Spattering Quotes & Sayings

A shot rang out from the rifle of an alerted Harvestman, and just as the sound reached Nathaniel's ears, he felt the hot streak of a bullet pierce his left arm, spattering blood on the ground before him. — Jonathan Marker

Sapping the foundations of civilisation, of authority, of other people's altars, spattering them with filth, winking jocosely at them only to justify and conceal one's own rottenness and moral poverty is only possible for a very vain, base, and nasty creature. — Anton Chekhov

Bernard Shaw said that when you copy yourself, you know you've got style. And I feel that if you can write like you write, then you are true to yourself. And it's not an easy thing to do - it's a disgustingly difficult thing to do. — Bruce Robinson

You can change a person in their exterior aspects, but the soul remains, it still is there, and especially if that person has been changed involuntarily. — Antonio Banderas

Finally turning his head, he regarded me appraisingly, with contempt so thick that I expected to hear it drizzle to the floor with a spattering sound. — Dean Koontz

Dave Van Ronk, for those who don't know him - probably most don't know - was a folk singer. He's kind of the biggest person on the scene in 1961 in the folk revival in Greenwich Village, biggest person on the scene until Bob Dylan showed up. — Ethan Coen

Lucas motions to Ro's ears, where the blood is spattering down to his shoulders. "Let's just get this done before our heads explode." Ro considers him for a long moment, then hands him Tima's map. — Margaret Stohl

I still have people saying to me, 'Oh, you're still together?' They don't realize Leppard's been around this whole time, because people just don't get to hear us. — Vivian Campbell

You broke through the humor of my little theater and tried to make a mess of it, stabbing with knives and spattering our pretty picture-world with the mud of reality. — Hermann Hesse

Mr Corcoran, whom by chance I was observing, smiled preliminarily but when about to speak, his smile was transfixed on his features and his entire body assumed a stiff attitude. Suddenly he sneezed, spattering his clothing with a mucous discharge from his nostrils.
As my uncle hurried to his assistance, I felt that my gorge was about to rise. I retched slightly, making a noise with my throat similar to that utilized by persons in the article of death. My uncle's back was towards me as he bent in ministration.
...
I clutched my belongings and retired quickly as they worked together with their pocket-cloths. I went to my room and lay prostrate on my bed, endeavouring to recover my composure. — Flann O'Brien

She stood like a knight in a painting, her head bowed and her sword at her side, blood spattering her gear, her hair half-torn out of its bindings, floating down around her. — Cassandra Clare

For death and the disease that is its harbinger are the most brutal reminders of the radical finitude of human existence. — Jeffrey P. Bishop

And now, when I have summed up all my store, Thinking (so I myself deceive) So rich a chaplet thence to weave As never yet the King of Glory wore, Alas! I find the serpent old, That, twining in his speckled breast, About the flowers disguised does fold With wreaths of fame and interest. — Andrew Marvell

One thing she realized soon was that the rain here was eternal. The weather must have changed since the Emperor's time, because now the tower loomed constantly in its cloud of drizzle; all the long afternoons rain trickled in runnels and gutters and spouts, spattering through gargoyles of hideous beasts and goblins that spat far down on the heads of hurrying clerks. Always the roofs ran with water; it dripped and plopped and splashed through culverts and drains, or sheeted down, a relentless liquid gurgle that never stopped, until she started to imagine that this was the song the tower sang, through all the throats and mouths and pipes of its endless body. — Catherine Fisher

We have spent quite a bit of time considering a good space game, and I can't really say anything at this point, but we are definitely still interested in that area. — Will Wright

We were all staring as we passes him, slowly, like a tourist at a wildlife park watching elephants from the safety of their wagon. — Sarah Dessen

There's always been an ongoing struggle between commerce and art. — Thomas Schlamme

If you jump out of a plane without a parachute, does that make you brave? No, I think that makes you stupid. I will never play without the mask again. — Jacques Plante

Neville kicked aside the broken fragments of his own wand as they walked slowly toward the door. "My gran's going do kill be," said Neville thickly, blood spattering from his nose as he spoke, "dat was by dad's old wand ... — J.K. Rowling

I kept a straight face while my inner Neanderthal spluttered and then went on a mental rampage through a hypothetical produce section, knocking over shelves and spattering fruit everywhere in sheer frustration, screaming, 'JUST TELL ME WHOSE SKULL TO CRACK WITH MY CLUB, DAMMIT! — Jim Butcher

spattering the walls with pulp and guano, like graffiti artists. — Henri Cole

Small hopes can grow surprising fruit. — Robert Jordan

He seemed to realize she was staring at him, because the cursing stopped. "You cut me," he said. His voice was pleasant. British. Very ordinary. He looked at his hand with critcal interest. "It might be fatal."
Tessa looked at him with wide eyes. "Are you the Magister?"
He tilted his hand to the side. Blood ran down it, spattering the floor. "Dear me, massive blood loss. Death could be imminent. — Cassandra Clare

But on they rould in heaps, and up the Trees Climbing, sat thicker then the snakie locks That curld MEGAERA: greedily they pluck'd The Frutage fair to sight, like that which grew Neer that bituminous Lake where SODOM flam'd; This more delusive, not the touch, but taste Deceav'd; they fondly thinking to allay Thir appetite with gust, instead of Fruit Chewd bitter Ashes, which th' offended taste VVith spattering noise rejected: oft they assayd, Hunger and thirst constraining, drugd as oft, VVith hatefullest disrelish writh'd thir jaws VVith foot and cinders fill'd; so oft they fell Into the same illusion, not as Man Whom they triumph'd once lapst. Thus — John Milton

In the spring of 1990 I flew to Aspen, Colorado, to cover a summit meeting between Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and President George Herbert Walker Bush. This fairly routine political event took on sudden significance when, on the evening before the talks were scheduled to begin, Saddam Hussein announced that the independent state of Kuwait had, by virtue of a massive deployment of military force, become a part of Iraq. We were not to know that this act - and the name Saddam Hussein - would dominate international politics for the next decade and more, but it was still possible to witness something extraordinary: the sight of Mrs. Thatcher publicly inserting quantities of lead into George Bush's pencil. The spattering quill of a Ralph Steadman would be necessary to do justice to such a macabre yet impressive scene. — Christopher Hitchens

The passions are like fire, useful in a thousand ways and dangerous only in one, through their excess. — Christian Nestell Bovee

There - the chandelier, choked with dust and webs. A single rivulet of red had trickled from the ceiling, down the central column, and out along a curving crystal arm. At its lowest point, a new pendant of blood was slowly building.
'It - it can't do that,' I stammered. 'We're inside the iron.'
'Move out of the way!' Lockwood pushed me back just as the drop fell, spattering on the floor in the center of the circle. We were all standing almost atop the iron chains. 'We've made it too big,' he said. 'The power of the iron doesn't extend into the very center. It's weak there, and this Visitor's strong enough to overcome it.'
'Adjust the chains inward-' George began.
'If we make the circle smaller,' Lockwood said, 'we'll be squeezed in a tiny space. It's scarcely midnight; we've seven hours till dawn and this thing's just gotten started. No, we've got to break out — Jonathan Stroud

The aim of development must be neither producerism not consumerism, but the satisfaction of fundamental human needs, which are not only needs of humanity ... — Manfred Max-Neef

There's always a spattering of people who see Hanson who were influenced by classic '60's and '70's rock and roll. In a lot of ways, we're sort of the anatomy of a '70's rock band if you examine what we do: white guys who grew up listening to soul music from the '50's and '60's. — Taylor Hanson