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Quote by Amy Lane

“No guy wants to come apart in front of his significant other,” Ellery snapped. “There are entire books written about the fact that men are socialized to communicate worse than twelve-year-old boys at a sock-hop.”

Quote by Amy Lane

Book:Fish on a Bicycle
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Fish on a Bicycle

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Amy Lane

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“Anne, look here. Can’t we be good friends?” For a moment Anne hesitated. She had an odd, newly awakened consciousness under all her outraged dignity that the half-shy, half-eager expression in Gilbert’s hazel eyes was something that was very good to see. Her heart gave a quick, queer little beat. But the bitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up her wavering determination. That scene of two years before flashed back into her recollection as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday. Gilbert had called her “carrots” and had brought about her disdain before the whole school. Her resentment, which to other and older people might be as laughable as its cause, was in no whit allayed and softened by time seemingly. She hated Gilbert Blythe! She would never forgive him!”

RomanceAnneAnne Of Green GablesAnne ShirleyStubbornessGilbertGilbertblythe
Author:L.M. Montgomery
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“I've overheard the way men gossip at dances or parties. They point out all a girl's physical flaws and debate whether she's too tall or short, or if her complexion is smooth enough, or whether her bosom is adequate." Pandora scowled. "Why don't they have to be perfect?" "Because they're men." Pandora looked disgusted. "That's the London Season for you: Casting girls before swine." Turning to her husband, she asked, "Do men really talk about women that way?" "Men, no," Gabriel said. "Arsewits, yes.”

MenMisogynyCassandra RavenelGabriel St VincentPandora And GabrielRavenel Twins
Book:Chasing Cassandra
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“The story we are told of women is not this one. The story of women is the story of love, of foundering into another. A slight deviation: longing to founder and being unable to. Being left alone in the foundering, and taking things into one's own hands: rat poison, the wheels of a Russian train. Even the smoother and gentler story is still just a modified version of the above. In the demotic, in the key of bougie, it's the promise of love in old age for all the good girls of the world. Hilarious ancient bodies at bath time, husband's palsied hands soaping wife's withered dugs, erection popping out of the bubbles like a pink periscope. I see you! There would be long, hobbledy walks under the plane trees, stories told by a single sideways glance, one word sufficing. Anthill, he'd say; Martini! she'd say; and the thick swim of the old joke would return to them. The laughter, the beautiful reverberations. Then the bleary toddling on to an early-bird dinner, snoozing through a movie hand in hand. Their bodies like knobby sticks wrapped in vellum. One laying the other on the deathbed, feeding the overdose, dying the day after, all heart gone out of the world with the beloved breath. Oh, companionship. Oh, romance. Oh, completion. Forgive her if she believed this would be the way it would go. She had been led to this conclusion by forces greater than she. Conquers all! All you need is! Is a many-splendored thing! Surrender to! Like corn rammed down goose necks, this shit they'd swallowed since they were barely old enough to dress themselves in tulle. The way the old story goes, woman needs an other to complete her circuits, to flick her to fullest blazing.”

MenLoveWomenRelationshipsMarriageExpectationsAgingOld AgeMyths
Book:Fates and Furies
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