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Quote by Susan Glaspell

“I'd hate to have men coming into my kitchen, snooping around and criticising.”

Book:A Jury of Her Peers

Work

A Jury of Her Peers

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Author

Susan Glaspell

Susan Glaspell (July 1, 1876 – July 27, 1948) was an American playwright, novelist, and journalist, recognized as a pioneer of modern American drama. She co-founded the Provincetown Players, a key force in the Little Theatre Movement, which nurtured talents like Eugene O'Neill. Glaspell's works often explore themes of gender, justice, and individuality, with a focus on women's inner lives. Her most famous play, Trifles (1916), is a feminist classic that examines gender roles through a murder investigation. She also won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1931 for Alison's House. Despite being overlooked for decades, her contributions to theater have been reassessed and celebrated in feminist literary criticism. more

“Mayhap after I kill ye, I'll swive her a time or two. She seems to like japin', and I'm told I'm good at it, so I might yet convince her." Claray snorted at the claim. "No' if what the lasses say is true. They say ye've a prick like a string bean and can no' get it hard without hurtin' a lass first. Pathetic," she pronounced.”

Claray Macfarlane Belittlement

Book:Highland Wolf

Source: Highland Wolf

“Her smile was brittle. "Well, I know Kieran's achieving something if someone like you is willing to be in a relationship with him." "Someone like me?" She gestured to me from head to toe. "Respectable. Elegantly dressed, if a little flamboyant with color. Beautiful manners, well-spoken. Clearly you listened to your parents when they told you how to behave." I choked back a snort at the thought of my biological father being Mr. Manners. The sheer audacity of it. "Kieran probably hasn't told you about all the times we had to get him out of trouble," she continued. I blinked, confused. "No." She ticked off on her fingers as she spoke. "He skipped classes, he stole money out of my wallet, he crashed our cars more than once. Not to mention the drinking, my God. He couldn't hold his liquor at all. We were so ashamed." I held back my eye roll. It was like having a conversation with a steamroller. As she continued to list Kieran's crimes, I realized that she relished this monologue, all the ways he'd done them wrong. Like she never wanted him to grow up because then she'd have to stop being a martyr. "But anyway, that's all in the past. Finally, he's become who we always wanted him to be, and we can hold our heads up." The thought of being a source of pride to these snobby, plastic people made me want to drink ten flutes of prosecco, climb onto their dining room table, and do Amy Winehouse karaoke, Diane's advice about polish and presentation be damned. But all I needed to shock them was the truth. "I haven't seen my father in over twenty years," I began. "As far as I know he's still the lead singer of the second-best hair metal band in Spokane. My mother's salary was for keeping herself in clothes and boyfriends. Sometimes I had to break into my piggy bank so that I could by Cup O' Noodles at 7-Eleven for my brother and me. I've made a good life in spite of my parents, not because of them. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with your son. I knew he was a survivor, too. But thank you for the compliments. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

Presumption Complex Trauma Bad Parenting Truth Bomb Child Trauma Belittlement

Book:The Slowest Burn

Source: The Slowest Burn

“Alberto was a good for nothing pisellino." Nonna puts her hand to her chest, looking shocked and delighted. "Violetta," she says, "no, is it true?" Nicolo makes a little choking sound. He looks mortified. I'm confused. "Did Violetta just call your grandfather a little pea?" I whisper, struggling to translate the words in my head. Nicolo is flushing a dull red beneath his golden olive tan. "It um... doesn't mean little pea," he murmurs, leaning close to my chair. "In Italian it is an insult for a man's private parts, calling them very small, like little peas." My eyes widen in astonishment. At this point in the evening I'm not sure anything else could surprise me. "It's true." Violetta sniffs and holds up her fingers several inches apart. "And his manhood, like a baby zucchina." Nonna looks immensely satisfied by this information. "Well," she says. "Well, God bless Carlo. He was a good man and there were no baby zucchine in our house, I can tell you. Only grandi zucchine." Nicolo clears his throat. "Your grandchildren are standing right here!" he reminds them.”

Insulting Belittlement Italian Saying

Book:The Secret of Orange Blossom Cake

Source: The Secret of Orange Blossom Cake