Izzie Stevens Quotes

Bitches bite back. And men hate that. Society hates that.

[It may seem like we're always eating, but that's because we're always eating.]

What do I want to be now? Bold. Fierce. Honest. A fighter. A revolutionary. A bitch. Because the way the world treats teenage girls – as sluts, as objects, as bitches – is not okay. It’s the exact opposite of okay.

Because you know my motto: do no harm, but take no shit.

Basically, if you're a woman, you're damned if you do and damned if you don't.

I get why he's lashing out. As a privileged white dude, he's used to being able to buy whatever he wants. He lives in a country where even the presidency can be bought. But he can't buy my love. And that frustrates the hell out of him.

To the innocent onlooker it might seem sort of sweet. To me it seems like he's saying "I don't respect your decision not to want to fuck me, and I will manipulate the hell out of your emotions until you change your mind.

Oh, right," I snap. "And because he's spent enough money and inserted enough friendship tokens, the offer of sex and/or marriage should just fall out anytime now?

Don't look at me like that. This is a book about a sex scandal: did you really expect me to be a nun and/or the Virgin Mary?

Look at Vaughan. He's done everything I've done. He drank beer, had sex, sent a nude picture. And he just got an offer from Stanford. Why is his life worth more than mine, just because he's rich and male?

He wants me to abandon my pain just to alleviate his own. He wants me to do what women have been forced to do for millenia: bury their own hopes and ambitions so the men can chase theirs. And I won't do it. I won't.

Her engagement ring has a Dwayne Johnson of a diamond on it...

You're cute when you babble," he says to my total horror and disgust, because unlike the popular noughties rock band, cute is never what I aim for.

Have you tried to find a job?" "Good God, that's brilliant!" I gasp, faux-astounded. "I had not previously considered this course of action!

What a poet I am. Like T S Eliot but with better boobs.

If the school population discovers I banged two dudes in one night, the girls will call me a bitch and a slut, and the guys will high five and call me easy while flinging their own feces at each other.

This entitlement has to stop. The world owes you nothing. Girls owe you nothing.

As a feminist I feel immediately guilty because everyone is trying to encourage girls into STEM subjects now, but to be honest I’m not dedicated enough to the Vagenda to force myself to become a computer programmer.

The Friend Zone An imaginary area filled with self-professed Nice Guys who've been sexually rejected by women they've been Nice to. See also: A convenient social construct designed to comfort men sho cannot cope with rejection. See also: A manipulative tool used by Nice Guys to make a woman feel guilty for not wanting to have sex with them.

Someone posted a condom stuffed with dog turd through our letterbox this morning. Dumbledore got confused, bless him, and thought it was an exciting new chew toy. And that's the story of how we're going to have to get a new couch.

As many of the most vile insults usually are, these comments are disguised as concern, like when fat-shamers preach to the obese about their health when really they're just judgemental reptiles who don't like to look at stretch marks lest they choke on their meal-replacement shakes.

He lets his eyes drop to the ground. [Again, not literally. That would be deeply uncomfortable for him. Nobody wants gravel in their corneas. I mean, maybe you do. I don't know your fetishes.]

I love you so damn much, Izzy, and just because I'm not Channing Tatum I've been relegate to the Friend Zone for the rest of eternity. I have to watch you chase the same good-looking assholes that every other girl wants to fuck, then pick up the pieces after they inevitable screw you over.

This is in fact a sly test disguised as an interesting point of conversation. If he doesn't know what a patronus is, I know immediately that there's very little point in proceeding with the bench-based festivities.

For the second time today, my stone heart melts. I love my friends. The old ones and the new ones. The real ones, who don't make websites condemning me to an eternity in hell just because I'm not attracted to them.

Standing on the front steps and trying to catch my breath, I want to claw my skin off. Despite all of the things that make me me - my personality, my heart, my sense of humor - I've been reduced to nothing more than a grainy filter and a pair of tits. To a mere sex object. I wonder whether I'll ever stop feeling so dirty.

Through sheer nerves and stress, my stomach almost plummets through my asshole. [I realize this is a hideous thing to say, but you all know exactly what I mean, and I shall not apologize for vocalizing the sensation.]

Was so mad last night I couldn't even bring myself to type out the exchange with Mr. Wells. In fact, I'm still so angry I'm just lying in bed in a vague state of furious nausea, like how I imagine Melania feels when she watches Donald remove his shirt.

You never know the biggest day of your life is the biggest day, not until it’s happening. You don’t recognize the biggest day of your life, not until your right in the middle of it. The day you commit to something or someone. The day you get your heart broken. The day you meet your soul mate. The day you realize there’s not enough time because you want to live forever. Those are the biggest days, the perfect days.

I mean, anyone can get shot in the head by the Taliban, but it takes a really big person to text a fuckboy. [I am 113 percent being sarcastic here. I firmly believe Malala should be leader of the free world, and also CEO of Hershey's because I swear to God peanut butter cups are getting smaller, which is an act of terrorism in intself.]

Art as activism. Like Banksy?" "Man, Banksy's some white-ass bullshit. Sorry," he apologizes hastily, as though he might've offended my white-ass feelings. [...] "A'ight, so the dude flew out to Gaza to spray-paint a kitten on a house that'd been destroyed in an air strike. Like, the fuck? Talk about insensitive. Then our white savior has the audacity to call it art, to demand folks listen to his views on the atrocities of war, rather than the Palestinians who lived through it." He shakes his head, his hand tensing and untensing in mine. "Sorry. Shit drives me crazy sometimes.

Izzy, Axl, Slash—and Duff,” she said. “What kind of names are those?” “Well, there is a guy named Steven.

I felt a sharp pang of...something. Maybe FOMO [Fear Of Missing Out, if we have any grandmas in the house], but I don't know, it's a little more than that. Why is this bothering me so much? 8.52 p.m. Lol, never mind. period just started. As you were.

remained proactive, testing the efficiency of the various hitchhiking configurations available to us: five guys with no visible luggage; two guys hitching and three guys hidden in the bushes; one guy with a guitar case; just Axl and Izzy; just Izzy and me; just Axl and me; just Steven alone, waving and grinning; just Duff alone. Nothing seemed to work; the people of Fresno weren’t having us in any way, shape, or form.

What's best for one person is another person's worst nightmare.