Quotes About Women

When I graduated from Brown after majoring in women's studies, I made my first PBS documentary, 'Women of Substance.' My first feature documentary was called 'American Hollow,' which I did for HBO and was at the Sundance Film Festival.

Sundance is the only hand that feeds for women directors.

The women's movement in Korea is a Juche-oriented movement, which was pioneered by the great Comrade Kim Il Sung and which followed the proud road of development under the leadership of Comrades Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il.

Comrade Kim Jong Il energetically led the work of defending and honouring Comrade Kim Il Sung's ideas of and exploits in the Juche-oriented women's movement.

Before 'Sunny' came along, I would audition and do chemistry reads with very funny actors. And then they would cast someone who was beautiful and benign. I don't think that very funny men wanted to headline with very funny women. They wanted to be the funny ones, and they wanted the wife to be the wife. That was very frustrating.

Only the long melancholy call to prayer, or the wail of women over the dead, or the barking of dogs, breaks the silence which at sunset falls as a pall over Baghdad.

I would love to see women be able to be powerful, complex, smart, opinionated and taken seriously, even if they are beautiful. Even more, I would love to see women held to different standards, other than the superficial ones that we're held to.

A sufficient and sure method of civilization is in the influence of good women.

Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity. They live inside the gift, know power, accept, and need not mention it. Why speak of time when you are Time, and shape the universal moments, as they pass, into warmth and action? How men envy and often hate these warm clocks, these wives, who know they will live forever.

The odors of perfume were fanned out on the summer air by the whirling vents of the grottoes where the women hid like undersea creatures, under electric cones, their hair curled into wild whorls and peaks, their eyes shrewd and glassy, animal and sly, their mouths painted a neon red.

He carries no burden, he feels no pain. What man, like woman, lies down in the darkness and gets up with child? The gentle, smiling ones own the good secret. Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make flesh that holds fast and binds eternity.

Women never wake then, do they? They sleep the sleep of babes and children.

Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity.

Softly, softly, like two white paper lanterns on a night wind, the women moved over their lifetime and their past, and over the meadows where the tent cities glowed and the highways where supply trucks would be clustered and running until dawn. They hovered above it all for a long time.

How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, something real?' And then he shut up, for he remembered last week and the two white stones staring up at the ceiling and the limp snake with the probing eye and the two soap-faced men with the cigarettes movies in their mouths when they talked. but that was another Mildred, that was a Mildred so deep inside this one , and so bothered, really bothered, that the two women had never met.

Rollo May says there is so much violence in American society today because there are no more great myths to help young men and women relate to the world or to understand that world beyond what is seen.

It's queer how out of touch with truth women are. They live in a world of their own, and there had never been anything like it, and never can be. It is too beautiful altogether, and if they were to set it up it would go to pieces before the first sunset. Some confounded fact we men have been living contentedly with ever since the day of creation would start up and knock the whole thing over.

It's queer how out of touch with truth women are. They live in a world of their own, and there has never been anything like it, and never can be.

It's queer how out of touch with truth women are. They live in a world of their own, and there had never been anything

Two women, one fat and the other slim, sat on straw-bottomed chairs, knitting black wool. The slim one got up and walked straight at me—still knitting with downcast eyes—and only just as I began to think of getting out of her way, as you would for a somnambulist, stood still, and looked up. Her dress was as plain as an umbrella-cover, and she turned round without a word and preceded me into a waiting-room.

Kummallista, miten naisilta puuttuu kosketus totuuteen. He elävät omassa maailmassaan, jonka kaltaista ei ole koskaan ollut eikä voi koskaan tulla. Se on kerta kaikkiaan liian kaunis, ja jos he sellaisen saisivat pannuksi pystyyn, se menisi pirstaleiksi ennen ensimmäistä päivänlaskua. Jokin kirottu tosiasia, jonka kanssa me miehet olemme luomisen päivästä asti eläneet kaikessa sovussa, ponkaisisi pystyyn ja kaataisi koko kapistuksen.

It's queer how out of touch with truth women are. They live in a world of their own, and there has never been anything like it, and never can be. It is too beautiful altogether, and if they were to set it up it would go to pieces before the first sunset. Some confounded fact we men have been living contentedly with ever since the day of creation would start up and knock the whole thing over.

Our common fate fastens upon the women with a peculiar cruelty. It does not punish like a master, but inflicts lingering torment, as if to gratify a secret, unappeasable spite. One would think that, appointed to rule on earth, it seeks to revenge itself upon the beings that come nearest to rising above the trammels of earthly caution; for it is only women who manage to put at times into their love an element just palpable enough to give one a fright — an extra-terrestrial touch.

It is only women who manage to put at times into their love an element just palpable enough to give one a fright—an extra-terrestrial touch. I ask myself with wonder—how the world can look to them—whether it has the shape and substance `we know, the air `we breathe! Sometimes I fancy it must be a region of unreasonable sublimities seething with the excitement of their adventurous souls, lighted by the glory of all possible risks and renunciations.