Quotes About Femininity

Men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only most relations between men and women but also the relation of women to themselves. The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed is female. Thus she turns herself into an object of vision: a sight.

Springwater grow so thick it gonna clot and the pleasing ladies cease. I figure, yup, you is bad powers.

Undoubtedly the dress of a virtuous and godly woman must differ from that of a strumpet.

Men are men, but Man is a woman. —Chesterton

It is that flavor exuded by women who have fashioned an earthy and simplified sexual adjustment to their environment, borne their young, achieved an unthinking physical confidence. They are often placidly unkempt, even grubby, taking no interest in the niceties of posture. They have a slow relish for the physical spectrum of food, sun, deep sleep, the needs of children, the caressess of affection. There is a tiny magnificance about them, like the sultry dignity of she-lions.

Her pure, and eloquent bloodSpoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought,That one might almost say, her body thought.

All heiresses are beautiful.

In France, older women are considered sensual, and they don't have to mask the lines and wrinkles and erase every sign of their life on earth to be attractive and get laid.

Women are the cradles of life. What sort of man tries to break a cradle (Marc)

It makes me feel like a woman. It makes me feel that all the things about my body are suddenly there for a reason. It makes you feel round and supple, and to have a little life inside you is amazing.

For most of my life the only ceremonies I've been to at which women were the stars were weddings. So I like weddings.

Female artists are the perfect example of a creator: They know how to make life and art with their bodies. Life comes from their bodies, so on a very basic level, they have more to write about.

She--the unnamed lady--simply drew his hands to the Paleolithic places men always have grown tumid from feeling, like the outward cradle of the hips within which a fetus will reside and her breasts that will nourish it, once born.

No, women like you don't write. They carve onion sculptures and potato statues. They sit in dark corners and braid their hair in new shapes and twists in order to control the stiffness, the unruliness, the rebelliousness.

The women in your family have never lost touch with one another. Death is a path we take to meet on the other side.

Femininity proves to be a woman and masculinity to be a man. The rest is just the texture, not the reality.

The beautiful woman does not need to kill anyone with the gun since her beauty is itself an effective weapon, and it is not a crime under the criminal law too.

Opening her handbag, she took out a small bottle of perfume and touched the stopper behind her ears. Its cool, glassy edge felt like her only point of contact with tangible reality.

jumped and spun. Ten paces back along the path stood a luminous woman dressed in

To be secure everywhere is the mark of sophistication. To be unshakeable is the mark of courage. To be permanently in love with every person is the mark of masculinity or femininity. To forgive is the mark of strength. To govern our senses and passions is the mark of freedom.

To be secure everywhere is the mark of sophistication, to be unshakable is the mark of courage, to be permanently in love with every person is the mark of masculinity or femininity, to forgive is the mark of strength, to govern our senses and passions is the mark of freedom.

A woman's body does a thousand different things, toils, runs, studies, fantasizes, invents, wearies, and meanwhile the breasts enlarge, the lips of the sex swell, the flesh throbs with a round life that is yours, your life, and yet pushes elsewhere, draws away from you although it inhabits your belly, joyful and weighty, felt as a greedy impulse and yet repellent, like an insect's poison injected into a vein.

What's got into me? Do I want children? Do I want to be a mamma, nursing and singing lullabies? Marriage plus pregnancy? And if my mother should emerge from my stomach just now when I think I'm safe?

Vi imagens rápidas e apagadas na minha cabeça, frase inteiras pronunciadas rapidamente, um sussurro. Me dei conta de que não vinham corretamente os tempos verbais, culpa daquele despertar desordenado. O tempo é um respiro, pensei, hoje sou eu, daqui a pouco minha filha, tinha acontecido com a minha mãe, com todas as minhas antepassadas, talvez ainda acontecesse a elas — a elas e a mim, simultaneamente, acontecerá.