Little Spoon Quotes & Sayings

If you are born into a family with little money but a lot of love, you will find yourself more content than one who is born with a silver spoon and an empty home. — Jake T. Austin

In my head, the 5 issues of A Spoon Too Short comprise one novel: a 100 page graphic novel sequel to Douglas' two Dirk books, taking some of the ideas he was working on before he died, and a whole bunch of new stuff from me and a little from Max Landis (who is the Executive Producer on the book as well as writing the forthcoming TV series). — Arvind Ethan David

Honey, have you seen my measuring tape?"
"I think it's in that drawer in the kitchen with the scissors, matches, bobby pins, Scotch tape, nail clippers, barbecue tongs, garlic press, extra buttons, old birthday cards, soy sauce packets thick rubber bands, stack of Christmas napkins, stained take-out menus, old cell-phone chargers, instruction booklet for the VCR, some assorted nickels, an incomplete deck of cards, extra chain links for a watch, a half-finished pack of cough drops, a Scrabble piece I found while vacuuming, dead batteries we aren't fully sure are dead yet, a couple screws in a tiny plastic bag left over from the bookshelf, that lock with the forgotten combination, a square of carefully folded aluminum foil, and expired pack of gum, a key to our old house, a toaster warranty card, phone numbers for unknown people, used birthday candles, novelty bottle openers, a barbecue lighter, and that one tiny little spoon."
"Thanks, honey."
AWESOME! — Neil Pasricha

It could be a spoonful of diamonds, could be a spoonful of gold. Just a little spoon of your precious love satisfies my soul. — Willie Dixon

You're the little spoon, aren't you? — Rob Thurman

One of those was occupied by a dwarf. Clean-shaved and pink-cheeked, with a mop of chestnut hair, a heavy brow, and a squashed nose, he perched on a high stool with a wooden spoon in hand, contemplating a bowl of purplish gruel with red-rimmed eyes. Ugly little bastard, Tyrion thought. The — George R R Martin

I'll always be your big spoon." He snorted. "Unless I'm being the big spoon. Then you'll be my little spoon." "Always. — N.R. Walker

With all the arrangements made, Marcus carried Lillian to the largest guest room in the building, where a bath and food were sent up as quickly as possible. It was sparely furnished but very clean, with an ample bed covered in pressed linen and soft, faded quilts. An old copperplate slipper tub was set before the hearth and filled by two chambermaids carrying steaming kettles. As Lillian waited for the bathwater to cool sufficiently, Marcus bullied her into eating a bowl of soup, which was quite tolerable, though its ingredients were impossible to identify. "What are those little brown chunks?" Lillian asked suspiciously, opening her mouth reluctantly as he spooned more in.
"It doesn't matter. Swallow."
"Is it mutton? Beef? Did it originally have horns? Hooves? Feathers? Scales? I don't like to eat something when I don't know what - "
"More," he said inexorably, pushing the spoon into her mouth again.
"You're a tyrant."
"I know. Drink some water. — Lisa Kleypas

Jesse swiveled a little in his saddle to see Charley plodding his mare along to the right. "You ever consider suicide?"
"Can't say I have. There was always something else I wanted to do. Or my predicaments changed or I saw hardships from a different slant; you know all what can happen. It never seemed respectable."
"I'll tell you one thing that's certain: you won't fight dying once you've peeked over to the other side; you'll no more want to go back to your body than you'd want to spoon up your own puke. — Ron Hansen

I still use the pronoun she for my publicity materials, and for mainstream media stuff, for two reasons: the first is that I do a lot of work in public schools, and I want those young women and girls to see every kind of she there can be. I want them to see my biceps and my shorn hair and shirt and tie and for some of them to see me as a possibilityI want them to see me living outside of the boxes, because they might be asphyxiating in their own box and need to see there is air out here for them to breathe, that all they have to do is lift the lid a little. — Rae Spoon

She said the secret to long life is to never stop moving. The moment you stop, you're dying." He poked me in the arm and sat back. "That's your lesson today. Expect a test tomorrow." I giggled a little. "Always teaching?" "I don't have to today," he said. "That was just a bonus." He polished off the last of the apple pie, licking the spoon like a lollipop. "Ready?" "For what?" "You'll see. — C.L.Stone

It's 4:21 am. He's gotta be done having mind-blowing-knock-your-dick-into-your-watch-pocket sex with her, and she's probably spooning with him right now. Ugh, it makes me sick. I'll bet he's in front, too, the dick. Anyone would know that Heaven is supposed to be the little spoon, but he's probably making her be the big spoon. — Caprice Crane

Hing hang hung! the words rang faintly through his daydream like echoes of Miz Cunningham's tart little doorbell. Then he looked again at the old woman herself. Why, she was really quite wonderful - this old fat woman! In the end, she got her hands on nearly everything in the world! Just look at her window! There by the pair of old overshoes were Jamey Hankins' ice skates. There was old Walt Spoon's elk's tooth. There - his mother's own wedding ring! There was a world in the window of this remarkable old woman. And it was probable that when Miz Cunningham like an ancient barn owl fluttered and flapped to earth at last, they would take her away and pluck her open and find her belly lined with fur and feathers and the tiny mice skulls of myriad dreams. — Davis Grubb

We can't leave just like that." Cat was appalled. "Where can we find you if we need you again?"
[Baba Yaga] "You can't. Listen, Little Drear, I hate saying good-byes. I have a good strategy for avoiding them."
"What's that?" asked Anton.
"I eat my guests. — Gregory Maguire

What of Thought? The Crew had developed a kind of shorthand whereby they could set forth any visions that might come their way. Conversations at the Spoon had become little more than proper nouns, literary allusions, critical or philosophical terms linked in certain ways. Depending on how you arranged the building blocks at your disposal, you were smart or stupid. Depending on how others reacted they were In or Out. The number of blocks, however, was finite.
"Mathematically, boy," he told himself, "if nobody else original comes along, they're bound to run out of arrangements someday. What then?" What indeed. This sort of arranging and rearranging was Decadence, but the exhaustion of all possible permutations and combinations was death.
It scared Eigenvalue, sometimes. He would go in back and look at the set of dentures. Teeth and metals endure. — Thomas Pynchon

The Swiss have an interesting army. Five hundred years without a war. Pretty impressive. Also pretty lucky for them. Ever seen that little Swiss Army knife they have to fight with? Not much of a weapon there. Corkscrews. Bottle openers. 'Come on, buddy, let's go. You get past me, the guy in the back of me, he's got a spoon. Back off, I've got the toe clippers right here. — Jerry Seinfeld

Not like you to let someone get that close," Nicholas said, nodding at the cut on his forehead. "Need the surgeon?"

"And be forced to admit that one of this ship's cabin boys caught me unawares with a spoon as I went below? Wicked little bugger. I'd rather be boiled in oil. — Alexandra Bracken

If I'm not supposed to be awake, why are you here?" I mumbled.
"To be the little spoon. — Karen Chance

The Little Boy and the Old Man
Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
I know what you mean," said the little old man. — Shel Silverstein

Taste this." Rick held out a wooden spoon smothered in sauce, cradling the underside with his free hand.

"That's heaven." Laney licked the spoon clean. "When I die, bury me in a vat of that." She kissed Rick on the lips and heaved the groceries onto the counter.

"I feel like I'll be too sad to cook that much, what with you dead and all." He turned back to the pot, stirring the sauce as gently as he'd handle a newborn baby. "Though if we have a little advance warning, I could stockpile it in the freezer."

"Absolutely. I'll do what I can to die a slow death." Laney smirked. "All in the name of the sauce, of course. — Emily Liebert

It's what surprised him most -- not the overpowering love all the books required that he feel for his child -- just that he simply liked being around him. And even with the diagnoisis, or even since, there's something a little joyous, alongside all the disaster, about living with Hendrick. Some feeling he gets about being in better or closer contact with the things we need, the things we want. I want to run the controls on the dump truck. I want to touch the faucet. I want to open the drawer three hundred times in a row. Because who doesn't want that from time to time? To fall deeper in? Who doesn't do it? Some mornings Jack taps his own spoon a few extra times on the rim of the cereal bowl just for the sheer pleasure of it, and then he'll wonder what the space really is, after all, between tic and illness. — Drew Perry

Rough Music ...
No one controls the music, Mr. Pretty - you know that. It just turns up when people have had enough. No one knows where it starts. People look around, and catch on another's eye, and give each other a little nod, and other people see that. Other people catch their eye and so, very slowly, the music starts and somebody picks up a spoon and bangs it on a plate, and then somebody else bangs a jug on the table and boots starts to stamp on the floor, louder and louder. It is the sound of anger, it is the sound of people who have had enough. Do you want to face the music? — Terry Pratchett

A little spoon for a cup of soup teaches to be patient; and the big one, to be greedy! — Mehmet Murat Ildan

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, Little boy blue and the man in the moon. "When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when, But we'll get together then. You know we'll have a good time then. — Harry Chapin

What am I doing here?" she demanded, bewildered.
"You're having dinner," her little brother said.
"Stop it! I'm not hungry. Stop it!"
John held the spoon in front of her. His cherubic face was dark with anger. "You said you wouldn't leave me."
"What are you talking about?" Mary demanded.
"You said you wouldn't do it. You wouldn't leave me alone," John said. "But you tried, didn't you?"
"I don't know what you're babbling about." She noticed Astrid then, leaning against a filing cabinet. Astrid looked like she'd been dragged through the middle of a dog fight. Little Pete was sitting cross-legged, rocking back and forth. He was chanting, "Good-bye, Nestor. Good-bye, Nestor."
"Mary, you have an eating disorder," Astrid said. "The secret is out. So cut the crap."
"Eat," John ordered, and shoved a spoonful of food in her mouth. None too gently.
"Swallow," John ordered.
"Let me - "
"Shut up, Mary. — Michael Grant

I do quite like sightseeing. I like churches, museums, galleries and all that stuff. I love the smell of a church in Italy or the smell of an old greasy spoon somewhere. I like markets and little funny shops in the backstreets of Florence. — Ashley Jensen

He was stricken anew by her, overcome with the knowledge that in the morning he would have to relinquish her. In Prison 33, little by little, you relinquished everything, starting with your tomorrows and all that might be. Next went your past, and suddenly it was inconceivable that your head had ever touched a pillow, that you'd once used a spoon or a toilet, that your mouth had once known flavors and your eyes had beheld colors beyond gray and brown and the shade of black that blood took on. Before you relinquished yourself
Ga had felt it starting, like the numb of cold limbs
you let go of all the others, each person you'd once known. They became ideas and then notions and then impressions, and then they were as ghostly as projections against a prison infirmary. Sun Moon appeared to him now like this, not as a woman, vital and beautiful, making an instrument speak her sorrow, but as the flicker of someone once known, a photo of a person long gone. — Adam Johnson

[from an entry by her daughter Camille] American culture doesn't allow much room for slow reflection. I watch the working people who are supposed to be my role models getting pushed to go, go, go and take as little vacation time as possible. And then, often, vacations are full of endless activity too, so you might come back from your "break" feeling exhausted ... Whether you prefer to sit on a rock in a peaceful place, or take a wooden spoon to a simmering pot, it does the body good to quiet down and tune in. — Barbara Kingsolver

It wasn't really a loud-mouthed, hyperactive little pig-tailed blonde that made Carl cringe. It was what I represented. While his upbringing was battered humiliation, I was spoiled, doted on, and spoon-fed by the world. I don't think he was even aware of his intentions to reduce that child to his own state of self-loathing, but he was truly brilliant at it. — Maggie Young

I'll tell you all about it, but let's eat first. I've had nothing to eat. Although I was offered some raw squirrel. Canned pudding, that's what I want. I've been dreaming about it."
She hauled out a can and feverishly worked the can opener. She didn't wait for a dish or spoon, but thrust her hand in and scooped some into her mouth. Then she stood transfixed, overwhelmed by the wonderful sweetness of it.
She was crying when she said, "I'm sorry, I've forgotten how to be polite. I'll get you guys your own can."
Sam hobbled over and scooped some pudding of his own, following her lead. "I'm way past polite myself," he said, although she could see he was a little appalled by her wolfish behavior. She decided then that she liked him. — Michael Grant

I poked my head through the bushes, and saw that the little bunch I was after had joined a great flock of teal, which was on a sand bar in the middle of the stream. They were all huddled together, some standing on the bar, and others in the water right by it, and I aimed for the thickest part of the flock. At the report they sprang into the air, and I leaped to my feet to give them the second barrel, when, from under the bank right beneath me, two shoveller or spoon-bill ducks rose, with great quacking, and, as they were right in line, I took them instead, knocking both over. When I had fished out the two shovellers, I waded over to the sand bar and picked up eleven teal, making thirteen ducks with the two barrels. — Theodore Roosevelt

Kathleen doesn't look like you," Henry said suddenly, staring at me.
"Uh, no. She doesn't. Not really," I stammered, not knowing what else to say. Without another word, Henry turned and left the kitchen. I heard him run up the stairs and looked at Georgia who met my gaze with bafflement.
"Did you hear that, woman?" I asked Georgia. "Henry doesn't think Kathleen looks like me. You got something to tell me?"
Kathleen shrieked again. Georgia wasn't moving fast enough with the jar of bananas she'd produced.
Georgia smirked and stuck out her tongue at me, and Kathleen bellowed. Georgia hastily dipped the tiny spoon into the yellow goo and proceeded to feed our little beast, who wailed as she inhaled.
"She may not look like you, Moses. But she definitely has your sunny disposition," Georgia sassed, but she leaned into me when I dropped a kiss on her lips. It didn't hurt my feelings at all that my dimpled baby girl looked more like her mother. — Amy Harmon

We even had dessert, which seemed to me to be pushing the distract-them-with-food ploy a little far, particularly since neither Deborah nor I was at all distracted. But it was quite good food, so it would have been barbaric of me to complain. Of course, Deborah had worked very hard her whole life to become barbaric, so when the waiter placed an enormous chocolate thing in front of Chutsky, who turned to Debs with two forks and said, "Well . . ." she took the opportunity to fling a spoon into the center of the table. — Jeff Lindsay

Maybe I need to shake their faith a little." Sola puts the spoon back into the yogurt. "How?" "A good, long nose pick might be a good start. Really dig for the mother lode." Vidocq laughs a little. "Wait until I have gone home before you implement that strategy, please." I look at Sola. "How come you're not all dazzled by my Heavenly awesomeness? — Richard Kadrey

Slight and ridiculous as the incident was, it made him appear such a little fiend, and withal such a keen and knowing one, that the old woman felt too much afraid of him to utter a single word, and suffered herself to be led with extraordinary politeness to the breakfast-table. Here he by no means diminished the impression he had just produced, for he ate hard eggs, shell and all, devoured gigantic prawns with the heads and tails on, chewed tobacco and water-cresses at the same time and with extraordinary greediness, drank boiling tea without winking, bit his fork and spoon till they bent again, and in short performed so many horrifying and uncommon acts that the women were nearly frightened out of their wits, and began to doubt if he were really a human creature. — Charles Dickens

There's pathos in this familiar routine, in the sounds of homely objects touching surfaces. And in the little sigh she makes when she turns or slightly bends our unwieldy form. It's already clear to me how much of life is forgotten even as it happens. Most of it. The unregarded present spooling away from us, the soft tumble of unremarkable thoughts, the long-neglected miracle of existence. When she's no longer twenty-eight and pregnant and beautiful, or even free, she won't remember the way she set down the spoon and the sound it made on slate, the frock she wore today, the touch of her sandal's thong between her toes, the summer's warmth, the white noise of the city beyond the house walls, a short burst of birdsong by a closed window. All gone, already. — Ian McEwan

Questing is hard. Fortunately, Thomas is here to spoon-feed them answers. We're one step away from him giving them an instruction sheet by Ikea, with cartoonish diagrams and a little goddess-slaying allen wrench. — Jim C. Hines

World-class cereal-eating is a dance of fine compromises. The giant heaping bowl of sodden cereal, awash in milk, is the mark of the novice. Ideally one wants the bone-dry cereal nuggets and the cryogenic milk to enter the mouth with minimal contact and for the entire reaction between them to take place in the mouth. Randy has worked out a set of mental blueprints for a special cereal-eating spoon that will have a tube running down the handle and a little pump for the milk, so that you can spoon dry cereal up out of a bowl, hit a button with your thumb, and squirt milk into the bowl of the spoon even as you are introducing it into your mouth. The next best thing is to work in small increments, putting only a small amount of Cap'n Crunch in your bowl at a time and eating it all up before it becomes a pit of loathsome slime, which, in the case of Cap'n Crunch, takes about thirty seconds. — Neal Stephenson

Beautiful Hannah. If you were mine, I'd lay you on silk sheets and wrap you up in ropes of pearls, and feed you honey from a silver spoon. Of course, you wouldn't be able to make all your high-minded judgments if you were a fallen woman ... but you wouldn't care. Because I would pleasure you, Hannah, every night, all night, until you forgot your own name. Until you were willing to do things that would shock you in the light of day. I would debauch you from your head down to your innocent little toes-"
"Oh, I despise you ... — Lisa Kleypas

The future is always a bit wobbly. Any little thing, like the fall of a snowflake or the dropping of the wrong kind of spoon, can send it spinning off along a new path. Or perhaps not. — Terry Pratchett

You've never been a whiner, Margo."
"I could give lessons.It's time for me to grow up, take responsibility,be sensible."
"Talk to life insurance salesman," Josh said dryly. "Apply for a library card.Clip coupons."
She looked down her nose. "Spoken like a man born with not only a silver spoon but the whole place setting stuck in his arrogant little mouth."
"I happen to have several library cards," he muttered. "Somewhere."
"Do you mind? — Nora Roberts

Little James Herondale, age 2, was intact holding a dagger quite well. He stabbed it into a sofa cushion sending out a burst of feathers. "Ducks", he said pointing to the feathers. Tessa swiftly removed the dagger from his tiny hand and replaced it with a wooden spoon. James had recently become very attached to his wooden spoon and carried it with him everywhere often refusing to go to sleep without it — Cassandra Clare

No spoon has yet destroyed a mouth, but the knife of war cuts portions that are hard to swallow. Perhaps the big mouths of the privileged are able to cope with them, but they dull the teeth of the little people and ruin their stomachs. — Franz Grillparzer