A woman is not written in braille, you don’t have to touch her to know her.
520,642 notes (via brokenmachine & quotethat)
A man once asked me … how I managed in my books to write such natural conversation between men when they were by themselves. Was I, by any chance, a member of a large, mixed family with a lot of male friends? I replied that, on the contrary, I was an only child and had practically never seen or spoken to any men of my own age till I was about twenty-five. “Well,” said the man, “I shouldn’t have expected a woman (meaning me) to have been able to make it so convincing.” I replied that I had coped with this difficult problem by making my men talk, as far as possible, like ordinary human beings. This aspect of the matter seemed to surprise the other speaker; he said no more, but took it away to chew it over. One of these days it may quite likely occur to him that women, as well as men, when left to themselves, talk very much like human beings also.
Dorothy L. Sayers, Are Women Human?: Astute and Witty Essays on the Role of Women in Society
Book Geek Quote #445
9,571 notes (via youdontlooklikeafeminist & bookgeekconfessions)
You love me despite myself, sometimes I fight myself…I just can’t believe that you would have anything to do with someone so insecure, someone so immature; oh you inspire me, to be the higher me…You made my desire pure.
— Lauryn Hill, I Gotta Find Peace of Mind (via chewmytruth
8 notes (via 8daysaweek-em & chewmytruth)
If you are a woman, everything revolves around whether or not someone wants to fuck you. Instead of addressing “all bodies are beautiful” how about, “it is not necessary to be universally fuckable”?
23,796 notes (via thefemcritique & genderagnostic)
My face is a weapon, says things like don’t look at me and I don’t trust you and you will regret even thinking about it. This is why you won’t get that smile you asked for sir, it’s not just because I’m scared but because I want you to feel scared, too. I want you to know that, while you may be my alternate universe father boyfriend brother, right here and right now you’re a stranger dressed in shadows, a suspect. Maybe in different circumstances, your presence would comfort me, make me feel safe. But there are no maybes I’m willing to indulge in, not tonight or any other night. I have no reason to let my guard down, not when it’s very dark out and I’m walking home alone and I’m a woman.
1,779 notes (via loveyourchaos & burrito-princess)
When you grow up as a girl, the world tells you the things that you are supposed to be: emotional, loving, beautiful, wanted. And then when you are those things, the world tells you they are inferior: illogical, weak, vain, empty. The world teaches you that the way you exist in it is disgusting — you watch boys cringe backward in your dorm room when you talk about your period, blue water pretending to be blood in a maxi pad commercial. It is little things, and it is constant. In a food court in a mall, after you go to the gynecologist for the first time, you and your friend talk about how much it hurts, and over her shoulder you watch two boys your age turn to look at you and wrinkle their noses: the reality of your life is impolite to talk about. The world says that you don’t have a right to the space you occupy, any place with men in it is not yours, you and your body exist only as far as what men want to do with it. At fifteen, you find fifteen-year-old boys you have never met somehow believe you should bend your body to their will. At almost thirty, you find fifteen-year-old boys you have never met still somehow believe you should bend your body to their will. They are children. They are children.
114,366 notes (via becauseiamawoman & whisperingwordsofwisdom)