Jessica Knoll Quotes

The last thing the world needs is one more woman with principles. What we need is women with money. Women with money have flexibility, and nothing is more dangerous than a woman who can bend any way she wants.

stylish, successful, engaged, and all by twenty-eight years old, no less.

Hot pink, I'm sure she spent a few minutes debating it - was she tan enough, maybe the navy silky sleeveless top instead, can't go wrong with navy - and over her shoulder, a cognac Prada the exact same shade as her shoes, the perfect match more age revealing than the skin starting to pucker in her neck. She had at least ten years on me, I determined, relieved.

Isn't that the secret sauce of seduction? First the snare of mystery, then the distinctly female instinct to rehabilitate.

In a clear voice, Mrs. Ross said, "This may be where we mark Liam's time with us, but I don't want you to think this is where you have to come to think about Liam." She held the vase close to her chest. "Think about him always." Her mouth puckered. "Anywhere.

was one of those awful moments where you have no control over your reaction, when the pain is too exposed to hide.

Nothing sadder than the adolescent rite of passage to have sex before understanding what sexy is.

Men who call women crazy are always the men who have first pushed them to the brink.

There is something about seeing someone from behind, something about the way people walk away, that I've always found unnervingly intimate. Maybe it's because the back of the body isn't on guard the way the front is - the slouch of the shoulders and the flex in the back muscles, that's the most honest you'll ever see a person.

It must sound stupid, but it was I realized that for rest of my life, till death do us part, it was on me to maintain this veneer's sparkly free, streak-free shine.

the tuition's true payoff the connections, not the education,

You might think someone like Hallsy would only be inclined to torture someone like me, but if she did that, it would be an admission of her own aesthetic shortcomings. As long as I deferred to her, it was in her best interest to embrace me. It sent the message that there was no need to be jealous or intimidated - she was every bit as desirable as an overaerobicized twenty-something.

Still, there was something about telling people where you worked, their eyes lighting up in recognition, that I needed right now.

I came to the conclusion that if a woman of the cloth could be so sure she was going to heave despite being such a massive asshole, God must be more lenient than I'd been led to believe.

Only now, it feels like instead of pretending to be in a fight, we're pretending to be friends .In my wildest dreams I never would have imagined that the fight would become real and the friendship the charade.

Sisters are reliably good for two things: hating and loving.

Moving on doesn't mean you don't talk about it. Or hurt about it. It's always going to hurt,

A women living alone in a big ole house almost always invites the question of how she's going to fill it. Partner, kids, multiple rescue dogs, each with its own Instagram account. But a five-million-dollar shack in the most expensive beach destination in the country answers that question with gorgeous restraint. A woman in a home only big enough for herself is the ultimate fuck you to patriarchal society. It says, 'I am enough for me'.

Education, travel, culture - this is what any pennies pinched should be used for, never flashy cars, loud logos, or personal maintenance.

He imagined the future I could have before I even wanted it for myself, and he was the one to push me toward it. That's faith. Growing up, I thought faith was about believing Jesus died for us, and that if I held on to that, I'd get to meet him when I died too. But faith doesn't mean that to me anymore. Now it means someone seeing something in you that you don't, and not giving up until you see it too. I want that. I miss that.

Hallsy is only thirty-nine, and already her face is pulled tight as a pair of Lululemon yoga pants across a plus-size girl's rear. She's never been married, which she'll tell you she never wants to be even though she hangs all over every remotely fuckable guy after a single drink, while they gently untangle her Marshmallow Man arms from around their stiff necks. It's no wonder the only ring on her finger is the Cartier Trinity, what with the way she's ruined her face and the fact that she spends more time sunning on the beach than she should running on a treadmill. But it's not just her sunspot-speckled chest and stocky, lazy frame. Hallsy is the type of person others describe as "whacky" and "kooky," which is just the civilized way of saying she's a nasty cunt. Hallsy she loves me.

This was my fourth summer with Luke, and every year I watched as all that good, healthy outdoor activity - running, surfing, golfing, kite boarding - multiplied the golden flecks on his nose like cancer cells.

...sleeping pills are just button-shaped vulnerability.

It wasn't until I admitted to my own place in the (abuse and trauma ) cycle that people gave me the respect I always knew I deserved. And now that I have it, I can't stop wondering why it is that for a woman's work to be taken seriously, she has to bleed first? and why I was so quick to open a vein?

DiCaprio lose his shit for Claire Danes in Romeo + Juliet

Sometimes, a momentary truce in girlhood is much more precious than a guy you really like asking you out, sticking around even after getting the milk for free.

You know those people, just so fucking happy to be alive, bouncing down the street, buds in their ears and faces repulsive with pleasure as they belt out the lyrics to some noxious Motown classic. I've gotten bold, bumping them with my enormous bag as I pass by, savoring their outraged "Hey!" behind me. No one gets to be that happy.

It was a hard thing to do, apologize, but I've done harder things.

But faith doesn't mean that to me anymore. Now it means someone seeing something in you that you don't, and not giving up until you see it too.

Now, Ani." Whitney was doing that thing I hate, pronouncing my name "Annie" instead of "Ah-nee." "Luke says the wedding is in Nantucket. Why there?" Because of the privilege inherent in the location, Whitney. Because Nantucket transcends all classes, all areas of the country. Go to South Dakota and tell some sad smug housewife you grew up on the Main Line, and she doesn't know she's supposed to be impressed. Tell her you summer on Nantucket - be sure to verb it like that - and she knows who the fuck she's dealing with. That's why, Whitney.

It's okay to be insufferable as long as you're aware that you're being insufferable. At least that's how I justified it to myself.

I wrapped myself in the flimsy hospital gown and tiptoed across the hospital room to sit down on the hospital bed, holding my arms across my chest, trying to contain my breasts. They seemed enormous and unpredictable without a bra.

how young twenty-four is when you're not fourteen.

I think you know when two people are meant for each other when you see that they're better people together than they are when they're apart.

Arthur sighed heavily, like he was sorry he ever brought it up, but I knew he wasn't. The more sacred a piece of information, the more desperate the gatekeeper is to reveal it, the harder you have to work to relieve her of the burden. That way she doesn't feel horribly guilty about betraying confidences - what could she do? She was browbeaten into it!

I thought that by twenty-eight I could stop trying to prove myself and relax already. But this fight just gets bloodier with age.

Sometimes I feel like a windup doll, like I have to reach behind and turn my golden key to produce a greeting, a laugh, whatever the socially acceptable reaction should be.

Hemingway used to write an ending to his novel only to delete it, asserting that it made the story stronger because the reader would always be able to intuit the ghost of that final, incorporeal passage.

By the end of it all I just assumed no one ever told the truth, and that was when I started lying too.

Maybe he wouldn't fear my bite, my kookiness, maybe he'd get past my thorny bristles to see there is sweetness here. Would understand that moving on doesn't mean never talking about it, never crying about it.

Women's Magazine, "A study found that the act of physically closing your menu once you've decided what to order can make you feel more satisfied with your choice.

I couldn't decide which was worse - going gentle into that mom-jeans-wearing night, or fighting it, Botoxed and hungry, every step of the way.

But I needed to build up my loneliness tolerance, was all. The loneliness became like a friend, my constant companion. I could depend on it, and only it.

All my life, I've found it difficult to advocate for myself, to ask for what I want. I fear burdening people so much.