Classy Girl Quotes

A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.

Be classy. Anything but trashy.

Be the girl you want your daughter to be. Be the girl you want your son to date. Be classy, be smart, be real, but most importantly be nice.

Sure. She’s classy, elegant, made of sturdy stuff, expensive as hell to keep running and keep pretty. She’s only good to me if I’m good to her, so obviously she’s a girl.

A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.

There is a saying that "paper is more patient than man";it came back to me on one of my slightly melancholy days,while I sat chin in hand,feeling too bored and limp even to make up my mind whether to go out or stay at home. Yes, there is no doubt that paper is patient and as I don't intend to show this cardboard-covered notebook,bearing the proud name of"diary",to anyone,unless I find a real friend,boy or girl,probably nobody cares.And now I come to the root of the matter,the reason for my starting a diary:it is that I have no such real friend. Let me put it more clearly,since no one will believe that a girl of thirteen feels herself quite alone in the world,nor is it so.I have darling parents and a sister of sixteen.I know about thirty people whom one might call friends--I have strings of boy friends,anxious to catch a glimpse of me and who,failing that,peep at me through mirrors in class.I have relations,aunts and uncles,who are darlings too,a good home,no--I don't seem to lack anything.But it's the same with all my friends,just fun and joking,nothing more.I can never bring myself to talk of anything outside the common round.We don't seem to be able to get any closer,that is the root of the trouble.Perhaps I lack confidence,but anyway,there it is,a stubborn fact and I don't seem to be able to do anything about it.

She’s something rare—smart, classy, gorgeous, funny, opinionated, and under it all, where she tries to hide it, kind. And burrowed beneath all of that, vulnerable. She isn’t the kind of girl you mess over.

Aunt Loretta has something that maybe you could call class. It's not the made-up kind that Grandma has, fake pearls and Sunday hats, but something that comes to you as if you were born to the king and queen. Aunt Loretta understands better than Grandma that reading a big book is more classy than wearing fake pearls watching TV.

A girl should be sassy, classy, and ballsy with a touch of badassy.

Yeah, I’m a classy guy.” Ranger scooped up a handful of popcorn. “A little girl’s life is at stake. That doesn’t leave much room for ego and turf wars.

A young lady is supposed to be classy, kind, generous, and respectful. She is told she should not display any anger and/or badmouth her peers. A young lady is told to think ‘inside the box’ and to limit her expectations because her husband will provide for her in the future. A young lady is taught to never fuss or complain and to always keep a smile on her face. When a young lady speaks her mind, she is told that she is not acting “ladylike”. When a young lady steps out of her comfort zone to challenge herself to fight for what she wants, she is told she is not acting “ladylike”. When a young lady plays a sport, and at times she may be aggressive, she is told that she is not acting “ladylike” When a young lady is bossy, she is told to humble herself, because that is not acting “ladylike”. Maybe she isn’t bossy, maybe she is confident within herself, has high self-esteem and knows she can dare to be different.

We are Nasvillians now. We have to be classy Southern bitches." Kacey glared as she swigged her tea. "Classy girls don't say classy bitches." "This one does," Lacey said as she took a sip of her tea with her pinky up just to show she meant what she said.

She gave him a small smile. “Me too. But you know what my dad used to say? Wish in one hand, Alice, honey, and shit in the other. See which one fills up first.” She sent Henry a sardonic look. “Classy guy, my dad. But now that I’ve got two hands full of shit, I’m starting to get his drift.

Amazing girls like precious gem! so classy always in style

That bitch.” Perry said. “Do you want me to go over there?” “No, I’ll take care of this.” I marched over and slammed my glass on the mahogany bar. Tiffany fake-smiled. “A psychic and a medium walk into a bar. The psychic says . . .” “Screw you.” She frowned. “That’s not how the joke goes, Clare.” “You know where you can shove your joke. Just get me a new drink and try not to include any of your STD-laced body fluid in it this time.” Tiffany dumped the soda out and began to repour. “I’d like a whole new glass.” She narrowed her eyes at me, then grunted as she reached for a new glass. “So how’s Justin?” she asked. I wanted to use an upended stool to pole vault over the bar and gouge her eyes out. Instead I took a deep breath and talked myself through it. Remain calm. Don’t sink to her level. You are a classy girl. She is a psychotic skankbag. You are the better of the two. Act like it. Okay, now I was calm. “I don’t know how Justin is and I don’t care.” “Really?” she said. “I thought you cared about him a lot.” Maybe she’s suicidal? That’s why she keeps inviting me to kill her? I fumbled with the coaster in front of me to keep my hands busy, since all they wanted to do at that moment was wrap themselves around her neck.

Red rolls on the sand until her shoulder bumps into mine. She is laughing hysterically, and even though I keep a stoic face, I’m anything but. God, I fucking love this girl. “So…” She nuzzles into the crook of my neck, her arms flung over me. “Are you taking me to that fancy restaurant you booked for us last time we were in Miami?” “Hell no,” I snort. “That was before I realized you’re a McMeal kind of girl. I can treat you to a hot, sexy dinner date at Wendy’s if you’re up for it.” “Make it IHOP and you’re on. They have pancakes and hot chocolate.” “Classy girl. And I bet you’ll still put out afterwards.” “Damn right I will. I’m only using you for your body, Mr. Brennan.” “And for the cash. Don’t forget the cash.” “Nah, I make my own money, thank you very much.” She plants a kiss on my jaw, and I beam like an idiot, because she’s right.

The drama is this. We came as infants “trailing clouds of glory,” arriving from the farthest reaches of the universe, bringing with us appetites well preserved from our mammal inheritance, spontaneities wonderfully preserved from our 150,000 years of tree life, angers well preserved from our 5,000 years of tribal life—in short, with our 360-degree radiance—and we offered this gift to our parents. They didn’t want it. They wanted a nice girl or a nice boy. That’s the first act of the drama. It doesn’t mean our parents were wicked; they needed us for something. My mother, as a second generation immigrant, needed my brother and me to help the family look more classy. We do the same thing to our children; it’s a part of life on this planet. Our parents rejected who we were before we could talk, so the pain of the rejection is probably stored in some pre-verbal place.

As a manager of so-called talent, he was demoralized to find himself in such low company, sitting between an armed crackpot and a fake chicken farmer known to millions as "Captain Cock." Back home in Beverly Hills, rival agents were dining with classy A-listers such as Javier Bardem and the Cohen Brothers, or so Coolman bitterly imagined.

A girl should be two things, classy and fabulous. Coco Chanel

I’m planning to go redneck chic with the wedding,” Maddy announced, looking through the racks of dresses. “What the hell is that?” “Redneck chic is a nice way of saying I have bad taste, but I’m embracing it.” Sizing up Maddy’s blonde girl next door beauty, I found her dressed normal. “Bad taste how? Is this about Tucker because, yeah, I see it?” Maddy rolled her blue eyes then walked to the next rack. “Tucker is gorgeous. He’s the classiest part of my life.” Nearby, Raven burst into laughter to the point of nearly pissing herself. I didn’t blame her since we’d all seen Tucker fall off chairs and struggle with push/ pull doors. Classy, he was not.

Cooper’s dark eyes studied my face then he smiled. “I really am crazy about you. Let me make it up to you.” “What about Nick?” I asked, daring him to freak out again. His jaw twitching, Cooper shrugged. “He’s a guy. He gets it. In fact, I think he’s hot for one of those giggly blondes in class. Shar, I think is the one. No need for me or anyone else to care about old Nick.” “So I can study with him?” Cooper narrowed his eyes and exhaled hard. “Why him?” “He’s in a bunch of my classes and he takes great notes.” “Great notes? Is that code?” “I waited all day to see you, Coop,” I said, placing my hand on his chest where I knew the cross was hiding under his white tee. “I missed you then you ruined everything by focusing on him. Will you keep doing that? I need you to focus on me.” “You want me, right? Not him.” “I want you so much, but I think it’s a mistake. You obviously don’t trust me.” “Don’t make it about trust. It’s not even about you.” “What the hell does that mean?” I asked, removing my hand. Cooper looked ready to grab my hand and return it to his chest. I saw him fight the urge then he forced a smile. A really fake smile that never reached his eyes. “It’s about me. It’s about my feeling like someone is trying to take away what I need. You aren’t doing anything. I just can’t have a man sniffing around my girl.” “He’s not sniffing around me.” “Don’t be naïve.” “You said he liked Shar.” “Why do you care who he likes?” Backing away, I sighed. “I’m taking the bus home.” “No, wait,” he said, wrapping his arms around me as I retreated. “Look, I’m jealous. That’s not a bad thing, is it? If you saw me with some chick, wouldn’t you be jealous?” “Yes, but I wouldn’t freak out and scare everyone.” “That’s because you’re classy. I was raised to be a caveman though. I should get credit for not taking you by the hair and dragging you back to my cave. You know, after clubbing your boyfriend to death first.” “You’re nuts.” “I’m teasing you.” “Not completely,” I said, staring at him in horror. “No, not completely. Well, I’m not kidding about clubbing him to death, but I’d never drag you back to my cave. Me want woman to want it bad.

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beauty, not many girls are as classy as the one I’ve been missing from my bed.” I shiver. “But we know I’m not a saint, and my sinner is craving a release. I’m thinking a certain little redhead is craving the same thing.

But what if we live together? Have kids together? Own a chinchilla farm upstate together? What if not speaking for sixty days is an honest-to-God impossibility? Then your contact should be as brief and cordial as possible while you make plans to not live together or sell the chinchilla farm. If there are children involved, then clearly their well-being is paramount and you, being the super classy lady who is unbelievably graceful in trying situations, will rise to the occasion . . . while keeping the contact to a minimum and strictly about the kids.

Her face held so much disdain. And it pissed me off because she was making wrong assumptions—looking down on me. I would never hurt Ivy. But also because Celeste was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen—classy in a spellbinding Old Hollywood kind of way—so her dismissal stung.

Like Coco Chanel once said, “A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.

The Mariner’s Officers Club was a classy place and much the same as the one I had heard about in Cape Town. Complete with “linen service” it was about as good as it gets. The Monkey Gland Steak… Not to worry, it’s only a name; no monkeys are a part of this tangy sauce that is a delicious blend of fruit and splices. The sauce can also be used as a marinade. As far as I know it is not on the market but can be made by frying minced onions, garlic and ginger in coconut oil until the onions are translucent. Pour this over your favorite steak or hamburger for an exciting taste treat. From here we took a taxi to the Smuggler’s Inn which was in a British Colonial Style building on Point Road. Although the area that the nightclub was in was considered part of the red light district it was a popular Avant guarde area where the younger in crowd of Durban would go. With upbeat music in the days prior to rock & roll it was a lot of fun. The bottom end of Point Road Mahatma Gandhi Road at night was always a hive of activity with Smugglers leading the way as an offbeat entertainment center. Before returning to Kerstin’s flat we had the driver take us to the end of the point where we could find the newest nightclubs with strip shows, music, dancing. We even witnessed a slug fest between some guys, known as a raut. For us it was a hoot and lots of fun but I’m certain that they were black & blue for days. Kerstin told me that many of the participants of these fights could be expected to show up at Dr. Acharya’s practice the following Monday. Returning to her apartment we enjoyed the rest of the evening in bed. At six o’clock the taxi I had called was waiting curbside. I considered how lucky I was to have connected with Kerstin but I still didn’t know much about her. Why did this beautiful girl come into my life? It was a mystery without an answer!

Only an Atlanta girl could be so classy while doing something so hood. It was love-logic,

Here’s another trick you can use. I’ll never forget when I was about 14 years old, full on in my puberty and hornier than a bull. I had a young and pretty math teacher. She was always well dressed and took care of her appearance. One day she had been sitting at her desk as we completed an assignment. She was wearing a classy skirt and shirt, with her hair in a ponytail. Then she dropped a pen and bent over to pick it up. For a split second I could look up her shirt that was loosely hanging down. I saw her bra. This drove me nuts. My hormones went berserk for the very first time ever. This was also the very first time I had felt one of the powers a woman can have over a guy. She gave me a hint. My mind couldn’t stop thinking about the complete picture. Had she given me the complete picture by standing totally naked in front of the blackboard, I would not have been thinking about her in that way for months. To be honest, even thinking about that moment now, more than twenty years later, still does something to me. There are many ways you can give him a hint. However, it should be inconspicuous. If he realizes you’re doing it on purpose, it will lose ALL of its power. All of it! It devalues you right away to the one-night-stand category.

You know there’s pretty much no way to give a girl you aren’t dating that didn’t ask for it a lacy thong and still be classy, right?

The madam was arrested in 2007 and revealed details about her global hooking empire during the Rolling Stone interview, but Playboy—and Hef—had known about the racket for years. In fact, Hef even launched his own private investigation into the matter in hopes of shutting down Nici’s Girls and other agencies standing on the shoulders of the Playboy name. The hypocrisy here is palpable. Considering Hef kept his own “harem” of sorts, it’s easy to see the mansion as a gateway to hooking. But Hef was determined to plug this leak—not necessarily for the benefit of the girls, I believe, but to maintain Playboy’s image. It wouldn’t look that good if a majority of Playmates graduated to sex for pay. Playboy was supposed to be “classy,” after all.

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A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.