There is no more unfortunate creature under the sun than a fetishist who yearns for a woman's shoe and has to settle for the whole woman.

There is no more unfortunate creature under the sun than a fetishist who yearns for a woman's shoe and has to settle for the whole woman.

There's a type of woman who isn't content until she's made herself some man's slave and doormat—put herself completely in his power.

For women, the only alternative to being a feminist is being a masochist.

It is a curious truth — and yet a truth forced upon us by daily observation — that it is not the women who have suffered most who are the unhappy women. A state of permanent unhappiness — not the morbid, half-cherished melancholy of youth, which generally wears off with wiser years, but that settled, incurable discontent and dissatisfaction with all things and all people, which we see in some women, is, with very rare exceptions, at once the index and the exponent of a thoroughly selfish character.

An unsatisfied woman requires luxury, but a woman who is in love with a man will lie on a board.

One seeks to make the loved one entirely happy, or, if that cannot be, entirely wretched.

There's something perverse about women...they're all masochists at heart.

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

There is no bore like a despairing lover.

I know nothing sadder than a hunchback in love or an ugly woman full of romantic ideals.

The woman afflicted by the need for adoration cannot have a free moment of real joy away from her obsession with self; she is slave to the never-ending quest for youth and beauty and social acceptance.

Woman is not made to be the admiration of all, but the happiness of one.

She behaves with all the sensitivity of a sex-starved boa constrictor