Men are allowed to have passion and commitment for their work... a woman is allowed that feeling for a man, but not her work.
If we resist our passions, it is more due to their weakness than to our strength.
Woman begins by resisting a man's advances and ends by blocking his retreat.
Man's love is of man's life a part; it is a woman's whole existence. In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love.
I think the worst woman that ever existed would have made a man of very passable reputation - they are all better than us and their faults such as they are must originate with ourselves.
It is with our passions as it is with fire and water, they are good servants, but bad masters.
I hold that a writer who does not passionately believe in the perfectibility of man has no dedication nor any membership in literature.
My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?
One of my assistants found this old German machine. It was originally used to make underwear. Like Chanel, who started with underwear fabric - jerseys - we used the machine that made underwear to make something else.
There is nothing in the world like the devotion of a married woman. It is a thing no married man knows anything about.
A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea.
This woman's work is exceptional. Too bad she's not a man.
A woman is the only thing I am afraid of that I know will not hurt me.
Whenever there is love the woman blossoms. Without love, the woman shrinks.
A man that is ashamed of passions that are natural and reasonable is generally proud of those that are shameful and silly.
Passion is the genesis of genius.
I wanted to be the kind of woman who would attract a certain kind of man that I could respect. That was my thinking. It had to do with the kind of couple I would be a part of.
The oaths of a woman I inscribe on water.
An invasion of armies can be resisted, but not an idea whose time has come.
If a woman tells you she's twenty and looks sixteen, she's twelve. If she tells you she's twenty-six and looks twenty-six, she's damn near fourty.
We had this idea about a woman who you would see on the street and make a host of sexual assumptions, and they would all be wrong.
And there is a beautiful thing which is wonderful, to look like a woman, not a green bean.
Nobody loves a woman because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or intelligent. We love because we love.
There is a woman at the begining of all great things.
All matter originates and exists only by virtue of a force... We must assume behind this force the existence of a conscious and intelligent Mind. This Mind is the matrix of all matter.