A bachelor is a man who comes to work each morning from a different direction.
A hairy body, and arms stiff with bristles, give promise of a manly soul.
A man is in love when something in his head, something in his and chest and something in his pants react to a certain woman.
A man that is ashamed of passions that are natural and reasonable is generally proud of those that are shameful and silly.
A true man hates no one.
A woman simply is, but a man must become. Masculinity is risky and elusive. It is achieved by a revolt from woman, and it is confirmed only by other men. Manhood coerced into sensitivity is no manhood at all.
All men are homosexual, some turn straight. It must be very odd to be a straight man because your sexuality is hopelessly defensive. It's like an ideal of racial purity.
All men are two meters tall… give or take a meter.
All societies on the verge of death are masculine. A society can survive with only one man; no society will survive a shortage of women.
As long as male behavior is taken to be the norm, there can be no serious questioning of male traits and behavior. A norm is by definition a standard for judging; it is not itself subject to judgment.
Because it is in the nature of things that they become extreme, we have passed down from manliness to cruelty. If I had been told when I was 20 that there was a tavern in the town where the brave and the cruel were gathered together, I would have run all the way and I would have gone up to the largest and leatheriest of the denizens and said: ''If you truly love me, kill the bartender.''
Before they're plumbers or writers or taxi drivers or unemployed or journalists, before everything else, men are men. Whether heterosexual or homosexual. The only difference is that some of them remind you of it as soon as you meet them, and others wait for a little while.
Bloody men are like bloody buses — you wait for about a year and as soon as one approaches your stop two or three others appear.
Considering the absence of legal coercion, the surprising thing is that men have for so long, and, on the whole, so reliably, adhered to what we might call the ''breadwinner ethic.''
Don't accept rides from strange men, and remember that all men are as strange as hell.
During the feminist seventies men were caught between a rock and a hard-on; in the fathering eighties they are caught between good hugs and bad hugs.
He may have hair upon his chest but, sister, so has Lassie.
How beautiful maleness is, if it finds its right expression.
How dwarfed against his manliness she sees the poor pretension, the wants, the aims, the follies, born of fashion and convention!
I go for two kinds of men. The kind with muscles, and the kind without.