ca, hoping they had not dropped from a disappointed hand.

Still women- women. They do themselves more credit, there's more reality in women. They live closer to their nature. They have to. It's more with them. They have the breasts. They see their blood, and it does them good, while men are led to be vainer.

Would never understand what women want. What do they want? They breath salad and drink human blood.

Her hips were long and narrow, her bust was large, and she wore close-fitting skirts and sweaters and high heels that gave a tight arch of impatience to the muscles of her calves; her step was small and pretty and her laughter violent, total, and critical.

She was a bathing beauty—short, the usual breasts, hips, and smooth thighs.

she, although in a self-solicitous way, was a beautiful piece of tall work, on colossal but careful legs, hips forward; her mouth was big and would have been perfect if there hadn't been something self-tasting in it, eyes with complicated lids but magnificent in their slow heaviness, an erotic development. So that she had to cast

The elderly ladies were rouged and mascaraed and hennaed and used blue hair rinse and eye shadow and wore costume jewelry, and many of them were proud and stared at you with expressions that did not belong to their age.

It was the middle-class female solidarity, defending a nice girl from charges of calculation and viciousness. Nice girls marry for love. But should they fall out of love, they must be free to love another. No decent husband will oppose the heart.

How lovely she could be! her face was gay and round, pink, the blue of her eyes was clear. Very different from the terrifying menstrual ice of her rages, the look of the murderess.

I presented my feminine side with flowers. She cut the stems and placed them gently down my throat. And these tu lips might soon eclipse your brightest hopes.

Her fine high forehead sloped gently up to where her hair, bordering it like an armorial shield, burst into lovelocks and waves and curlicues of ash blonde and gold. Her eyes were bright, big, clear, wet and shining, the colour of her cheeks was real, breaking close to the surface from the strong young pump of her heart. Her body hovered delicately on the last edge of childhood -- she was almost eighteen, nearly complete, but the dew was still on her.

She was a soldier, not some girl twisting her skirts at a village dance.

Donde no hay mujeres no existen los buenos modales

Men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at.

You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, you put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting Vanity, thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for your own pleasure. The real function of the mirror was otherwise. It was to make the woman connive in treating herself as, first and foremost, a sight.

Lace is a kind of white writing which you can only read when there's skin behind it.

El modo esencial de ver a las mujeres, el uso esencial al que se destinaban sus imágenes no ha cambiado. Las mujeres son representadas de un modo completamente distinto a los hombres, y no porque lo femenino sea distinto a lo masculino, sino porque siempre se supone que el espectador ideal es varón y la imagen de la mujer está destina a adularle.

A woman must continually watch herself. She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of herself. Whilst she is walking across a room or whilst she is weeping at the death of her father, she can scarcely avoid envisaging herself walking or weeping. From earliest childhood she has been taught and persuaded to survey herself continually. (Page 40)

You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting "Vanity," thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure.