When I was growing up, I always saw Karen Millen as a resource for women who were a bit older.
I don't mind a dirty girl. But what I find tragic is when we, as women, become not the subject of our own story but someone else's object.
I get so much mail from young women saying that they are so insecure when they look at me, but they don't realize all of the flaws that I have.
Most women don't play like guys do: they don't wrestle, fight, get into brawls. They don't know how to express themselves in a physical, active way.
Once we increase the proportion of women in technical roles, the challenge is to retain them and ease the transition to senior positions.
Now, since I'm a husband and father, discrimination against women isn't just political, it's personal.
Books about women and children are not valued in the same way as a book about war. And why is that? I don't know.
If women had never been given the right to vote, then Labour would have won every election after the war.
Behind a smoke screen of high-profile female appointees and soothing slogans, George W. Bush is waging war on women.
When I was a baby feminist, leading feminist thinkers were insisting that if women ran the world, there would be no sadism or war.
The Democrats have concocted this whole phony 'war on women' narrative simply to mask their dreadful record on the economy and jobs.
When the prophet, a complacent fat man, Arrived at the mountain-top He cried: "Woe to my knowledge! I intended to see good white lands And bad black lands— But the scene is grey.
I wondered if whiteness were contagious. If it were, then surely I had caught it. I imagined this “condition” affected the way I walked, talked, dressed, danced, and at its most advanced stage, the way I looked at the world and at other people.
Are you a house-wife, Mrs Silvers?' he asked. 'What would you recommend for getting burger relish out of a white shirt?' The seething woman cranked the venom-level of her gaze up to eleven, and Raven smiled pleasantly back.
There, in the corner under the window—the window through which he thought he saw movement before—was a slender white foot! Quinn’s heart froze in his chest and frightened bile began working its way up his esophagus. ~ "The Mirror
We have developed communications systems to permit man on earth to talk with man on the moon. Yet mother often cannot talk with daughter, father to son, black to white, labour with management or democracy with communism
Along the wide curving moat surrounding the palace, rows of cherry trees announced the end of their seasonal beauty. Some of the trees were weeping: blossoms in white and palest pink, ponderous with decreptitude, eddying on the brown water, stirred b...
On the fifth day, which was a Sunday, it rained very hard. I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.
Who knows if all our brains are inventing the same thing? I mean, how do we know that the thing YOUR eyes see and call "red" is the same thing that I call "red"?
And then something happened. It was a fragment of time, a breath of time. It was like being in a car in pouring rain and driving under an overpass, and for just that second there is a profound, powerful sense of reprieve- the utter silence of non-rai...
Here's how I'll tell you what I think—if you see white smoke then you know I picked a new pope. And if I'm drinking a Snapple then you know I don't give a shit.
