A Quote by George Bernard Shaw
It is assumed that the woman must wait, motionless, until she is wooed. That is how the spider waits for the fly.
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A woman is never so happy as when she is being wooed. Then she is mistress of all she surveys, the cynosure of all eyes, until that day of days when she sails down the aisle, a vision in white, lovely as the stefanotis she carries, borne translucent on her father's manly arm to be handed over to her new father-surrogate. If she is clever, and if her husband has the time and the resources, she will insist on being wooed all her life; more likely she will discover that marriage is not romantic, that husbands forget birthdays and aniversaries and seldom pay compliments, are often perfunctory.
Man who waits for roast duck to fly into mouth must wait very, very long time.
Because of the womb being a central phenomenon in the feminine body, the whole psychology of woman differs: she is non-aggressive, non-inquiring, non-questioning, non-doubting, because all of those things are part of aggression. She will not take the initiative; she simply waits - and she can wait infinitely.
The mother must teach her son how to respect and follow the rules. She must teach him how to compete successfully with the other boys. And she must teach him how to find a woman to take care of him and finish the job she began of training him how to live in a family. But no matter how good a job a woman does in teaching a boy how to be a man, he knows that she is not the real thing, and so he tends to exaggerate the differences between men and women that she embodies.
Fortune has something of the nature of a woman. If she is too intensely wooed, she commonly goes the further away.
For they both were solitary, She on earth and he is heaven. And he wooed her with caressed, Wooed her with his smile of sunshine -Song of Hiawatha, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A man cannot tell whether a woman is in love with him or his security blanket until she is financially and psychologically independent enough to leave. Until a woman has learned how to leave, even she cannot be sure she has learned to love.
No woman kills herself for love, and rarely for shame. It is the cruelty of hope that does a woman in; for no matter how many men a woman has given herself to, she never holds her life cheap until she foolishly believed it to be valued.
Praise not the day until evening has come, a woman until she is burnt, a sword until it is tried, a maiden until she is married, ice until it has been crossed, beer until it has been drunk.
One must wait until the evening to see how splendid the day was; one cannot judge life until death.
That conceit, elegantly expressed by the Emperor Charles V., in his instructions to the King, his son, "that fortune hath somewhat the nature of a woman, that if she be too much wooed she is the farther off.
Not fault of teaching spider if little spider pay more attention to catching fly than doing lesson.
Woman must be put back in her place. Man’s great error was to put woman on a pedestal, when she is far more at ease on her knees – where she belongs. … Woman must be reacquainted with truth and force. She must be reacquainted with truth through force. … She must be shown in no uncertain terms the absolute nature of the master/slave relationship endemic to the sexes.
Woman must come of age by herself. This is the essence of 'coming of age'-to learn how to stand alone. She must learn not to depend on another, nor to feel she must prove her strength by competing with another. In the past, she has swung between these two opposite poles of dependence and competition, of Victorianism and Feminism. Both extremes throw her off balance; neither is the center, the true center of being a whole woman. She must find her true center alone. She must become whole.
If a woman wants to fly, first of all she must, of course, abandon skirts and don a knickerbocker uniform.
Did you ever see a chameleon catch a fly? The chameleon gets behind the fly and remains motionless for some time, then he advances very slowly and gently, first putting forward one leg and then the other. At last, when well within reach, he darts his tongue and the fly disappears. England is the chameleon and I am that fly.
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