Quotes About Masculinity

Por qué nos inquieta un hombre bañado en lágrimas? Una mujer que llora puede considerarse una parte excepcional pero conmovedora y digna de pena, de nuestra vida cotidiana, la acogemos con sinceridad y cariño. Pero ante un hombre que llora nos llena un sentimiento de desesperación. Es como si para él hubiera llegado el fin del mundo o como si él hubiera llegado al límite de lo que podía hacer.

Only stupid men trying to seem smart need to be with dumb women. Only weak men trying to look strong are attracted to compliant women.

It was not right, thought Han Fei-tzu, for his wife to die before him: her ancestor-of-the-heart had outlived her husband. Besides, wives should live longer than husbands. Women were more complete inside themselves. They were also better at living in their children. They were never as solitary as a man alone.

How do men become manly, if not by putting it on as an act until it becomes habit and then, finally, their character?

Football is all very well as a game for rough girls, but is hardly suitable for delicate boys.

A man without a mustache is a man without a soul.

Come on, Avery. Fresh tears stained her cheeks. Her voice shook. Wake up, damn it! She sobbed, rocking forward and back, her arms wrapping tightly around his big body. Don't you want to shout at me for disobeying you, you overbearing, domineering male? She squeezed her eyes shut and bit hard on her lip. He couldn't die. He was too stubborn, too alive, too vigorous. And she couldn't lose him. She loved him too much. I… am a… gentleman, she heard him gasp. I never shout at women.

All patched up out of parts and lowslung and bumping over the ruts. Filled with old lanky country boys with long cocks and big feet.

Was it just a coincidence that the only women who rose through the ranks in this industry acted like poster children for toxic masculinity? Was that my future, if I stayed in the business?

Go home, put on a pretty dress, some heels, and some lipstick, flirt with him, flatter him, and never forget how insecure men are. It's because they take themselves far too seriously.

He didn't put it in these terms, and I'm not even sure if he knew this was what he was saying, but his message was: Act like a guy. It was a message that turned out to be invaluable.

She was only really a female to him. But perhaps that was better. And after all, he was kind to the female in her, which no man had ever been. Men were very kind to the person she was, but rather cruel to the female, despising her or ignoring her altogether. Men were awfully kind to Constance Reid or to Lady Chatterley; but not to her womb they weren't kind. And he took no notice of Constance or of Lady Chatterley; he just softly stroked her loins or her breasts.

His maleness bores me. Nothing is so boring as the phallus, so inherently stupid and stupidly conceited.

And as he loped slowly past her, on his flexible hips, it seemed to her still that he was stronger than she was. Of all the men she had ever seen, this one was the only one who was stronger than she was, in her own kind of strength, her own kind of understanding.

Because I feel you did something to him - sort of broke him - broke his manliness. What did you do? If I broke his manliness, it must have been a very easy thing to break.

One is so much harder if one has a touch of the man in one, don't you think, and more able to bear things.  But I'm afraid I'm all woman.

I don't hate men because they're men, as nuns do. I dislike them because they're not men enough: babies, and playboys, and poor things showing off all the time, even to themselves. I don't say I'm any better. I only wish, with all my soul, that some men were bigger and stronger and deeper than I am...

All men are babies, when you come to the bottom of them. Why, I've handled some of the toughest customers as ever went down Tevershall pit. But let anything ail them so that you have to do for them, and they're babies, just big babies. Oh, there's not much difference in men!

could feel the male in him, something cold and triumphant

As my father talked, tears dripped down the side of his face like candle wax. The sight shocked me; until that moment, I had assumed men were as incapable of crying as they were of having babies.

It could probably qualify as an epidemic among American men: this stubborn reluctance to embrace our wholeness, this stoic denial that we had come from our mothers as well as our fathers. It was sad, really-tragic. So wasteful of human lives, as our wars and drive-by shootings kept proving to us; all one had to do was turn on CNN or CBS News. And yet, it was comic, too—the lengths most men went to to prove that they were tough guys.

Male bonding groups are associations of loners. The male values a companion whom he can stand up against and who can stand up against him: each receives assurance from the other's decently adversative stance, for it reminds him of his own needs and resources. This masculine intense friendly aggression is foreign to most women's experience.

He said that a men's work cloths are the only real cloths he has.

Men are weak, Mr. Rawlins. They're strong of arm but frail in their hearts. They need forgiveness more than women do.