Look Like A Lady Quotes & Sayings

More than once, while staring at the wall, I'd thought of Our Lady. I wanted to talk to her, to say, Where do I go from here? But when I'd seen her earlier, when August and I had first come in, she didn't look like she could be of service to anybody, bound up with all that chain around her. You want the one you're praying to at least to look capable. I dragged myself out of bed and went to see her anyway. I decided that even Mary did not need to be one hundred percent capable all the time. The only thing I wanted was for her to understand. Somebody to let out a big sigh and say, You poor thing, I know how you feel. Given a choice, I preferred someone to understand my situation, even though she was helpless to fix it, rather than the other way around. But that's just me. Right — Sue Monk Kidd

Look like a girl, act like a lady, think like a man and work like a dog. — Caroline K. Simon

I let you sleep, Sam," said Lady Sybil. "You didn't get in this morning until after three."
"Everyone's double-shifting, dear," said Sam, daring Carrot and Sally to even think about telling anyone they'd seen the boss wearing a blue shawl covered in ducks. "I've got to set a good example."
"I'm sure you intend to, Sam, but you look like a horrible warning," said Sybil. — Terry Pratchett

I don't know where the characters are going to go or what's going to happen. I know that something inevitable will happen. I know that they want certain things and they're in a certain room and they smell like this and they look like that. More often than not, an entropy creeps in that strangles me, and then the inevitable happens. I don't know if I have the ability to write an ending like My Fair Lady's, when everyone gets what they want after a few minor conflicts. If I tried to write that it would just be false. Or I'd have someone enter with a machine gun. — Adam Rapp

Harry Potter," a voice says from my left. "Have you tried reading the Bible?" A woman, mid-forties, judgment scribbled all over her pinched, powdered face. Why do Bible lovers always have that constipated look on their face? Don't stereotype, Helena! I do my best to smile politely. "Is that the book where that lady turns into a statue after looking back at a burning city after God told her not to?" I say. "And where three defiant men are thrown into a furnace and don't burn. Oh, and isn't there a gal who feeds and puts to sleep the general of an enemy's army, and then uses a mallet to drive a tent peg into his brain?" She looks at me blankly. "But those are true. And that," she says, pointing to Harry, "is fiction. Not to mention devil worship." "Uh huh, uh huh. Devil worship? Is that like when the Israelites made a cow god of gold and worshipped it?" She's enraged. "You would love this book," I say, shoving The Goblet of Fire at her. "It's PG-rated compared to the Bible." "You, — Tarryn Fisher

I don't want any money."
I put the wallet away.
She said: "What are you going to do about last night?"
"What should I do?"
"Kill that son of a bitch."
"And fry?"
"You're too smart to fry."
"Maybe," I said. "But, lady, I've been drawing the line at murder lately."
She lay against the pillow, watching me. Her skin was dead white and it made the black eyes look big. She wasn't young, but she was still good-looking. Her shoulders were round and firm. As far as I could tell she was naked under the sheet. I sat down on a rocking-chair. It creaked under my weight.
"But you want to get him, don't you?" she asked.
"I wouldn't mind."
"Neither would I," she said.
"He's pretty tough for a gal to tackle."
"He knocked out my teeth."
The way she said it, it sounded like a good reason for bumping off a man. Maybe it was, at that. A girl likes to hold on to her teeth. — Jonathan Latimer

I would like to point out, though, Lady Georgiana," he continued, "that you have decided to stay in a household with five single gentlemen, three of them adults."
"Four," Andrew broke in, coloring. "I'm seventeen. That's older than Romeo was when he married Juliet."
"And it's younger than I am, which is what counts," Tristan countered, sending his brother a stern look. — Suzanne Enoch

Native plants give us a sense of where we are in this great land of ours. I want Texas to look like Texas and Vermont to look like Vermont. — Lady Bird Johnson

I had a moment to wonder just what he did at David Emerson's, which really was where Libertyville's elite bought. Was he a salesman? I could see him showing some smart young lady around, saying, Here's one fuck of a nice couch, ma'am, and look at this goddam settee, we sure didn't have nothing like that on Guadalcanal when those fucking stoned-out Japs came at us with their Maxwell House swords. — Stephen King

Xanthippe recognized it." "She would," his mother said. "She once called for its destruction." "And you didn't think she'd wonder why I was in possession of it?" She shrugged. "Xan was my backup plan if you were too slow." His mother had basically planned to set a half-mad dragon on him. She didn't care if it would have made him look like an idiot: What do you mean Tempus? I've made no Tempus. I'm wearing my mother's diamond chain. Why? She told me to. If it weren't for the bitter smell of fire surrounding them, he might've laughed at the absurdity of it. Lady Voclain was more devious and ruthless than the rest of the Bloodkin put together. Her own son! — Erin Kellison

Flowers in the city are like lipstick on a woman-it just makes you look better to have a little color. — Lady Bird Johnson

I know what I look like. I'm not a babe who's automatically going to be the leading-lady type. I think I would always be cast as the friend. I probably tend to look crap more often than I look good. I like messing around and pulling funny faces and doing funny walks. — Ashley Jensen

I love the art history ones because it's so little work for me. There's so many paintings that when I look at them, the look on the lady's face is like so clear and her body language and her posture or their physical situation is so immediately recognizable. Anyone who's been in a conversation they didn't want to have, or been getting harangued by a little kid they didn't want to pay attention to or been tired and wanted to go to bed is just like, "Yes, of course." — Mallory Ortberg

I love tulips better than any other spring flower; they are the embodiment of alert cheerfulness and tidy grace, and next to a hyacinth look like a wholesome, freshly tubbed young girl beside a stout lady whose every movement weighs down the air with patchouli. Their faint, delicate scent is refinement itself; and is there anything in the world more charming than the sprightly way they hold up their little faces to the sun. I have heard them called bold and flaunting, but to me they seem modest grace itself, only always on the alert to enjoy life as much as they can and not be afraid of looking the sun or anything else above them in the face. — Elizabeth Von Arnim

So then, his armour being furbished, his morion turned into a helmet, his hack christened, and he himself confirmed, he came to the conclusion that nothing more was needed now but to look out for a lady to be in love with; for a knight-errant without love was like a tree soul. — Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra

When Jo's conservative sister Meg says she must turn up her hair now that she is a "young lady," Jo shouts, "I'm not! and if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two tails till I'm twenty ... I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China aster! It's bad enough to be a girl anyway, when I like boys' games and work and manners! I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy; and it's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with Papa, and I can only stay at home and knit, like a poky old woman. — Louisa May Alcott

My ears perked up like a dog's again when she spoke and pointed in the general direction of the chick that smelled of Slim Jims.
I hope I don't start barking.
"Oh, please, like she doesn't know about the smell of meat products wafting from her lady parts. I think she rubs bologna down there to attract men. Lunch meat is her sex pheromone."
The brunette shook her head in irritation. "If I do a shot, will you please stop talking about Jade's disgusting vagina and never, ever use the word meat product in a sentence?"
"Woof!"
Three sets of eyes all turned to look at me.
"Did I just bark out loud?"
Three heads bobbed up and down in unison. — Tara Sivec

I'm never going to look like a Nordic model, so I play with what I've got. Instead of going gray, I dye my hair bright colors; I have bad vision, so I wear sparkly glasses. I embrace that I look like a crazy lady. — Jenji Kohan

Turning the heat up on the red carpet while still looking like a lady isn't as easy as it sounds. Too much va-va-voom, and a girl can look like she just stepped out of 'Jersey Shore.' Too little, and she'll look like a sister wife. — Derek Blasberg

I've really hung in there with my BlackBerry. The main reason I like it better than an iPhone is that I can type better. I saw Rachel Zoe using a white one and I was jealous. The risk, of course, is that it could look like a Lady BIC. I've just learned to own it though. — Andy Cohen

It doesn't look like Michelle Obama follows her own nutritionary dietary advice. And then we hear that she's out eating ribs at 1500 calories a serving with 141 grams of fat ... No, I'm trying to say that our first lady does not project the image of women that you might see on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue or of a woman Alex Rodriguez might date every six months or what have you. — Rush Limbaugh

Ancient charmers with skeleton throats and peachy cheeks that have a rather ghastly bloom upon them seen by daylight, when indeed these fascinating creatures look like Death and the Lady fused together, dazzle the eyes of men. Forth — Charles Dickens

You drive, walk, eat, look at television, read, and all the while, beyond you and the cozy circle created by your lady around herself and you, like the natural emanations of stars, other lives circle yours, seeds still winged and wind-borne, looking for sympathetic soil. You feel the juices and solids of your body in attempted rearrangement, or, more disturbing, making an effort to create a stillness that approximates death, beyond which the body does become soil, receptive to all wind-borne seeds. In a not especially prolonged stillness, as though no chances could be taken that you might decide to become perpetual motion, words fall out of the air, a random fall from which you might be tempted to make selection, and as you do not move, cannot, a string of words falls onto you, and from you, onto the paper: winter rye greening up, smoothing the old brown earth with a fine new plane: Carpenter Rye, neighbor. — Coleman Dowell

The rake himself lived up to Amy's expectations, however, when he came out to greet his guests. Tall, dark, handsome, and dressed with devastating informality in an open-necked shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his arms like a laborer. No one could fair to be aware of a lithe body beneath the slight amount of clothing, and there was a wicked gleam in his eye even if he was supposed to have been tamed by matrimony.
Amy found it difficult to believe that the very ordinary woman by his side had achieved such a miracle. Lady Templemore was short and her gown was a simple green muslin. Her face was close to plain and her brown hair was gathered into a simple knot at the back.
But then she smiled at her guests and was beautiful. When she turned to her husband with a comment, she was dazzling, and the look in his eye showed he was tamed indeed, if devotion so heated could be called tame at all. — Jo Beverley

If you ask any lady they want to be taller, they want to be slimmer, you know, and they want a waist. I'm not here to make people look like a sack of potatoes. — Alexander McQueen

You get this drama, babe, you got until the end of Tack's meeting to burn it out, but mark this, Lanie. After that meeting, I don't give a fuck if you're strapped into a rocket to go to the goddamned moon, I'm findin' you, we're sortin' this shit out and we're movin' on," he warned. "I just made a mental note to find a plastic surgeon who does emergency face alterations so you won't know who to look for," I shot back. "Jesus, I'm pissed as all fuck and still she's cute," he groused like he wasn't talking to me but actually complaining to the Son of God. "Jesus works on Sunday, Hop. You want a direct line, time to haul your biker ass to church," I shared. "You want me to let you go so you can burn this out, you better stop bein' cute, lady. You keep bein' cute, I'll kiss you in the goddamn forecourt and I won't give a fuck who sees." I snapped my mouth shut. "That's what I thought," he — Kristen Ashley

You went with Cameron?" Julian said.
Livvy held up a hand. "In Emma's defense, Cameron's annoying, but he's hot." Julian gave her a look. "I mean, if you like guys who look like a redheaded Captain America, which I... don't?"
"Captain America is definitely the most handsome Avenger," said Cristina. "But I like the Hulk. I would like to heal his broken heart."
"We're Nephilim, said Julian. "We're not even supposed to know about the Avengers. Besides," he added, "Iron Man is obviously the best-looking."
--
"I have no idea who the Avengers are," observed Mark, who had finished his strawberries and was eating sugar out of a packet. Ty looked gratified - he had no time for superheroes. — Cassandra Clare

Buildings should not look like Lady Gaga. — Robert A. M. Stern

Yes. He is Aunt Margaret's doctor, and he would be ours, only we are never ill."
Well you look it!" said the man, appraising Elnora at a glance.
Strangers always mention it," sighed Elnora. "I wonder how it would feel to be a pale languid lady and ride in a carriage."
Ask me!" laughed the man. "It feels like the- dickens! — Gene Stratton-Porter

Morley joined them, and after a long, uncomfortable moment, Mrs. Grant decided to ignore his presence. The
guards didn't. Their knuckles were white on their weapons.
May I assist?" he asked, and put his hands behind his back. "I promise not to eat anyone."
Very funny," Mrs. Grant said. Morley gave her a grave look.
I wasn't joking, dear lady," he said. "I do promise. And I never make a promise I don't intend to keep. You
should feel quite secure."
Well, I'm sorry, I don't," she said. "You're just - "
Too overwhelmingly dashing and attractive?" Morley grinned. "A common problem women face with me.
It'll pass. You seem like the no-nonsense sort. I like that."
Claire smiled at the look on Mrs. Grant's face, reflected in the white LED light of the lantern she was holding.
You are really - odd," the older woman said, as if she couldn't quite believe she was even having the
conversation. — Rachel Caine

You'd like some soothin', wouldn't you, Mr. Fairfax?" she asked in a sympathetic voice. A raw chuckle left his throat as he thought of Emma forcing this poor little minx into a calico dress and an old lady's snood. "I sure would, Callie," he answered honestly, "but I'm afraid there's only one woman I want." A mischievous grin curved Callie's mouth. "Miss Emma?" "The same," Steven admitted with a sigh, "but don't you tell her. I want this to be our little secret." Callie sat down in the chair Emma always occupied when she read to him. He found himself missing that redheaded hellcat with a fierce keenness, as though they'd been parted a month instead of a few hours. "She got real upset, Miss Emma did," Callie confided in a happy whisper, "when I came over here and told her Miss Chloe'd sent me to look after you." Steven laughed. "Good," he replied, staring out the window at the sun. It seemed to be immersing itself in the far side of the lake. "I'm making progress." Callie — Linda Lael Miller

The pityingly look made Sophie utterly ashamed. He was such a dashing specimen too, with a bony, sophisticated face
really quite oold, well into his twenties
and elaborate blond hair. His sleeves trailed longer than any in the Square, all scalloped edges and silver insets. "Oh, no thank you, if you please, sir," Sophie stammered. "I
I'm only on my way to see my sister." "Then by all means do so," laughed this advanced young man. "Who am i to keep a pretty lady from her sister? Would you like me to go with you, since you seemed so cared?" He meant it kindly, which made Sophie, more ashamed than ever. "No. No thank you, sir!" she gasped and fled away past him. He wore perfume too. — Diana Wynne Jones

Pleasure to meet you, Prince Larden. The name is Lady Thaddea from House of Wright."
"Yeah, I think I remember you, by the other name. You once kicked my royal ass."
"Oh, so you decide we don't need to draw the line, no? Fine then, good to see you again, mate. You look, and smell, like a tuna who just saw a ghost. — Rea Lidde

I think that tennis is a lady's sport, so we should look out there like ladies. — Anna Kournikova

In designing for the first lady, I tried to sort of be in her shoes, but I didn't really look at her as an important political figure. I looked at her as a woman who would like to wear a beautiful dress to an important gala. — Jason Wu

Oh, I don't know," he said carelessly. "Put you in a fine gown and a pair of high-heeled shoes, and stick a comb in your hair, I daresay you'd pass for a lady even in a big place like Exeter." "I'm meant to be flattered by that, I suppose," said Mary, "but, thanking you very much, I'd rather wear my old clothes and look like myself. — Daphne Du Maurier

You've got a lot of responsibility now," Jace said to Julian. "You'll have to make sure Emma winds up with a guy who deserves her."
Julian was strangely white-faced. Maybe he was feeling the effects of the ceremony, Emma thought. It had been strong magic; she still felt it sizzling through her blood like champagne bubbles. But Jules looked as if he'd been slapped.
"What about me?" Emma said, quickly. "Don't I have to make sure Jules winds up with someone who deserves him?"
"Absolutely. I did it for Alec, Alec did it for me - well, actually, he hated Clary at first, but he came around."
"I BET you didn't like Magnus much, either," said Julian, still with the same odd, stiff look on his face.
"Maybe not," said Jace, "but I never would have said so."
"Because it would have hurt Alec's feelings?" Emma asked.
"No," said Jace, "because Magnus would have turned me into a hat rack. — Cassandra Clare

Be careful, Alexandra, you're beginning to sound like the type of young lady who wants all those things typical young females want," Ella said with warning in her voice, her nose wrinkled, "marriage, children, a house in Surrey." "What's wrong with wanting marriage and children?" Vivi asked. "I want those things. Not Surrey," she said with a raised finger, "but the rest." "True, but with you, it's different. You're pining after The One." Ella said the last with an exaggerated swoon, which Vivi ignored. "Well, maybe Blackmoor is Alex's One." Ella turned an incredulous look on Alex. "Really?" They both turned questioning looks on Alex, who thought for a moment before speaking. Was Gavin The One? Could she imagine spending the rest of her life with him? Certainly, his mere presence set her heart racing. When he flashed one of his private, conspiratorial grins, she wanted to stop whatever she was doing and just bask in the glow of his attention. — Sarah MacLean

I don't like to badmouth people. But I'm the head of a monarchy that began in the ninth century, and I'm apparently more modern than Chris Christie. Look, I know he has to appeal to the crazy right-wingers in his party, but the fact is, he's not as forward-thinking as an eighty-seven-year-old lady who wears a crown on her head. It's pathetic. — Queen Elizabeth II

I'm a lady. It's none of it mine. Look at you. You're doing well enough - is your wife a rich woman?" He chuckled sheepishly at that. "She's my wife. She does as well as I do. But she doesn't own anything of her own." "It's the same for me," I said. "I do as my father does, as my husband does. I dress as is proper for their wife or their daughter. But I don't own anything on my own account. In that sense I am as poor as your wife." "But you are a Howard and I am a nobody," he observed. "I'm a Howard woman. That means I might be one of the greatest in the land or a nobody like you. It all depends." "On what?" he asked, intrigued. I thought of the sudden darkening of Henry's face when I displeased him. "On my luck. — Philippa Gregory

I saw Orin in bars or at post-tournament dances go up to a young lady he would like to pick up and use this fail-safe cross-sectional pick-up Strategy that involved an opening like "Tell me what sort of man you prefer, and then I'll affect the demeanor of that man." Which in a way of course is being almost pathologically open and sincere about the whole picking-up enterprise, but also has this quality of Look-At-Me-Being-So-Totally-Open-And-Sincere-I-Rise-Above-The-Whole-Disingenuous-Posing-Process-Of-Attracting-Someone-,-And-I-Transcend-The-Common-Disingenuity-In-A-Bar-Herd-In-A-Particularly-Hip-And-Witty-Self-Aware-Way-,-And-If-You-Will-Let-Me-Pick-You-Up-I-Will-Not-Only-Keep-Being-This-Wittily,-Transcendently-Open-,-But-Will-Bring-You-Into-This-World-Of-Social-Falsehood-Transcendence, which of course he cannot do because the whole openness-demeanor thing is itself a purposive social falsehood; it is a pose of poselessness; Orin Incandenza is the least open man I know. — David Foster Wallace

Without his even being aware that it was happening, Paul's face rearranged itself into the expression of sincere concentration he always wore while listening to editors. He thought of this as his Can I Help You, Lady? expression. That was because most editors were like women who drive into service stations and tell the mechanic to fix whatever it is that's making that knocking sound under the hood or going wonk-wonk inside the dashboard, and please have it done an hour ago. A look of sincere concentration was good because it flattered them, and when editors were flattered, they would sometimes give in on some of their mad ideas. — Stephen King

I have to say that the situation didn't look very promising. There was a woman in the bed right enough. But there was a man there too. Fully clothed, enormous in midnight-blue serge suit and peaked cap, he knelt above her rhythmically slapping her face with a pendulum action of his heavy-gloved hand. No, this didn't look like our kind of thing at all. Warily John slipped out of his socks and shirt. You have to give him credit: he keeps his cool and works the percentages. Now the two mean moved strangely past each other; and with some diffidence John climbed into bed. The other guy stared at us, with raised, with churning face. Then he did some shouting and strode out of there - though he paused, and thoughtfully dimmed the lights, as he left the room. We heard his boots on the stairs. The lady clutched me.

"My husband!" she explained. — Martin Amis

Who would have thought a fine lady like Eden Spencer would ever look twice at a coarse ironmonger like him? Yet even now with his face a patchwork of green, yellow, and deep purple, her beautiful mossy eyes glowed with an inner light that exuded love. For him. A convicted felon. A man with neither wealth nor reputation. A man who couldn't even properly enunciate her entire name. A man who returned her love a hundredfold. — Karen Witemeyer

Caldwell doesn't answer. She's unfolded her arms for the first time and she's taking a furtive, fearful look at her injuries, like a poker player lifting the corners of his cards to see what Lady Luck has sent along. But — M.R. Carey

Not take prisoners," Prince Andrew continued: "That by itself would quite change the whole war and make it less cruel. As it is we have played at war - that's what's vile! We play at magnanimity and all that stuff. Such magnanimity and sensibility are like the magnanimity and sensibility of a lady who faints when she sees a calf being killed: she is so kindhearted that she can't look at blood, but enjoys eating the calf served up with sauce. They talk to us of the rules of war, of chivalry, of flags of truce, of mercy to the unfortunate and so on. It's all rubbish! I saw chivalry and flags of truce in 1805; they humbugged us and we humbugged them. They plunder other people's — Leo Tolstoy

They got me glasses that were hip and cute, the kind adults like, but glasses are glasses. No kid has ever said: "Look at the hot new girl with the glasses. Maybe she'll have braces and a clubfoot too!" I think it made me cautious about other kids, because I was always one screwup from becoming "Four Eyes" on the playground. Those were the facts, like a card hand you couldn't fold. But beauty wasn't everything. I could still be the kind of girl who beat a table full of movie stars at poker. If I couldn't be datable, I could at least be respected. I was like the lady Godfather of plain-girl self-awareness. — Alison Umminger

You need to look like a lady at the Oscars. Otherwise, Joan Rivers will tear you apart. Then again, you aren't really anyone till Joan Rivers tears you apart. — Paris Hilton

Emma's heart was pounding. She chanced a look up at Julian. For the briefest of moments he looked like someone who'd been staggering through the Mojave Desert, half-dead from the sun, and had seen a glimmer of water up ahead only to have it turn out to be a mirage. "Still no Mark?" Emma said hastily as Cristina reached them. Not that there was a real reason Cristina would know where Mark was; Emma just didn't want her looking at Julian. Not when he looked like that. — Cassandra Clare

And what do you like to do, little man?" "I like-books," James had said. While standing in the bookshop, with a parcel of books under his arm. The lady had given him a pitying look. "I read-erm-rather a lot," James went on, dreary master of the obvious. King of the obvious. Emperor of the obvious. — Cassandra Clare

As for the young man carrying the groceries, he was a thin, fair-skinned young man, and I would have said that he had been born in the house. He had the vacant, dog-like expressions that house-born slaves, as I remembered, liked to put on when they were in public with their masters and performing some simple task. This fellow was pretending that the Waitrose groceries were a great burden, but this was just an act, to draw attention to himself and the lady he served. He, too, had mistaken me for an Arab, and when we crossed he had dropped the burdened-down expression and given me a look of wistful inquisitiveness, like a puppy that wanted to play but had just been made to understand that it wasn't playtime. — V.S. Naipaul

Look to yourself for the answer - stop calling your girlfriends and stop calling your mom - you know if it's working or not, you either feel like a goddess or you don't — Lady Gaga

We should have the lady-balls to say, Yeah - I like the look of this world. And I've been here for a good while, watching. Now - here's how I'd tweak it. Because we're all in this together. We're all just, you know. The Guys. — Caitlin Moran

Yes, but look what a mess you have made of things prior to my arrival." Lady Maccon was not to be dissuaded from her chosen course of action. "Someone has to tell Conall that Kingair is to blame." "If none of them are changing, he'll find out as soon as he arrives. His lordship would not like you following him." "His lordship can eat my fat - " Lady Maccon paused, thought the better of her crass words, and said, " - does not have to like it. Nor do you. The fact remains that this morning Floote will secure for me passage on the afternoon's dirigible to Glasgow. His lordship can take it up with me when I arrive. — Gail Carriger

I'm afraid to look in the mirror. I'm afraid I'm going to see an old lady with white hair, just like the old ladies in the park. Alittle bundle in a black shawl just waiting for the coffin. — Paddy Chayefsky

Never dress down for the poor. They won't respect you for it. They want their First Lady to look like a million dollars. — Imelda Marcos

HOW TO TRIUMPH LIKE A GIRL I like the lady horses best, how they make it all look easy, like running 40 miles per hour is as fun as taking a nap, or grass. I like their lady horse swagger, after winning. Ears up, girls, ears up! But mainly, let's be honest, I like that they're ladies. As if this big dangerous animal is also a part of me, that somewhere inside the delicate skin of my body, there pumps an 8-pound female horse heart, giant with power, heavy with blood. Don't you want to believe it? Don't you want to lift my shirt and see the huge beating genius machine that thinks, no, it knows, it's going to come in first. — Ada Limon

Mrs. Faulkner had sidled up to me and said Good day, Mrs. Elliot?
I just looked at her, and I saw in her eyes that she was wanting some kind of approval for her boy because of his career ahead, and she suddenly just looked like an old lady, not fancy and rich and frightening. An old lady whose son admired my husband, and who herself would be as helpless in the Territories as a newborn calf and not nearly as useful. Good day, I said back. It is a funny thing how much more proud people can be of themselves if they never step back and take a good look in a glass. — Nancy E. Turner

A Congresswoman must look like a girl, act like a lady, think like a man, speak on any given subject with authority and most of all work like a dog. — Cardiss Collins

I stared blankly at Rhys for what felt like about three days.
"Me?" I finally sputtered.
He nodded.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Not kidding."
I laughed then, and it sounded slightly hysterical. "I'm not
going to marry you."
"I'm not asking you to."
"Good."
He eyed me. "And you can wipe that horrified look off your
face because it's obviously not true."
"Do I look horrified?"
"Yes, you do."
I grimaced. "Nothing personal, Rhys, but - "
He held up a hand. "Say nothing else. I shouldn't have even
mentioned it to you. I'll find another dragon to help me."
"Second opinions are really important," I said.
He just glowered at that.
We rode the rest of the way back to Erin Heights in silence.
Now I had even more information crowding my already full brain.
Maybe that Irena chick should go see a shrink, herself. She was
one crazy dragon lady. — Michelle Rowen

Nina chuckled, giving Katie her infamous devilish grin. It means you aren't just a werecougar, lady. You're a cougar-cougar. You took stereotyping to a whole 'nother level. You're like one of those 'doesn't look her age' chicks who hits on young dudes because they got the zoom in their boom still happening. You're a total label. Hot. Niiiice work, Mrs. Robinson. — Dakota Cassidy

Sansa lowered her head. "The blood frightened me."
"The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You've had your first flowering, no more."
Sansa had never felt less flowery. "My lady mother told me, but I ... I thought it would be different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Less ... less messy, and more magical."
Queen Cersei laughed. "Wait until you birth a child, Sansa. A woman's life is nine parts mess to one part magic, you'll learn that soon
enough ... and the parts that look like magic often turn out to be messiest of all. — George R R Martin

Rake," came the succinct reply. "Oh, all right," Lillian grumbled. "I suppose he is a rake. But that may not be an impediment to his courtship of Lady Natalie. Some women like rakes. Look at Evie." Evie continued to snip doggedly through the brocade ribbon, while a smile curved her lips. "I don't l-like all rakes," she said, her gaze on her work. "Just one." Evie, the gentlest and most soft-spoken of them all, had been the one least likely to capture the heart of the notorious Lord St. Vincent, who had been the definitive rake. Although Evie, with her round blue eyes and blazing red hair, possessed a rare and unconventional beauty, she was unbearably shy. And there was the stammer. But Evie also had a reserve of quiet strength and a gallant spirit that seemed to have seduced her husband utterly. "And that former rake obviously adores you beyond reason," Annabelle said. — Lisa Kleypas

You're sleeping next to me right now. You're all wrapped up in blankets, and you look like a delicious lady-sandwich. I might eat you before you wake up. Just wanted to let you know. — Kate Ellison

On this small world, there will be no more real darkness. But there will always be the Dark. Go out tonight, Lady Pedure. Look up. We are surrounded by the Dark and always will be. And just as our Dark ends with the passage of time in a New Sun, so the greater Dark ends at the shores of a million million stars. Think! If our sun's cycle was once less than a year, then even earlier our sun might have been middling bright all the time. I have students who are sure most of the stars are just like our sun, only much much younger, and many with worlds like ours. You want a deepness that endures, a deepness that Spiderkind can depend on? Pedure, there is a deepness in the sky, and it extends forever. — Vernor Vinge

She looked at a silver birch: it would have a soft, showery voice and would look like a slender girl, with hair blown all about her face and fond of dancing. She looked at the oak: he would be a wizened, but hearty, old man with a frizzled beard and warts on his fact and hands, with hair growing out of the warts. She looked at the beech under which she was standing. Ah!
she would be the best of all. She would be a gracious goddess, smooth and stately, the Lady of the Wood. — C.S. Lewis

Father told me that if I ever met a lady in a dress like yours, I must look her straight in the eyes. — Prince Charles

I sigh. "I don't know what's happening to me."
"They're called hormones."
I shoot him a dirty look. "I'm serious."
"Me too." He cocks his head at me. "That's like, biological and shit. Scientific. Maybe your lady bits are scientifically confused."
"My lady bits?"
"Oh, I'm sorry" - Kenji pretends to look offended - "would you rather I use the proper anatomical terminology? Because you lady bits do not scare me-"
"Yeah, no thanks. — Tahereh Mafi

I feel totally female. I didn't compete with men and I don't want to look like a man! I love being a lady and dressing up and masquerading and wearing all the fineries. I'm breaking down the idea that the artist has to look poor, with berets. — Louise Berliawsky Nevelson

I'm the world's lightest sleeper. On a bad day, I can make Lady Macbeth look like a raging narcoleptic. — Jodi Taylor

With technology and everything, compact discs are going to be, like, vintage soon, right? The way vinyl is now. Like, if I ever have kids, they're going to look at CDs and think, 'What is this crap, geez, how clunky.' By then everyone will have the fiftieth edition of iPods - or maybe they'll just have music downloaded directly into their brains, like with microchips, or something. And I'll be the old lady in the corner going, 'Back when I was a kid, we had mix tapes, and floppy disks, and gas didn't cost twenty bucks a gallon, and oh, yeah, MTV actually played music videos, if you can believe it.' And they'll probably say, 'Oh, Mom, you and your stories, we're jetting to the oxygen bar, see you later,' and take off in their flying cars. You know there'll be flying cars, it's only a matter of time. — Hannah Harrington

It had seemed entirely sensible at the time. A simple way to test the truth of her claim that she had lain with de Villiers. To show her that lying to him was useless. To make a point.
Instead, he had ignited a desire that burned him like none he had ever felt before.
He had expected Lady Laurien d'Amboise to be a timid little convent mouse. Quiet and passive and pliant. Easily manageable. Instead she was outspoken and strong-willed...and stunning in a way he could not even describe.
An innocent beauty caught up in a deadly game that was none of her making....
Malcolm rose to leave, chuckling.
"And what is there to laugh about?"
Darach gave his jovial friend a dour look.
Malcolm stopped just long enough to do his best imitation of Darach. "'Simple. Kidnap one French lass, hold her for a fortnight, and return her to de Villiers after he meets our demands. Perfectly simple. — Shelly Thacker

I look like a real bag lady when I go to Starbucks with my dog and get my chai. — Shirley Maclaine

You there, you look like a well-rounded lady, oh yes, and I mean well-rounded — TBBishiXO

Hamilton found it difficult to concentrate on what Eliza was saying. Her lips were moving rapidly, but he couldn't actually decipher what the words coming out of her mouth were. It was such a lovely mouth, and he found it quite quirky, given the fact that it could assume different positions with alarming frequency. Like now, it was pursed in a most attractive manner, and now ... it was moving again as if the lady could not get the words out fast enough. His gaze traveled upward, past the eyes that were flashing and settled on her hair. He couldn't help but appreciate the efforts of Mabel. The curls she'd been able to produce on Eliza's head, well, they were tantalizing. He had the strangest urge to reach out and touch them, to feel with his own hand if they were as soft as they appeared, something he'd been contemplating ever since he got a good look at her in the dining room. He pulled abruptly back to reality when Eliza poked him in the chest. — Jen Turano

It's lovely," I said, taking an involuntary half step back. "Really, though. I don't like to handle other people's cookware."
"That's the best you can manage? That's your bright, bold lie?"
"Look, lady, I don't know about you, but I've never had somebody corner me on a dark street and try to hand me a frying pan before," I snapped. — Seanan McGuire

The deep black-cherry velvet made her skin look like porcelain, and brought out the ruby fire of her hair. Black silk braiding trimmed the modestly high neckline. More lengths of silk braiding defined the vertical slash that went from neck to collarbone, affording a subtle glimpse of white skin. No other adornment marred the simple lines of the gown, except for the puffs of black silk that edged the hem of the flowing skirt. It was an elegant garment, suitable for any lady of quality. — Lisa Kleypas