girls

That's all YOU know,' said Digory. 'It's because you're a girl. Girls never want to know anything but gossip and rot about people getting engaged.

I'm pretty, but I'm not beautiful. I sin, but I'm not the devil. I'm good, but I'm not an angel.

But no guy was worth being a girl guys cheated with.

Personally, I'd prefer a guy who wants to see my boobs.

I see you go bare-shod. This is most likely extremely sensible. Shoes are no end of trouble for girls. . . . How many have danced to death in slippers of silk and glass and fur and wood? Too many to count__he graveyards, they are so full these days. You are very wise to let your soles become grubby with mud, to let them grow their own slippers of moss and clay and calluses. This is far preferable to shoes which may become wicked at any moment.

All girls are beautiful, and when they say they're ugly they only lie to themselves, for it's impossible for them to be ugly.

Since you haven__ got a name,_ he said. __ guess you can pick one for yourself. Would you like to pick one for me to write down?__he stopped rocking and looked at him. __ can do that? It__ legal and everything?__e smiled. __t__ a free country again,_ he said. __t least in theory.__he nodded. __nd when I pick a name it can be any name I want?__e nodded.__hat__ your name?___ictor,_ he said. __ic, for short.___kay,_ she said, leaning forward and taking the pad from under his large thing hands. __ow do you spell that?__e spelled it and she wrote it down. Her handwriting was perfectly small and legible. __an I be Victor, too?_ she said, looking up from the pad.He smirked. __t__ a boy__ name,_ he said. __ou__e a girl. You have to add an i and an a to the end if you want to make it a girl__ name.__he looked down at the name she had written and added the letters i and a to the end. __ictoria,_ she said, passing the notepad back to the cop.__ello, Victoria,_ he said, smiling, taking the pad and pen back and presenting his hand for a shake. __t__ nice to meet you, officially.

Every discussion with a girl is an argument, and when you think you are right suddenly you realize that your trapped.

I__ going to say this once here, and then__ecause it is obvious__ will not repeat it in the course of this book: not all boys engage in such behavior, not by a long shot, and many young men are girls_ staunchest allies. However, every girl I spoke with, every single girl__egardless of her class, ethnicity, or sexual orientation; regardless of what she wore, regardless of her appearance__ad been harassed in middle school, high school, college, or, often, all three. Who, then, is truly at risk of being __istracted_ at school? At best, blaming girls_ clothing for the thoughts and actions of boys is counterproductive. At worst, it__ a short step from there to __he was asking for it._ Yet, I also can__ help but feel that girls such as Camila, who favors what she called __ore so-called provocative_ clothing, are missing something. Taking up the right to bare arms (and legs and cleavage and midriffs) as a feminist rallying cry strikes me as suspiciously Orwellian. I recall the simple litmus test for sexism proposed by British feminist Caitlin Moran, one that Camila unconsciously referenced: Are the guys doing it, too? __f they aren__,_ Moran wrote, __hances are you__e dealing with what we strident feminists refer to as __ome total fucking bullshit.__ So while only girls get catcalled, it__ also true that only girls_ fashions urge body consciousness at the very youngest ages. Target offers bikinis for infants. The Gap hawks __kinny jeans_ for toddlers. Preschoolers worship Disney princesses, characters whose eyes are larger than their waists. No one is trying to convince eleven-year-old boys to wear itty-bitty booty shorts or bare their bellies in the middle of winter. As concerned as I am about the policing of girls_ sexuality through clothing, I also worry about the incessant drumbeat of self-objectification: the pressure on young women to reduce their worth to their bodies and to see those bodies as a collection of parts that exist for others_ pleasure; to continuously monitor their appearance; to perform rather than to feel sensuality. I recall a conversation I had with Deborah Tolman, a professor at Hunter College and perhaps the foremost expert on teenage girls_ sexual desire. In her work, she said, girls had begun responding __o questions about how their bodies feel__uestions about sexuality or arousal__y describing how they think they look. I have to remind them that looking good is not a feeling.

I wondered what it would be like, to love a girl, to know how a girl thinks, to see the world through a girl's eyes. Maybe they knew more than boys. Maybe they understood things that boys could never understand.

Boys often have permission to become men without the forfeiture of their desirability. And so these men write stories that grasp at girls who are ghosts twice over: first by being dead and second by being shallow shadows of actual girls, the assorted fragments of men's aging imaginations rather than the deep and dimensioned creatures that real girls are.

I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That__ the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they__e not much to look at, or even if they__e sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can.

I totally bought you as a girl," says Marisol. "I'll double check with Frances later, but by the sounds of things, you seem to have no balls.

All the girls I had ever loved were mine. Each gave me what she alone had to give and to each I gave what she alone knew how to take.

If I had a girl, I__ want her to know that she can be anything she wants and that she doesn't have to rely on her looks or clothes or hair or make-up to define who she is or to get respect from other people. I__ want her to know she has a right to be respected or noticed because she was born. I__ not talking about all the girl power nonsense, I__ talking about my girl growing up knowing she has the right to be treated decently simply because she was born.

I was only attracted to him for, like, several minutes when I first met him, but I'm attracted to everyone when I first meet them. And then it wore off. It always wears off.

There was a hint of spring in her sole green eyes, something summery in her complexion, and a rich autumn ripeness in her walk.

Lighted advertisements went running up dark red facades and dissipating again. He would pass girls; he would turn to look; but the prettier the face, the harder it was to take the plunge.