I don't think a powerful man would be interesting unless he'd be

In the words of Dorothy Stratten, a woman whose beauty was luminous and whose life was tragically brief, we hear a truth both subtle and profound: “I don’t think a powerful man would be interesting unless he’d be nice, attractive, with or without the power. Men are interested in powerful men. Women are interested in terrific men!” Beneath her soft-spoken tone lies an ancient wisdom — a declaration about the nature of attraction, virtue, and true greatness. For power alone, as she reminds us, is but an empty throne if it is not seated upon goodness and grace.

To the ancients, power was never meant to be worshiped for its own sake. It was a tool of character, a mirror that revealed the soul of its wielder. A man without compassion who holds power is like a torch without flame — all smoke and no light. Stratten’s words reveal that true worth is not found in authority but in humanity, not in dominance but in decency. For what does it profit a man to command armies or empires if he cannot command kindness within his own heart?

Her statement also draws a timeless distinction between how men and women perceive greatness. “Men are interested in powerful men,” she says — and indeed, history is full of men who have idolized conquerors, kings, and magnates, measuring themselves by titles and triumphs. Yet “women are interested in terrific men” — those whose greatness is not of conquest, but of character. The terrific man, in her vision, is not merely powerful; he is gentle, radiant, sincere, and capable of love that ennobles rather than consumes. Such a man, stripped of his crown or riches, remains worthy — for his worth was never borrowed from power.

Consider the tale of Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome, philosopher of the Stoics. Though the most powerful man of his age, he wrote in his private meditations not of glory, but of humility and virtue. “Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be,” he wrote. “Be one.” Marcus understood what Stratten voiced centuries later: that the true measure of a man is not the reach of his rule but the depth of his goodness. His power, tempered by mercy, became beauty — and that beauty drew reverence not from fear, but from admiration.

Yet in Stratten’s words there also lingers an ache — a sense that she, who lived in a world obsessed with power, saw the danger of worshiping it. She herself was surrounded by men who mistook possession for love, control for devotion. Her quote is not merely observation, but warning: that those who chase power for admiration lose sight of what truly makes them interesting, worthy, and beloved. She reminds us that charm, warmth, and goodness outlast all thrones, for they reach the heart, not the ego.

It is said that even Alexander the Great, when faced with the philosopher Diogenes, learned this truth. When the conqueror approached the wise man and offered him any gift, Diogenes merely replied, “Stand out of my sunlight.” In that moment, the emperor saw what Stratten saw — that all worldly power is insignificant before the self-possession of the soul. To be “terrific,” as she put it, is to be whole — to shine from within, not to be gilded from without.

The lesson, therefore, is one of discernment and grace: seek not power, but the power to be kind. Seek not dominance, but dignity. For those who are good remain interesting even in obscurity, while those who are cruel grow dull beneath their crowns. The true man — the terrific man — is one whose strength inspires, not intimidates; whose charm uplifts, not deceives; whose influence is measured not in followers, but in hearts he has healed.

So let this wisdom endure in the ears of all who hear it: Power fades, but goodness endures. Let men learn that greatness without virtue is emptiness, and let women — and all people — remember that to seek the “terrific” is to seek the eternal. Be kind, be curious, be brave, and build your life not upon dominion, but upon decency. For as Dorothy Stratten so gently taught, when the dust of power settles, it is not the mighty who remain — it is the good.