Woman S Fiction Quotes & Sayings

As a woman writing SF, I felt I had to think and write like a man in order to be taken seriously. — Heidi Ruby Miller

This is a story of Africa. A pioneer woman's journey north was merely the beginning. — Jeffrey Whittam

In the end, I listen to my fear. It keeps me awake, resounding through the frantic beating in my breast. It is there in the dry terror in my throat, in the pricking of the rats' nervous feet in the darkness. Christian has not come home all the night long. I know, for I have lain in this darkness for hours now with my eyes stretched wide, yearning for my son's return. — Ned Hayes

He stopped in a seedy alley in Holborn where he jumped down from the carriage, held a muttered conference with a dirty, one-eyed old woman, and climbed back in, his arms full of grubby cloth.
She wrinkled her nose. "Phew. What the devil is all that?"
"It's a dress."
"Oh, no. I'm not putting that on. It stinks of last week's washing up."
"It smells of the people. — Y.S. Lee

I'll give you what you want, Sloane," he said. "What we both want. But think long and hard before you come to me. There are things that I like. Things that I want and expect from the woman in my bed. And I don't play by anyone's rules but my own. — J. Kenner

The person - especially a woman - may be disillusioned by the fact that over time a man's affection turns out to be only, so to speak, a cover for desire or even for an explicit will to use. Both a woman and a man may be disillusioned by the fact that the values attributed to the beloved person turn out to be fiction. Because of the dissonance between the ideal and the reality, affective love is sometimes not only extinguished but even transformed into affective hatred. — Pope John Paul II

You know, one of the interesting things you find about writing fiction is that any fiction you write has to be political. Otherwise, it goes into the realm of fantasy. So like, if you write about a woman in America in 1910, if you don't write that she can't really control her property, that she can't - doesn't have any say over her children, that she can't vote - if you don't put that in it, then it's a fantasy. Like, well, how is her life informed? That's true about everybody. If you write about black people, you write about white men, I mean, it has to be political. A lot of people don't realize that, it seems. — Walter Mosley

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 took classes taught by an elderly woman who wrote children's stories. She was polite about the science fiction and fantasy that I kept handing in, but she finally asked in exasperation, 'Can't you write anything normal?' — Octavia E. Butler

Relax," the woman said. "It's just me."
"Just you?" Hale asked with heavy irony, remembering the black leather and predator's eyes with a stab of heat. Dangerous beauty had always been his downfall.
"I'm watching your back."
"Sure you are," he snorted. Beauty or not, he wasn't stupid enough to trust. Screw, sure. Trust, no way. — Michelle O'Leary

It was killing him, seeing her this way. She was not meant to be uncertain, timid or fearful; the woman he knew exuded confidence so fiercely it might as well be a damn spiritual aura. He needed to fix this.

"It's time to adjust your perspective. You want to show the politicians on Earth they don't rule the galaxy? Well, let's show them. — G.S. Jennsen

On occasion he would think back to the fiercest passion it had been his pleasure to experience and reflect on what might have been. He would look upon the woman who occupied the opposite half of his bed and feel his life had not quite lived up to the promise of another day. These moments would be mercifully brief, or so he hoped. — Roy L. Pickering Jr.

So that's why I say 'never have anything you can't walk away from.' Especially a woman. For them, because this is a dangerous life we lead and you never know if or when it will blow back on those close to you."

"And for you, because trust me when I tell you there exists no greater perdition than the guilt of causing the death of someone you love. — G.S. Jennsen

I begin my life. I live again. I meet a young girl called Valeria. She smiles easily. She laughs tender sounds that pull at my heart. I'm too young to be profound but she makes me feel so safe. So cherished. I am thirty years old. I bump into a woman I knew when she was a girl. Valeria looks annoyed to see me. She lives in the future. Where the world is turning. I live within the past. Where the people are trapped and screaming and alone. I live within the past when Valeria and I were in love. She's waiting for the cab to come, her foot tapping against the sidewalk. Her eyes glancing at her watch every few minutes. I'm eager to reunite our lives through some kind of friendship. I'm so eager to know her again, as she was when she was a child. But Valeria lives within the future. I live within the past. Have the two ever gotten along? Have they ever even met? — F.K. Preston

You're a lady. It's written all over you, but the West doesn't forgive any woman-unless she's got a man. — Liliana Shelbrook

Women have the right to be whatever kind of woman they want to be. Whatever kind of feminist they want to be, or not. I'm a woman writer. Some of my fiction is soft and poetic. Some of my fiction is horrifying and aggressive. My being a woman has no bearing on how I write. Or what I choose to write about. My being a woman is just my gender. It has very little to do with who I am as a person. So don't box me in or tell me how to be GIRL. It's the only thing I've figured out how to do, and I do it my way. — Cheryl Anne Gardner

I've sometimes regretted the women I've been.

There have been so many: daughter, sister, cop, tough broad, several kinds of whore, jilted lover, ideal wife, heroine, killer.

I'll provide the truth of them all, inasmuch as I'm capable of telling the truth.

Keeping secrets, telling lies, they require the same skill. Both become a habit, almost an addiction, that's hard to break even with the people closest to you, out of the business.

They say never trust a woman who tells you her age; if she can't keep that secret, she can't keep yours.

I'm fifty-nine. — Becky Masterman

Power to Laura Boudreau-McPherson-O'Brien: Laura's Story is about a woman finding her place in the world, and her voice, while struggling against poverty, societal limitations, and at times, herself. Anyone who has had to fight for what she believes in or come up against odds be they external or internal, will relate to this book. Women will feel strength and will realize that though this novel is a work of fiction, it is authentic in its aim to give a voice to many women's untold stories. Happy International Women's Day everyone! — Julie Larade

He watched the newly arrived commuters as they stepped into the carriage, pushed their way down the tube, the odours from their damp clothes mingling, giving off varying degrees of mustiness: London grime, or smoke from airless offices. A woman wearing a blue swing coat glanced along the carriage, casting around for an empty seat. Her pale skin, the searching green eyes, reminded him of Emma. Briefly, he felt his breath catch; he stood, clambered back over his neighbour and indicated for her to take his seat. And so his mind stayed with Emma when he knew he should be working out a strategy for telling Dorothy of his news. But Emma was never far away; like the glitter balls in dance halls, she would slowly rotate in his memory, different facets reappearing, as the hues changed in her auburn hair. — Amanda Sington-Williams

Arkady looked at the other man. he felt that he was actually seeing him as a physical being for the first time ... He tried to imagine that body with Bella, with any woman, and found the idea ... not repulsive exactly, but incomprehensible. How would it work exactly? And how would either of them, knowing nothing of their lover's body, needs and desires, ever be able to satisfy the other? — Chris Moriarty

I've always been a firm believer that love conquers all and that every woman's experience is a story in itself. Life is a never-ending journey and my imagination and experiences have inspired me to write powerful stories. Although my books are fiction, my goal is to offer compelling lessons about life and love. The message I wish to convey to my readers is that despite the many challenges we face in this world, we must have hope and faith. Overall, it is love that binds us together. — Geraldine Solon

This building fool could only be Bess of Hardwicke, a woman whose name is seldom seen in print without the word "redoubtable" in front of it. I wondered if anyone ever called her redoubtable to her face. I redoubted it. — JoAnn Spears

Baby, God ain't gonna bless you with another woman's husband, not today, not tomorrow, not ever. — Tracy L. Darity

She opened up the glass jar she kept spare buttons in and began sorting through them. It was like handling bits and pieces of the past - buttons from loved ones' dresses and suits and coats carefully gathered up and saved for future use. She had inherited many of the buttons from her mother and grandmother, even her Great Aunt Maggie. Each woman adding to the collection, like curators of a family museum. Now what would happen to them? — Elizabeth Jennings

For Sarah Palin, the least experienced on the world stage, the stress of maintaining the fiction that she was qualified to be vice president sent her over the deep end almost immediately. She went off on a ferocious spending spree that might have killed a lesser woman. Katie Couric's straightforward questions unraveled her. — Tina Brown

You're an incredible woman, Lela. I would battle a thousand Terrademons to reach your heart. But I cannot challenge or defeat an enemy that's already dead. I cannot fight for a heart that doesn't want to be won. — N.D. Jones

I am occasionally desired by congenital imbeciles and the editors of magazines to say something about the writing of detective fiction "from the woman's point of view." To such demands, one can only say "Go away and don't be silly. You might as well ask what is the female angle on an equilateral triangle. — Dorothy L. Sayers

It was strange to think that all the great women of fiction were, until Jane Austen's day, not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex. And how small a part of woman's life is that ... — Virginia Woolf

Though a modern woman's computer is more intimate than her bed ... — Elizaveta Mikhailichenko

I did the only thing I could. I said the dumbest thing any man has ever said to a woman, "Yeah, it's just me and my trash can here," as I patted its lid and started pushing it up the driveway. — Amanda Hamm

The game finished when we heard a woman's anguished screams from the cell that Lorr had chosen for one of his damsels. It wasn't fun after that and we allowed the characters to die. Though we granted them much quicker deaths than the cells promised. — Paul W.S. Bowler

Every woman feels. It just takes the right man to make things combust. — Barbara Delinsky

When looked at from the woman's side of the bed-sheet, most tales take a turning. — Orna Ross

You know what it's like when a cart overturns in the street? Everybody you meet has witnessed it. They saw a man's leg sliced clean off. They saw a woman gasp her last. They saw the goods looted, thieves stealing from the back-end while the carter was crushed at the front. They heard a man roar out his last confession, while another whispered his last will and testament. And if all the people who say they were there had really been there, then the dregs of London would have drained to the one spot, the gaols emptied of thieves, the beds empty of whores, and all the lawyers standing on the shoulders of the butchers to get a better look. — Hilary Mantel

A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction. — Oscar Wilde

I remember being disappointed when Papa had shown me Caravaggio's Judith. She was completely passive while she was sawing through a man's neck. Caravaggio gave all the feeling to the man. Apparently, he couldn't imagine a woman to have a single thought. I wanted to paint her thoughts, if such a thing were possible
determination and concentration and belief in the absolute necessity of the act. The fate of her people resting on her shoulders ... — Susan Vreeland

Quinn dropped her hand and avoided Thalcu's eye. "I . . . I don't want to kill you," she said to the floor. "Not if I could save you."

The woman smiled gently at Quinn, her lips curling behind her oxygen mask. "I will not really die," she said, drawing Quinn's surprised gaze. She looked at Quinn contently a moment and went on, "Do you know how worlds are born? From the first breath of a star. We are made of starlight. We can not bear to look into the sun, into the thing that birthed us, anymore than we can bear to look upon our parents in the throes of passion. It is our point of origin, and to it, we all must return. — Ash Gray

Waves of ice cold shock swept over Theo.
Mrs. Dietrich, the woman who fed him chocolate cookies every time she pulled a sliver from his finger, the woman who'd tended him through every sickness and illness he'd had, the woman he loved as much as his own mother: a war spy and traitor.
Impossible!
"You think your mom is a spy?" He said the words slowly, not quite believing they came from his mouth. "For Germany? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. — Jess Schira

Although the ending was more John Carpenter than John Updike, Carroll hadn't come across anything like it in any of the horror magazines, either, not lately. It was, for twenty-five pages, the almost completely naturalistic story of a woman being destroyed a little at a time by the steady wear of survivor's guilt. It concerned itself with tortured family relationships, shitty jobs, the struggle for money. Carroll had forgotten what it was like to come across the bread of everyday life in a short story. Most horror fiction didn't bother with anything except rare bleeding meat. ("Best New Horror") — Joe Hill

You are a woman born of secrets and sadness. It will either destroy your future or lead you to greatness. A handsome gentleman with eyes like the sky and hair like a raven's wing will come into your life. If you let him, he will become the hand of your vengeance. If you let him,he will shatter your heart. — Sabrina Jeffries

It's all about the spirit. Every man, woman and child should be seen as a spirit first, before anything else. We are all spirits in the first instance. — Andrew Agbonlahor

I looked at her, with her hair spilled out on the pillows and the warmth of her body warming mine. And I thought, god-dang, if this ain't a heck of a way to be in bed with a pretty woman. The two of you arguing about murder, and threatening each other, when you're supposed to be in love and you could be doing something pretty nice. And then I thought, well, maybe it ain't so strange after all. Maybe it's like this with most people, everyone doing pretty much the same thing except in a different way. And all the time they're holding heaven in their hands. — Jim Thompson

Were the stars against him? A woman's fingers are quicker in the sky and shine more brightly. — Graham Spaid

Saracen The Knight: There will be a cost.
Saint-Germain: Anything. I will pay anything to get my wife back.
Saracen: Even your immortality?
Saint-Germain: Even that. What's the point in living forever, when it is not with the woman I love? — Michael Scott

And I tried to remember any case in the course of my reading where two women are represented as friends. (...) almost without exception they are shown in their relation to men. (...) [women in fiction were] not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex. And how small a part of a woman's life is that — Virginia Woolf

A real woman is a work of fiction a real man is a short report — Bangambiki Habyarimana

I thought about writing the character as male, but then I would be forced to portray him as a woman in a man's body. — Christopher Stocking

If he slept, he dreamt of the woman with the icy white irises. She exploded planes, swallowed oceans and crumpled skies
in her palm in his dreams. Sometimes she and the green-eyed girl were one. At other times, the green-eyed girl was alone, a gaping hole where her heart should have been. At all times he could hear the woman's cold, low laughter. It swept across his consciousness like a hailstorm.
When he woke up, he thought he was going mad. — Sukanya Venkatraghavan

I pretended to be a Cheyenne guide. I pretended to be a prairie woman. I pretended Henry was my old-timey husband taking me to our new homestead. I leaned down and patted Trouble's neck. "Good boy," I said. "Trusty steed. — Laura Anderson Kurk

The DC Universe has the best villains in fiction, right? I don't think there's any group of villains collectively or anywhere else that come close to DC's. Joker, Cat Woman, Lex Luthor, are all staples. A lot of the comic book icons are fiction icons. — Geoff Johns

ripped. I got a glance at his abs when he picked up the woman's things. Yeah, I looked up his shirt. What of it? Plenty of men have looked up my skirt. Consider it karma.

~Julia — Adela Knight

No man is an island but every woman is. That's why we build bridges. — Suzy Duffy

She smoothes the front of the dress, looking down at her hands, at her bitten fingernails, at her big feet in the pointy-toes shoes. This is a woman's dress, she thinks, a young woman's dress. It is not a girl's dress. It is solidly on the other side of the line outside of girlhood. It is a dress that says something big in a very quiet way; it is a dress that is talking to Alice right now, a dress that is making her feel possibilities never before considered, the possibility of perfume and pretty and dancing and boys. This dress is who she might be, only more so. — Laura Harrington

Huzzah! Free Trade and Sailors' Rights! But instead American ships are captured and sailors impressed by the thousands into the British Navy, becoming slaves to the lash, while the United States has virtually no navy to back them up. Baltimore native, Nathan Jeffries, son of an American hero, Captain William Jeffries, and his Quaker wife, Amy, is haunted by the memories of his fiancee, his best friend, his enemy's woman and his betrayal. Chesapeake Bay is no refuge aboard his father's brig Bucephalus;facing his worst fears, he is chased and captured by armed privateer schooner Scourge. In a violent world at war, Nathan must break his most solemn promise to his mother. For Nathan and the young United States, 1812 would severely challenge rights of passage. — Bert J. Hubinger

And when we are writing the life of a woman, we may, it is agreed, waive our demand for action, and substitute love instead. Love, the poet has said, is woman's whole existence. And if we look for a moment at Orlando writing at her table, we must admit that never was there a woman more fitted for that calling. Surely, since she is a woman, and a beautiful woman, and a woman in the prime of life, she will soon give over this pretence of writing and thinking and begin at least to think of a gamekeeper (and as long as she thinks of a man, nobody objects to a woman thinking). And then she will write him a little note (and as long as she writes little notes nobody objects to a woman writing either) and make an assignation for Sunday dusk and Sunday dusk will come; and the gamekeeper will whistle under the window
all of which is, of course, the very stuff of life and the only possible subject for fiction. — Virginia Woolf

My Nana Westbrook, true as a saint's prayer, always used to say the Devil was a woman thought up by the Good Lord Himself to test a man's mettle and drag him down to Hell if he came up short and, Lordy, I sure as hell kept my granny's wise words to heart, God rest her soul, never once dipping my stick in a place where it might get snapped. — Ojo Blacke

At times I feel as if I had lived all this before and that I have already written these very words, but I know it was not I: it was another woman, who kept her notebooks so that one day I could use them. I write, she wrote, that memory is fragile and the space of a single life is brief, passing so quickly that we never get a chance to see the relationship between events; we cannot gauge the consequences of our acts, and we believe in the fiction of past, present, and future, but it may also be true that everything happens simultaneously ... That's why my Grandmother Clara wrote in her notebooks, in order to see things in their true dimension and to defy her own poor memory. — Isabel Allende

To take away a woman's ability to walk is one thing; it's quite another to take away her ability to speak. -(Lady Meesha) I Am Lady Sasha -The Journey From Slave to Slave- — Julienne Russell

Time seemed to drag with dreamlike slowness, like a knife through cold honey, and the room took on a surreal golden sheen as if I was looking through that same jar of honey. Maybe at that moment, the sun shone just right though the grimy windows, but the woman, the shelves, the jars, everything in the room appeared in tones of gold and sepia, except for the painting behind the counter. From behind the shopkeeper's head, a fluorescent Mary and Jesus glared at me, their cartoon-like faces reproaching me for being there. — Sara Stark

spending life is easier than living life. — Ruchika Rastogi

Hey, when you love a woman, and when she's this crazy in love with you, you've got to do whatever she says, man. — Arby Robbins

Ruger's in there too. Hands covered in blood so they arrested him. He had to tackle your girl to get the gun away from her. She'd gone all Pulp Fiction on us, ready to defend you by killing all of us if she had to. Crouched over your body like Wonder Woman. Gives me a boner just thinking about it. — Joanna Wylde

A woman has but two loves in life: the one who broke her heart and the one she spends the rest of her life with.
- Carolyn Chase, former Broadcast Journalist and heroine Kate Theodore's mother — Liz Newman

The best I can say, it's like this. A man's in his skin, see, like a nut in its shell ... It's hard and strong, that shell, and it's all full of him. Full of grand man-meat, man-self. And that's all. That's all there is.
A woman's a different thing entirely. Who knows where a woman begins and ends? Listen mistress, I have roots, I have roots deeper than this island. Deeper than the sea, older than the raising of the lands. I go back into the dark ... I go back into the dark! Before the moon I am, what a woman is, a woman of power, a woman's power, deeper than the roots of trees, deeper than the roots of islands, older than the Making, older than the moon. Who dares ask questions of the dark? Who'll ask the dark its name? — Ursula K. Le Guin

Try being an indie author, a minority author, a woman, and a person with health issues in the world of traditional - that's where you are clearly 'different' and marginalized. I am all of that, yet I am still here and smiling. Life is good! — Kailin Gow

I was reading Raymond Chandler very much with the feminist eye. In six of his seven novels, it's the woman who presents herself in a sexual way, who is the main bad person. And then you start reading more fiction, whether crime fiction or straight fiction, it's just bad girls trying to make good boys do bad things, going all the way back to Adam and Eve. The woman that thou gavest me made me do it, Adam says to God. — Sara Paretsky

It is amazing what a woman can do if only she ignores what men tell her she can't. — Carol K. Carr

I had turned to leave and he had called after me. "Miss Maria, I kin no other woman who could be wearing men's trousers and be dripping such as ye are and look quite so lovely. It's a right shame your mother is marrying you off to that great sot!"
I had turned to call back to him, "I doubt very much we will have to worry about that after today! — Gwenn Wright

The woman's gaze sent chills racing down his spine. The diabolical, aberrantly predatory arch of her lips curdled his blood. Seriously, his blood must be curdling back at the lab right now.

"Nice illusion. I'm definitely feeling the evil vibe here."

She stood and rounded the desk with perfect grace. "There is no illusion. Explain yourself quickly now, before I grow bored by your presence and dispense with it. — G.S. Jennsen

Darona's face bore the pinched, taut look and shadowed eyes of someone constantly in pain, but the lack of lines suggested she was younger than Jesral had first thought; middle-aged, fifty at the very most.
'You make an uncommonly fine looking noblewoman, for a Mhrydaineg commoner.'
'Thank you.' Jesral was careful to keep all tone out of her voice. Darona gave her a shrewd stare, then a slight smile.
'Self-control. Good. You must ignore me when I offend you unintentionally. They say that pain can make one waspish, but my brothers and son tell me there's been no change in my manner. I was acid-tongued long before this set in,' she held up a knotted hand, 'and taking devil's claw root has no effect on that. Rest assured, young woman, when I intend offence people are in no doubt about it. — Helen Bell

Return me safely to my home," the princess said, "and I shall reward you with your weight in eggs."
Olorun snorted derisively. "You're joking, right?"
The woman's eyes flitted in embarrassment.
"Now wait a minute," said Helianthus. "We're talkin' eggs here. What sort of eggs? Ostrich eggs?"
Neferre made an impatient noise. "Hel! She doesn't have any eggs! Unless they're hidden in a very . . . delicate place." Neferre grinned at the princess. "Tell me your eggs are hidden where I think they're hidden. — Ash Gray

Demon," the woman spat onto the road. "Well, girl, thank you. I grant no one's wishes and so you mark me 'demon.' I grant no wishes and I do as I see fit to be done. I will not answer to you, girl, nor to any one of yours, but I will always look. I am not the one who turns away. — Tamara Rendell

Many reviews are useless because, while purporting to condemn the book, they only reveal the reviewer's dislike of the kind to which it belongs. Let bad tragedies be censured by those who love tragedy, and bad detective stories by those who love the detective story. Then we shall learn their real faults. Otherwise we shall find epics blamed for not being novels, farces for not being high comedies, novels by James for lacking the swift action of Smollett. Who wants to hear a particular claret abused by a fanatical teetotaller, or a particular woman by a confirmed misogynist? — C.S. Lewis

As it turned out, the sachem had been dead wrong.
The Europes neither fled nor died out. In fact, said the old women in charge of the children, he had apologized for this error in prophecy and admitted that however many collapsed from ignorance or disease more would always come.
They would come with languages that sounded like a dog bark; with a childish hunger for animal fur. They would forever fence land, ship whole trees to faraway countries, take any woman for quick pleasure, ruin soil, befoul sacred place and worship a dull, unimaginative god.
They let their hogs browse the ocean shore turning it into dunes of sand where nothing green can ever grow again. Cut loose from the earth's soul, they insisted on purchase of its soil, and like all orphans they were insatiable.
It was their destiny to chew up the world and spit out a horribleness that would destroy all primary peoples. — Toni Morrison

The fact is, no man can ever know whether a child is his. A woman knows a child is hers, but a man can never know whether it is his, not even with a DNA test. A DNA test can only tell you if the child is not yours, but if your DNA matches, it only indicates 'a high statistical probability' that it is your child. As they say, 'Motherhood is a biological fact, fatherhood is a sociological fiction.' It is this knowledge that creates permanent anxiety for patriarchy, an anxiety that requires women's sexuality to be strictly policed. — Nivedita Menon

The woman looked out at the madness of the world and dared to hope. Her eyes were burning coals of stars. — Rivera Sun

He thought, that all men, trickled away, changing constantly, until they finally dissolved, while the artist-created images remained unchangeably the same. He thought that the fear of death was perhaps the root of all art, perhaps also of all things of the mind. We fear death, we shudder at life's instability, we grieve to see the flowers wilt again and again, and the leaves fall, and in our hearts we know that we, too, are transitory and will search for laws and formulate thoughts, it is in order to salvage something from the great dance of death, to make something that lasts longer than we do. Perhaps the woman after whom the master shaped his beautiful Madonna is already wilted or dead, and soon he, too, will be dead; others will live in his house and eat at his table- but his work will still be standing hundreds of years from now, and longer. It will go on shimmering in the quiet cloister church, unchangingly beautiful, forever smiling with the same sad, flowering mouth. — Hermann Hesse

Cedric: "I can think of another reason not to be the hero. Every hero has to sacrifice
the one he loves. I don't have that in me."
Saphira: "Who says you can't be a hero when you have a heroine by your side. I
believe the saying is that behind every great man there's a great woman."
Cedric: "You'll never stand behind me, Saphira. You will always be right by my side. — B. Mauritz

I ventured into fiction in 1988 with 'What Love Sees,' a biographical novel of a woman's unwavering determination to lead a full life despite blindness. — Susan Vreeland

They were from different generations, culture, nations. But even these things did not divide them so much as their separate conceptions of what it meant to be a woman. — Patricia Duncker

Being a fiction writer is really like being an actor, because if you're going to write convincingly it has to sound right and play right. The only way that works is to emotionally and technically act out and see the scene you're in.
There's no better job in the world, because when I sit down at that computer I'm the world's best forensics expert, if that's what I'm writing about that day. Or I'm some crazed psycho running down a dark alley.
Or I'm a gorgeous woman looking to find a man that night. Whatever! But I'm all of those things, every day. How can you beat that? — Ridley Pearson

In a brilliant fusion of fact and fiction, Jayne Anne Phillips has written the novel of the year. It's the story of a serial killer's crimes and capture, yes, but it's also a compulsively readable story of how one brave woman faces up to acts of terrible violence in order to create something good and strong in the aftermath. Quiet Dell will be compared to In Cold Blood, but Phillips offers something Capote could not: a heroine who lights up the dark places and gives us hope in our humanity. — Stephen King

An exceptional woman with all the desired qualities exists only in a man's imagination. — Michael Bassey Johnson

The only thing he was sorry for was slamming the door and perhaps raising his voice to the woman who'd been like a mother to him since the passing of his parents. Perhaps she hadn't really deserved his reaction, but he was, justifiably, weary of their meddling and hearing about his father's will. Apparently no suitable maiden was going to appear on his doorstep. He seemed to be looking for a needle in a haystack. — Lisa M. Prysock

A woman's got one life: She's got to reach out and grab it with both hands, or it'll pass her by and leave nothing but a smelly old fart in her face. — Robin Schone

Look, Charlie," said Vince leaning back in his chair. "It's real simple. We will be four people
two men and two women
I figure it's better to have two women instead of three men and one woman so she'll have someone she can confide in and all. Women need that kind of thing. Anyway, we'll be four people
friends
housemates
equal partners. We'll be an alliance. We'll be just like family. And we'll help take care of one another. We'll have a nice home, each with our own private bedroom and bathroom, and a nice yard with flowers."
"And maybe a vegetable garden," added Charlie.
"That's it," grinned Vince. — Barbara Casey

It would be impossible to think it's just about sex with a woman like you. You demand more without even trying. I'm set on giving you more. Sex is only an introduction- Amon Mikende — AlTonya Washington