Quotes About Women

An intelligent woman is a goldmine! She has the ability to learn, reason and understand things better and faster than her contemporaries. She is competent, alert and can reason out stuffs easily.

Ladies, get confident bout yourselves, build up your self-worth and esteem, love yourself and be proud of your achievements and your man will adore you for life.

Women have no sympathy and my experience of women is almost as large as Europe.

Gynaecologists are very smooth indeed. Because they have to listen to woeful and sordid symptoms they develop an expression of refinement and sympathy.

I think hidden underneath a lot of teachers are very sexy women.

It was as if the two women represented the poles of his desires, one of them forthright, spontaneous and simple in her tastes; the other engimatic, sophisticated, wedded to luxury.

the Jews' religion. Not money, not gold. The diploma. But behind this faith in the diploma there was something else, something more complicated, more secret, and that is that girls in those days, even modern girls, like us, girls who went to school and then to university, were always taught that women are entitled to an education

The women advised long walks. They told the wife to watch the sun rise and set, to look for solace in the natural world, though they admitted there was no comfort to be found in the world and they would all be fools to expect it.

My mother could sense that the women of these families also had unspeakable tragedies they had left behind in China and hopes they couldn't begin to express in their fragile English.

Also, I do not like the companionship of women. They are petty and personal. They hang on to their mysteries and secrets, they act and pretend. I like the character of men better.

Things I forgot to tell you: That I love you, and that when I awake in the morning I use my intelligence to discover more ways of appreciating you. That when June comes back she will love you more because I have loved you. There are new leaves on the tip and climax of your already overrich head. That I love you. That I love you. That I love you. I have become an idiot like Gertrude Stein. That's what love does to intelligent women. They cannot write letters anymore.

For too many centuries women have been being muses to artists. I wanted to be the muse, I wanted to be the wife of the artist, but I was really trying to avoid the final issue — that I had to do the job myself.

My first vision of earth was water veiled. I am of the race of men and women who see all things through this curtain of sea, and my eyes are the color of water.

I have seen romanticism outlast the realistic. I have seen men forget the beautiful women they have possessed, forget the prostitutes, and remember the first woman they idolized, the woman they could never have. The woman who aroused them romantically holds them.

I looked at it [revolver] as if it reminded me of a crime I had committed with an irrepressible smile such as rises sometimes to people's lips in the face of great catastrophes which are beyond their grasp, the smile that comes at times on certain women's faces while they are saying they regret the harm they have done. It is the smile of nature quietly and proudly asserting its natural right to kill.

I said, If there is an explanation of the mystery, it is this: the love between women is a refuge and an escape into harmony and narcissism in place of conflict.

I wanted to hear women with musical voices, women soft and undulating, women all women, slaves maybe, dupes too, but what matter . . . women.

It astonishes me how delicately you can make distinctions between women. There was a marvellous paragraph on that. Among one hundred women you will distinguish five. It is more than Don Juan ever did.

Point was that Poe's mother died of consumption when he was 3. He sought the image of her in several other women, including the consumption, the lingering death etc. The dying women haunt his work, dominate it (perhaps as cruel women have haunted and dominated you). Dying women arrested the living flow of his sensuality. His sensuality became necrophilic. Et puis après?

I have become an idiot like Gertrude Stein. That's what love does to intelligent women. They cannot write letters anymore.

Odio a los hombres que temen la fuerza de las mujeres. Probablemente Jean amaba su fuerza, su poder destructivo. Porque June es destrucción.

Men think they live and die for ideas. What a divine joke. They live and die for emotional, personal errors, just as women do.

Vienna! The name is magic to me (no, I don't destroy magic!) and I wanted to be so happy there with June, with Vienna, with her women, her lovely boulevards, her desuetude, her softness.

el amor entre mujeres es un refugio y un escape hacia la armonía. En el amor entre hombre y mujer hay resistencia y conflicto, dos mujeres no se juzgan mutuamente, no se embrutecen mutuamente, no buscan nada que ridiculizar. Se rinden al sentimentalismo, a la comprensión mutua, al romanticismo. Ese amor es la muerte, lo admito.