Let me take a minute to say that I love bossy women. Some people hate the word, and I understand how "bossy" can seem like a shitty way to describe a woman with a determined point of view, but for me, a bossy woman is someone to search out and celebrate. A bossy woman is someone who cares and commits and is a natural leader.
If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often under an illusion about women: they do not read them in a true light: they misapprehend them, both for good and evil: their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend.
I tell my christian relatives that "churchianity" is the central reason the church is not teeming with young people. The hypocrisy within the church is not concealed from this growing, informed generation. The arrogance among church goers is unnerving, Jesus was such a humble individual to begin with, he did not discriminate.
Høibro kunde ikke forstå at denne tørre fremskridtskvinde med kort hår blandet sig i slike spørsmål som ægteskapet, hun stod i hans forestilling som en art hanmenneske i skjørter, et væsen av det tredje kjøn; stak man hul på hende vilde hun blø sand.
I got nervous at bulls and eagles,Trying to figure what shape Zeus might take for sexWhen it could be your turn next. But now I don't care any longer,I've come to my senses, your profile leaves me cold.Why am I different? you ask. I'll tell you. Because you keep naggingFor presents. That's what turns me off.
Over your breasts of motionless current,over your legs of firmness and water,over the permanence and the prideof your naked hairI want to be, my love, now that the tears arethrowninto the raucous baskets where they accumulate,I want to be, my love, alone with a syllableof mangled silver, alone with a tip of your breast of snow.
Po t'a kisha pase ne dore do ta grisesha carcafin dhe nuk do ta lejsha femnen pa shkolle, pse grueja asht themeli i shoqnis njerezore, pse ajo asht burimi i moralit, pse ajo eshte nyja e shenjte e qenejes, pse ajo e mbjell faren e dashunis vellazenore ne mes njerezve. E kur ajo lihet mbas dore vuen e tane shoqnia njerezore.
মেয়েমানুষের এরকম হয়, ওরকম হয়, সব রকম হয়, শুধু মনের মত হয় না।
She could walk through a lightning storm without being touched; grab a bolt of lightning in the palm of her hand; use the heat of lightning to start the kindling going under her medicine pot. She turned the moon into salve, the stars into swaddling cloth, and healed the wounds of every creature walking up on two or down on four.
She was not the sort of woman guys settle for. She was the one they lust after and strive for. She was the one who ruins other people's relationships simply by existing, but she will always be surmounted as guys come to realize the virtues of the approachable girl next door. She was, in brief, too pretty to be trusted or had.
En el brillo frío de tus ojos y en la risa inhumana de tu boca y también en la olímpica frivolidad de tus razones y de tus gráciles velos, he adivinado que eres uno de estos crueles númenes que vengan alguna antigua y secreta afrenta olvidada ya hasta de los mitólogos más eruditos.
It is a merciful provision my dears, for it takes three or four women to get each man into, through, and out of the world. You are costly creatures, boys, and it is well that mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters love their duty and do it so well, or you would perish off the face of the earth,' said Mrs. Jo solemnly…
You know, I've been thinking: all the women in the books you like -- Sartre and Camus and all that -- they don't really exist. Not as people. They're only there to wait for the men. To love them and be loved back or not -- mostly not; to be beaten up or killed; to appear as a face on the wall of Meurseault's cell--
And you know women, they're both back there turning it into the crime of the century. Planting it in a little garden in the center of their hearts and watering it with feelings. Talking about it, sharing it. You're a cheat, you're a heartbreaker, you're like a museum exhibit, Everything That's Wrong with Guys.
perhaps the greatest challenge to thinking women is the challenge to move from the desire for safety and approval to the most "unfeminine" quality of all -- that of intllectual arrogance, the supreme hubris which asserts to itself the right to reorder the world. The Hubris of the god makers, the hubris of the male-system builders.
