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Home Individuality Well-behaved women seldom make history.

IndividualityInspirational Quotes

Well-behaved women seldom make history.

Polly, January 21, 2013

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Tags : Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

He who believes is strong; he who doubts is weak. Strong convictions precede great actions.

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Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.

Polly

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Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.

Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.

Maybe I couldn’t make it. Maybe I don’t have a pretty smile, good teeth, nice tits, long legs, a cheeky ass, a sexy voice. Maybe I don’t know how to handle men and increase my market value, so that the rewards due to the feminine will accrue to me. Then again, maybe I’m sick of the masquerade. I’m sick of pretending eternal youth. I’m sick of belying my own intelligence, my own will, my own sex. I’m sick of peering at the world through false eyelashes, so everything I see is mixed with a shadow of bought hairs; I’m sick of weighting my head with a dead mane, unable to move my neck freely, terrified of rain, of wind, of dancing too vigorously in case I sweat into my lacquered curls. I’m sick of the Powder Room. I’m sick of pretending that some fatuous male’s self-important pronouncements are the objects of my undivided attention, I’m sick of going to films and plays when someone else wants to, and sick of having no opinions of my own about either. I’m sick of being a transvestite. I refuse to be a female impersonator. I am a woman, not a castrate.

Maybe I couldn’t make it. Maybe I don’t have a pretty smile, good teeth, nice tits, long legs, a cheeky ass, a sexy voice. Maybe I don’t know how to handle men and increase my market value, so that the rewards due to the feminine will accrue to me. Then again, maybe I’m sick of the masquerade. I’m sick of pretending eternal youth. I’m sick of belying my own intelligence, my own will, my own sex. I’m sick of peering at the world through false eyelashes, so everything I see is mixed with a shadow of bought hairs; I’m sick of weighting my head with a dead mane, unable to move my neck freely, terrified of rain, of wind, of dancing too vigorously in case I sweat into my lacquered curls. I’m sick of the Powder Room. I’m sick of pretending that some fatuous male’s self-important pronouncements are the objects of my undivided attention, I’m sick of going to films and plays when someone else wants to, and sick of having no opinions of my own about either. I’m sick of being a transvestite. I refuse to be a female impersonator. I am a woman, not a castrate.

Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are.

Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are.

Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.

Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.

Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of eighty and gradually approach eighteen.

Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of eighty and gradually approach eighteen.

An injury is much sooner forgotten than an insult.

An injury is much sooner forgotten than an insult.

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