Woman In Full Effect Quotes

A good wife is Royal in Heart. She is a crown to her husband, and pride to the home where she was raised. She is called a W.I.F.E because she is a Woman In Full Effect. ~ Olaotan Fawehinmi

Let Me love you and show you what you deserve. Give me the opportunity to mold you into the woman you are to become. Allow me to show you what qualities you must possess to be that woman of integrity in Proverbs 31. Learn to love me with your full heart. Learn to accept pure love without ~ Olivia Stith

I'm not worried about tomorrow. I'm worried about right now, with you, under this Christmas tree." Blake supported her neck as he laid her on the floor.
Livia turned her head. "You'd better convince me. So far you've talked about the dog going to the bathroom, trash, and dirtiness."
Blake kissed her jaw and turned her head gently, kissing her mouth as she bit her lips together.
"Can't I just convince you with my manly ways?" He wiggled his eyebrows.
He could, of course, do just that - but she shook her head. She loved the playful sparkle in his green eyes. His five o'clock shadow just made him more handsome, framing his kissable lips with scruff.
"Okay." He put his fingers at the bottom of her shirt, lifting it gently so he could circle her belly button with his index finger. "You're the sexiest, most beautiful woman on this planet. So sexy, in fact, that I had to have you. I had to make you bear my children because my universe and yours had to be combined. Everything I've ever been needed to be buried inside of you, so deep, so full of love that we created life. Twice."
He lifted her shirt and kissed the tops of her breasts, whispering his devotion into her skin. "And it's never enough. Unless I can hear you coming, I can't think of anything else. All day every day. For years now. You're that powerful, Livia. This. Us. It's so intense that years haven't cured me. I can't stop wanting to make love to you."
"Wow." Livia smiled and pulled ~ Debra Anastasia

You become a woman the first time you stand up for yourself when they get your order wrong at a diner, or when you first realize your parents are full of shit. You become a woman the first time you get fitted for a bra and realize you've been wearing a very wrong size your whole fucking life. You become a woman the first time you fart in front of a boyfriend. The first time your heart breaks. The first time you break someone else's heart. The first time someone you love dies. The ~ Amy Schumer

There may not be time.' Strax said, 'to conduct a full surveillance regime according to prescribed regulations in order to formulate a coherent strategy of the best method to effect entry.'
'That's true,' Madame Vastra agreed. 'So I suggest you simply break down this door. ~ Justin Richards

This is all very fine, but it won't do-Anatomy-botany-Nonsense! Sir, I know an old woman in Covent Garden, who understands botany better, and as for anatomy, my butcher can dissect a joint full as well; no, young man, all that is stuff; you must go to the bedside, it is there alone you can learn disease!
Comment to Hans Sloane on Robert Boyle's letter of introduction describing Sloane as a 'ripe scholar, a good botanist, a skilful anatomist'. ~ Thomas Sydenham

I think that it's a space that there are a lot of projections onto - the soon-to-be sexualized and already-sexualized young woman. There are so many outside perceptions grafted onto her, that she feels all at once completely blank and completely full. I noticed that a lot in your book, as well, this repetition of a shallowness. But there is also depth in the constant repetition of this shallowness. ~ Tamara Faith Berger

Shall I show you the half-dozen other rooms in this hospital where these scenes are repeated? And what of the other hospitals? Printing House Square is small and tame. Even in the private institutions uptown you can see a show just like this: there is nothing as disgusting as an obese cadaver in which all the futile pleasures of many years finally arise to fill it full-blown with stinking rotten gases. The city is burning and under siege. And we are in a war in which everyone is killed and no one is remembered."
"What am I supposed to do, then," Peter Lake asked, "if it's like you say?"
"Is there someone you love?"
"Yes."
"A woman?"
"Yes."
"Then go home to her."
"And who will remember her?"
"No one. That's just the point. You must take care of all that now. ~ Mark Helprin

A guy can tell a girl he's in love with her until he's blue in the face. Words don't mean anything to a woman when her head's full of doubt. You have to show her. ~ Colleen Hoover

Outside the hospital, a young girl who was selling small bouquets of daffodils, their green stems tied with lavender ribbons. I watched as my mother bought out the girl's whole stock. Nurse Eliot, who remembered my mother from eight years ago volunteered to help her when she saw her comng down the hall, her arms full of flowers. She rounded up extra water pitchers from a supply closet and together, she and my mother filled them with water and placed the flowers around my father's room while he slept. Nurse Eliot thought that if loss could be used as a measure of beauty in a woman, my mother had grown even more beautiful.
(The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold) ~ Alice Sebold

I have written this book to encourage women to dream big, forge a path through the obstacles, and achieve their full potential. I am hoping that each woman will set her own goals and reach for them with gusto. And I am hoping that each man will do his part to support women in the workplace and in the home, also with gusto. As we start using the talents of the entire population, our institutions will be more productive, our homes will be happier, and the children growing up in those homes will no longer be held back by narrow stereotypes. ~ Sheryl Sandberg

My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.

You say when I go back you will suck me off and you want me to lick your cunt, you little depraved blackguard. I hope y ~ James Joyce

For Archie was an expert in dividing the affairs of life into men's business and women's business. An empty cupboard and a full plate were the man's business, a full cupboard and an empty plate the concern of the woman. ~ Annie Proulx

It is possible to think of fragrance existing before a flower was created to contain it, and so it is that God created the world to reveal Himself, to reveal Mercy.
Once or twice a year, perhaps three times, a woman visits the garden, her face ancient, the eyes calm but not passive as she approaches the rosewood tree and begins to pick and examine each fallen leaf. Whether she is in possession of her full mental faculties, no one is sure. Perhaps she is sane and just pretending madness for self-protection. Many decades ago - long before the house was built, when this place was just an expanse of wild growth - she had discovered the name of God on a rosewood leaf, the green veins curving into sacred calligraphy. She picks each small leaf now, hoping for a repetition of the miracle, holding it in her palms in a gesture identical to prayer. The life of the house continues around her and occasionally she watches them, following the most ordinary human acts with an attention reserved by others for much greater events. If it is autumn, she has to remain in the garden for hours, following the surge and pull of the wind as it takes the dropped foliage to all corners. Afterwards, as the dusk begins to darken the air, they sit together, she and the tree, until only the tree remains.
What need her search fulfils in her is not known. Perhaps healing had existed before wounds and bodies were created to be its recipient. ~ Nadeem Aslam

Antonia came in and stood before me ... It was a shock, of course. It always is, to meet people after long years, especially if they have lived as much and as hard as this woman had. We stood looking at each other. The eyes that peered anxiously at me were - simply Antonia's eyes..As I confronted her, the changes grew less apparent to me, her identity stronger. She was there in the full vigour of her personality, battered, but not diminished ... ~ Willa Cather

A distorted sense of danger isn't just psychologically taxing; it also encourages us to perceive risk where there isn't any. Steeping in ominous stories can make people into threats themselves. The news is full of examples of how ambient anxiety gets turned against people of color going about their daily lives - taking a nap in the student lounge; walking down the street; selling lemonade. I thought of the woman who called the cops on two Native American brothers who were on a college tour at Colorado State. The teenagers made the woman "nervous," she told the 911 operator. "If it's nothing, I'm sorry. But it actually made me like feel sick and I've never felt like that." Many people are feeling sick these days, for many reasons. But we should all be careful about the stories we tell ourselves to explain why. ~ Rachel Monroe

As geographers, Sosius, crowd into the edges of their maps parts of the world which they do not know about, adding notes in the margin to the effect, that beyond this lies nothing but sandy deserts full of wild beasts, unapproachable bogs, Scythian ice, or a frozen sea, so, in this work of mine, in which I have compared the lives of the greatest men with one another, after passing through those periods which probable reasoning can reach to and real history find a footing in, I might very well say of those that are farther off, beyond this there is nothing but prodigies and fictions, the only inhabitants are the poets and inventors of fables; there is no credit, or certainty any farther. ~ Plutarch

There was no way that these guys were going to let a bleeding, barefoot woman simply wander off alone into the streets. Two of them were already running toward her with hands reaching out in a manner that, in normal circumstances, would have seemed just plain ungentlemanly. What would have been designated, in a Western office, as a hostile environment was soon in full swing as numerous rough strong hands were all over her, easing her to a comfortable perch on a chair that was produced as if by magic, feeling through her hair to find bumps and lacerations. Three different first aid kits were broken open at her feet; older and wiser men began to lodge objections at the profligate use of supplies, darkly suggesting that it was all because she was a pretty girl. A particularly dashing young man skidded up to her on his knees (he was wearing hard-shell knee pads) and, in an attitude recalling the prince on the final page of Cinderella, fit a pair of used flip-flops onto her feet. ~ Neal Stephenson

I shall say another word for the most select ears: what I really want from music. That it be cheerful and profound like an afternoon in October. That it be individual, frolicsome, tender, a sweet small woman full of beastliness and charm. I ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Mr. Rochester continued to be blind the first two years of our union; perhaps it was that circumstance that drew us so very near -- that knit us so very close; for I was then his vision, as I am still his right hand. Literally, I was (what he often called me) the apple of his eye. He saw nature -- he saw books through me; and never did I weary of gazing for his behalf, and of putting into words the effect of the field, tree, town, river, cloud, sunbeam -- of the landscape before us; of the weather around us -- and impressing by sound on his ear what light could no longer stamp on his eye. Never did I weary of reading to him; never did I weary conducting him where he wished to go; of doing for him what he wished to be done. And there was a pleasure in my services, most full, most exquisite, even though sad -- because he claimed these services without painful shame or damping humiliation. He loved me so truly, that he knew no reluctance in profiting by my attendance; he felt I loved him so fondly, that to yield that attendance was to indulge my sweetest wishes. ~ Charlotte Bronte

Just as the invention of new forms of industrial automation in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries had the paradoxical effect of turning more and more of the world's population into full-time industrial workers, so has all the software designed to save us from administrative responsibilities in recent decades ultimately turned us all into part or full-time administrators. ~ David Graeber

I don't believe makeup and the right hairstyle alone can make a woman beautiful. The most radiant woman in the room is the one full of life and experience. ~ Sharon Stone

Huiann swallowed, her hands clasped together and her eyes glassy with tears, then she spoke some more.
"Her heart is full of feeling for you, but she knows it is wrong for her to stay with you. She wishes for you to find a white woman who will fit into your life and be the wife you need."
Alan started shaking his head before Dong Li even finished translating. "No. Tell her she makes me happy. She is exactly the wife I need." He breathed deeply, steadying the quaver in his voice. "Ask Chua Huiann if she will do me the honor of marrying me."
Dong clicked his tongue, but offered Alan's proposal.
Huiann's eyes opened wide and she spoke rapidly.
"How would your family and your people react to you marrying a foreign bride? You would be ostracized. It cannot be." Dong added his own thoughts to the translation. "The girl speaks sense and sees more clearly than you."
Alan frowned. He couldn't promise his family would accept Huiann or ever welcome them home as a couple, but he didn't care. Maybe she was seeing reason, but he was only seeing her. ~ Bonnie Dee

I'm often asked if I'm a feminist. This I suspect has something to do with the fact that I write a column called Fe-mail and most people lack imagination. My answer is always a firm 'now' because I refuse to have my femininity define me or indeed put me on the back foot. Life is already full of challenges, why make my gender another one? It's just too exhausting, and ultimately, I suspect, futile. I am not fighting to prove my worth or my ability as a woman, but rather as a person. And of course I speak not on behalf of, or against, millions of women across the world who must forcibly negotiate cultures, religions, societies, or families that genuinely oppress (sometimes in the most brutal ways) but rather those women-educated and free-who cry foul at the merest hint of male dominance. Chill the F^*k out and just get on with your own life. Because you know what? All those nasty evil men you're huffing and puffing about, they're not giving you a moment's thought. They're too busy aggressively going after what they want with no thought of barriers or blocks or unfair this or that. ~ Amy Mowafi

He felt the full warmth of that pleasure from which the proud shut themselves out; the pleasure which not only goes with humiliation, but which almost is humiliation. Men who have escaped death by a hair have it, and men whose love is returned by a woman unexpectedly, and men whose sins are forgiven them. Everything his eye fell on it feasted on, not aesthetically, but with a plain, jolly appetite as of a boy eating buns. He relished the squareness of the houses; he liked their clean angles as if he had just cut them with a knife. The lit squares of the shop windows excited him as the young are excited by the lit stage of some promising pantomime. He happened to see in one shop which projected with a bulging bravery on to the pavement some square tins of potted meat, and it seemed like a hint of a hundred hilarious high teas in a hundred streets of the world. He was, perhaps, the happiest of all the children of men. For in that unendurable instant when he hung, half slipping, to the ball of St. Paul's, the whole universe had been destroyed and re-created. ~ G.K. Chesterton

What do you know of great love? Have you ever loved a woman until milk leaked from her as though she had just given birth to love itself, and now must feed it or burst? Have you ever tasted a woman until she believed that she could be satisfied only by consuming the tongue that had devoured her? Have you ever loved a woman so completely that the sound of your voice in her ear could cause her body to shudder and explode with such intense pleasure that only weeping could bring her full release? ~ Don Juan DeMarco

Great. Lovely. Can I have your hat?"
"My ... hat?" The elderly woman looked up at the oversized hat. The sides drooped magnificently, and the thing was festooned with flowers. Like, oodles of them. Silk, he figured, but they were really good replicas.
"You have a lady friend?" Aunt Gin asked. "You wish to give her the hat?"
"Nah," Wayne said. "I need to wear it next time I'm an old lady."
"The next time you what?" Aunt Gin grew pale, but that was probably on account of the fact that Wax went stomping by, wearing his full rusting mistcoat. That man never could figure out how to blend in. ~ Brandon Sanderson

He got in beside her and impatiently reached for her seat belt, snapping it in place. "You always forget," he murmured, meeting her eyes.
Her breath came uneasily through her lips as she met that level stare and responded helplessly to it. He was handsome and sexy and she loved him more than her own life. She had for years. But it was a hopeless, unreturned adoration that left her unfulfilled. He'd never touched her, not even in the most innocent way. He only looked.
"I should close my door to you," she said huskily. "Refuse to speak to you, refuse to see you, and get on with my life. You're a constant torment."
Unexpectedly he reached out and touched her soft cheek with just his fingertips. They smoothed down to her full, soft mouth and teased the lower lip away from the upper one. "I'm Lakota," he said quietly. "You're white."
"There is," she said unsteadily, "such a thing as birth control."
His face was very solemn and his eyes were narrow and intent on hers. "And sex is all you want from me, Cecily?" he asked mockingly. "No kids, ever?"
It was the most serious conversation they'd ever had. She couldn't look away from his dark eyes. She wanted him. But she wanted children, too, eventually. Her expression told him so.
"No, Cecily," he continued gently. "Sex isn't what you want at all. And what you really want, I can't give you. We have no future together. If I marry one day, it's important to me that I marry a woman with the same backgroun ~ Diana Palmer

In fact, I had to make an enormous adjustment to this, not only in listening to it but in playing with it. It's a full sound. In some instances, you must have the volume to get the effect. ~ Chico Hamilton

The moon seemed to veil herself before the bold looks of Satan. The night was cold. All the doors were closed, all the windows darkened. and the streets deserted. From their appearance, one would have imagined that, for a long time past no foot had traversed those silent streets. Everything around us bore a death-like aspect. It seemed as if, when day came, no one would open their doors; that no head, of woman or of child, would look out of those dark, dull windows; that no step would break the silence which fell, like a pall, upon all around. I seemed to be walking in a city which had been buried some ages. In truth, the town seemed to have been depopulated, and the cemetery to have grown full.

Still we went forward, without hearing a murmur, or meeting even with a shadow. The street stretched for a long way across this fearful city of silence and repose. At last we reached my house.

'You remember it?' said the fiend.

'Yes,' replied I, sullenly, 'let us enter.'

'First,' said he, 'we must open the door. It is I, by the way, who invented the science of opening doors without breaking them in. In fact, I have a second key to all doors and gates - with one exception - that of Paradise! ~ James Hain Friswell

What happened?" Dallas asked immediately, his hand reaching out toward Louie. I didn't miss how Lou took his hand instantly.

"She called me a brat," Louie blurted out, his other little hand coming up to meet with the one already clutching our neighbor's.

I blinked and told myself I was not going to look at Christy until I had the full story.

"Why?" Dallas was the one who asked.

"He spilled some of his hot chocolate on her purse," it was Josh who explained. "He said sorry, but she called him a brat. I told her not to talk to my brother like that, and she told me I should have learned to respect my elders."

For the second time around this woman, I went to ten. Straight through ten, past Go, and collected two hundred dollars.

"I tried to wipe it up," Louie offered, those big blue eyes going back and forth between Dallas and me for support.

"You should teach these boys to watch where they're going," Christy piped up, taking a step back.

Be an adult. Be a role model, I tried telling myself. "It was an accident," I choked out. "He said he was sorry… and your purse is leather and black, and it'll be fine," I managed to grind out like this whole thirty-second conversation was jabbing me in the kidneys with sharp knives.

"I'd like an apology," the woman, who had gotten me suspended and made me cry, added quickly.

I stared at her long face. "For what?"

"From Josh, fo ~ Mariana Zapata

He found himself surprised by how much he enjoyed that they were taking it slow. Liked watching her gentle to him. Each time she did something that showed him how much she trusted him, pride flushed through him. She deserved all his attention on her as he got to know her on this entirely new level. It was achingly sexy, this dance they moved through. Delicious with anticipation. He let himself luxuriate in the slow woo, the seduction of it rather than a quick f*ck with someone he didn't plan to see in a week. He'd never used his sexuality like this, hadn't turned it up full blast to enchant a woman this way. But by God, he wanted her, and why not show her just exactly what she did to him? ~ Lauren Dane

For a moment, I was perfectly relaxed, and I began enjoying the sight of this beautifully candlelit room full of well-dressed people. Then Mr. Merchant made a grab for my décolletage from behind, and I almost spilled the punch.
"One of those dear, pretty little roses slipped out of place," he claimed, with an insinuating grin. I stared at him, baffled. Giordano hadn't prepared me for a situation like this, so I didn't know the proper etiquette for dealing with Rococo gropers. I looked at Gideon for help, but he was so deep in conversation with the young widow that he didn't even notice. If we'd been in my own century, I'd have told Mr. Merchant to keep his dirty paws to himself or I'd hit back, whether or not any little roses had really slipped. But in the circumstances, I felt that his reaction was rather - discourteous. So I smiled at him and said, "Oh, thank you, how kind. I never noticed."
Mr. Merchant bowed. "Always glad to be of service, ma'am." The barefaced cheek of it! But in times when woman had no vote, I suppose it wasn't surprising if they didn't get any other kind of respect either.
The talking and laughter gradually died away as Miss Fairfax, a thin-nosed lady wearing a reed-green dress, went over to the pianoforte, arranged her skirts, and placed her hands on the keys. In fact, she didn't play badly. It was her singing that was rather disturbing. It was incredibly . . . well, high-pitched. A tiny bit higher, and you'd have thought she was a dog ~ Kerstin Gier

Curiously enough, it seems that at times the spiritual side prevails, and then the materialistic side - in wave-like motions following each other. ...At one time the full flood of materialistic ideas prevails, and everything in this life - prosperity, the education which procures more pleasures, more food - will become glorious at first and then that will degrade and degenerate. Along with the prosperity will rise to white heat all the inborn jealousies and hatreds of the human race. Competition and merciless cruelty will be the watchword of the day. To quote a very commonplace and not very elegant English proverb, "Everyone for himself, and the devil take the hindmost", becomes the motto of the day. Then people think that the whole scheme of life is a failure. And the world would be destroyed had not spirituality come to the rescue and lent a helping hand to the sinking world. Then the world gets new hope and finds a new basis for a new building, and another wave of spirituality comes, which in time again declines. As a rule, spirituality brings a class of men who lay exclusive claim to the special powers of the world. The immediate effect of this is a reaction towards materialism, which opens the door to scores of exclusive claims, until the time comes when not only all the spiritual powers of the race, but all its material powers and privileges are centered in the hands of a very few; and these few, standing on the necks of the masses of the people, want to rule them. Then ~ Swami Vivekananda

Adam arrived at 735 Monroe Street prepared for the woman to be a bit skittish.
After all, she'd run from him earlier, obviously intimidated by his overwhelming masculinity and epic sexuality. Women often had that reaction to him, especially when he was stripping off his pants. Or kilt, depending on the century.
He was also prepared, however, for her inhibitions to drop swiftly, as did all women's when they got a good, close-up look at him.
After that, many simply launched themselves at him in a full-frontal assault of sexual frenzy. He'd been entertaining himself with just that possibility, his entire body tight with lust, while tracking her down with the information he'd obtained int he room called "Human Resources" at Little & Staller.
But nothing in his vast repertoire of experience had prepared him for Gabrielle O'Callaghan.
The bloodthirsty little hellion didn't react like any woman he'd ever encountered. She took one horrified look at him, drew back her arm, hauled off, and smashed him in the face with some kind of satchel she was holding.
Then slammed the door and locked it.
Leaving him on the doorstep, bleeding. Bleeding, by Danu, blood trickling from his lip! ~ Karen Marie Moning

From the moment I set the wordless body, full of physical beauty, in opposition to beautiful words that imitated physical beauty, thereby equating them as two things springing from one and the same conceptual source, I had in effect, without realizing it, already released myself from the spell of words. For it meant that I was recognizing the identical origin of the formal beauty in the wordless body and the formal beauty in words, and was beginning to seek a kind of platonic idea that would make it possible to put the flesh and words on the same footing. ~ Yukio Mishima

GOD proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It's a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from GOD. It's a good thing when you're young to stick it out through the hard times. 28-30 When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter the silence. Bow in prayer. Don't ask questions: Wait for hope to appear. Don't run from trouble. Take it full-face. ~ Eugene H. Peterson

in 3000 b.c....in spain, france, the british isles and old europe, the lives of people centered on nature and motherhood. they honored mother nature, mother earth and mother creator. women were revered as the givers of life. as creators, they were thought to be connected to diety. statues of the goddesses of these early people were of full-breasted women with bodies clearly depicting the ballooning abdomen of women about to give birth. these primal people regarded birthing as the highest manifestation of nature. when a woman gave birth, everyone gathered around her in the temple for the "celebration of life." birthing was a religious rite, and not at all the painful ordeal it came to be years later. ~ Marie F. Mongan