“She only maintains that it is possible, under some circumstances, for a lady to murder her husband; but that a woman who wears ankle-strap shoes and smokes on the street corner, though she may be a joy to all who know her and have devoted her life to charity, could never qualify as a lady.”

“DEAR MISS MANNERS:When does a gentleman offer his arm to a lady as they are walking down the street together?GENTLE READER:Strictly speaking, only when he can be practical assisstance to her. That is, when the way is steep, dark, crowded, or puddle-y. However, it is rather a cozy juxtapostion, less comprising than walking hand in hand, and rather enjoyable for people who are fond of each other, so Miss Manners allows some leeway in interpreting what is of practical assisstance. One wouldn't want a lady to feel unloved walking down the street, any more than one would want her to fall of the curb.”

“…women were brought up to have only one set of manners. A woman was either a lady or she wasn't, and we all know what the latter meant. Not even momentary lapses were allowed; there is no female equivalent of the boys-will-be-boys concept.”

“Nobody believes that the man who says, 'Look, lady, you wanted equality,' to explain why he won't give up his seat to a pregnant woman carrying three grocery bags, a briefcase, and a toddler is seized with the symbolism of idealism.”

“DEAR MISS MANNERS:Should you tell your mother something if it is important when she is talking to company? I am six.GENTLE READER:Yes, you should (after saying "Excuse me"). Here are some of the things that are important to tell your mother, even though she is talking to company:"Mommy, the kitchen is full of smoke.""Daddy's calling from Tokyo.""Kristen fell out of her crib and I can't put her back.""There's a policeman at the door and he says he wants to talk to you.""I was just reaching for my ball, and the goldfish bowl fell over."Now, here are some things that are not important, so they can wait until your mother's company has gone home:"Mommy, I'm tired of playing blocks. What do I do now?""The ice-cream truck is coming down the street.""Can I give Kristen the rest of my applesauce?""I can't find my crayons.""When are we going to have lunch? I'm hungry.”

“It doesn't feel swollen," he commented, bending his head torward her ankle again. "Does it hurt at all?""Very little. Not nearly as much as my dignity.""In that case, by tomorrow your ankle and your dignity will probably be fine."Still crouching, he cupped her heel in his left hand and reached over to pick up her sandal with his right. Just as he was about to slip the sandal onto her foot, he glanced up at her and his lazy smile sent Lauren's pulse racing as he asked, "Isn't there some fairy tale about a man who searches for the woman whose foot fits into a glass slipper?"She nodded, her eyes bright. "Cinderella.""What happens to me if this slipper fits?""I turn you into a handsome frog," she guipped.”

“Anyway, how can you say things like that? You don't know me at all." She wasn't really caught up in this game, but she was enjoying it, as she had enjoyed the dozens of declarations that had been made to her since she was eleven. Her earliest memories were of being told how beautiful she was. Something in her never believed the words, never felt satisfied. It wasn't modesty; it was a craving for more proof than anyone had ever yet given her. Her mind worked constantly at trying to understand for herself exactly what other people saw when they looked at her. She could never grasp it whole and living. Her deepest fantasy was to step outside of her skin and look at herself and find out just what people were thinking about. She spent her life experimenting with people to see how she could make them react, as if, in their response, she could discover herself.”