Spides Quotes & Sayings

Writing, for me, is like trying to restart an engine that has rested for years, silent and rusting, in an empty lot
choked with water and dirt, infiltrated by ants and spides and cockroaches. Vines and weeds shoved into it and sprouting of it. A kind of coughing splutter, an eruption of leaves and dust, a voice that sounds a little like mine but is not the same as it was before. — Jeff VanderMeer

A heart that is broken is never too broken to mend. — Larnelle Harris

And so you know what I did with those sad things? I put them in boxes. I put the sad things in the boxes in my head, and I closed them up and I put tape on them and I stacked them up in the corner and threw a blanket over them."
"Braintape? — Maggie Stiefvater

they didn't want people talking.
Thinking was fine; they would bury you with your thoughts.
But no collaboration, no groups coordinating together, no change of ideas. — Hugh Howey

Grinch had so many people in make up - virtually everybody. We had about 100 people a day for five months. And every day we would use 100 sets of appliances. — Rick Baker

I think it is essential for Israel's survival as a Jewish and democratic state that we end the status quo. The preferred way to end the status quo would be on the basis of a two-state solution. We don't want the Palestinians to be citizens of Israel, nor do we want them to be subjects. — Michael Oren

I was from a small town, and nobody really expects you to leave, especially before you graduate. That doesn't happen. — Taylor Swift

I think that sometimes the only real thing is now. — Suzanne Young

Since we started putting together our makeup collection, Kardashian Beauty, I've been extra invested in our list of no-no ingredients. It's an ingredients black list that we don't allow into the products - no parabens, no sulfates. — Kourtney Kardashian

With your own hands you can achieve much;
with God's hands you can achieve countless. — Matshona Dhliwayo

She remembers blood.
A fine mist which goes deep into her lungs, over her skin and through the air. She remembers a desert at dusk. The sky indigo blue and the fire bright, so bright that she can see everything. Near the fire, in the night, all she knows is chaos wrapped in crimson. All is death and nightmare with a single solitary dancer who smiles cruelly as he moves. He is power and darkness. He is man and beast, silver coin eyes and that face, those claws and the agony of loss.
Time stretches wide; seconds like vast eons swallow up her world. Vince is dead, his mother, his brother and her small son ripped apart and gushing as he/it moves. She is screaming, a howl of agony beyond words, primal and wordless. Still he moves, faster than air, faster than she could ever be. Blood drips from her face as she grunts, running with her lungs on fire and her last remaining hope wrapped in her arms. — Amanda M. Lyons

Give a wise man an honest brief to plead and his eloquence is no remarkable achievement. — Euripides

This man belongs to me, I want him! — Bram Stoker