Spit On Me Quotes & Sayings

What do you think we're hunting tonight?"
I twisted and pulled at my backpack until it was in front of me, then opened it. More silver stakes. Little glass bottles of holy water. And, oh my God, was that a gun?
My knees were wobbling as I zipped up the Bag O'Death and gingerly dropped it in the grass.
"What's wrong?" Izzy asked.
"Um, a lot? There is seriously so much wrongness going on right now. Namely, the fact that you people are teenagers with bags of guns."
Izzy stiffened a little at that. "We're not kids," she spit out. "We're Brannicks."
Sighing, I shoved my hands in my pockets. "I get that, but look, Izzy, I can't kill a werewolf. I know werewolves. I lived with some, and they're ... well, they're gross and slobbery and super scary, but I can't kill one. — Rachel Hawkins

Dear Abba, I'm stepping into a new day brimming with new mercies, fresh-slate-do-over grace extended freely to me by Your hands. But it is not just given to me but to all. So that my attempts to control and manipulate others, even if it's in their best interests, is not only to spit on the grace given them, but also that given to me. Father, the only thing truly "for our own good" is Your mercy. Nothing else comes close. Nothing. Have mercy on me. — Brennan Manning

You wonder how long my love will last? Find your answer on a splintered cross, on a craggy hill. That's me you see up there, your maker, your God, nail-stabbed and bleeding. Covered in spit and sin-soaked. "That's your sin I'm feeling. That's your death I'm dying. That's your resurrection I'm living. That's how much I love you." In — Max Lucado

In front of a big aluminum building with a plywood cross on the roof, I kneel in a puddle and splash water on my face. I wash my mouth out with dirty gutter runoff and spit until I can't taste anything. That holy wooden "t" looms overhead, and I wonder if the Lord might ever find cause to approve of me, wherever and whatever he is.
Have you met him yet, Perry? Is he alive and well? Tell me he's not just the mouth of the sky. Tell me there's more looking down on us than that empty blue skull. — Isaac Marion

Is this his first year teaching?" She nodded toward the window.
"How did you guess?" Holiday sighed. "He was recommended by a friend of a friend. He's not so bad when it's one on one. I hope you guys don't chew him up and spit him out."
Kylie grinned. "Perry might consider it."
Holiday frowned. "Promise me you'll not let that happen. He really seems like a nice guy and I think he'll make an excellent teacher. I'd appreciate it if you'd sort of take him under your wing."
Kylie chuckled. "Again, Perry might do that. — C.C. Hunter

Hit me with spit on the wounds. — Gwen Calvo

Her words knife through me and I want to scream at her. To tell her that I'm a fucking monster - that I'm going to make her life a living hell. I want to spit in her face and explain to her that I'm about to hurt her unbroken spirit - that I'll thrive on tearing it apart piece by motherfucking piece. "Don't — K. Webster

Really? well, thank you. I was under the impression you wouldn't spit on me if I was on fire — Abbi Glines

Unbreakable, would you thought they called me Mr. Glass
Look back on my life like the ghost of Christmas past
Toys R Us where I used to spend that Christmas cash
And I still won't grow up, I'm a grown ass kid
Swear I should be locked up for stupid shit that I did
But I'm a champion, so I turned tragedy to triumph
Make music that's fire, spit my soul through the wire — Kanye West

It's the whole Nietzche philosophy of you are your own God. That's why I debase myself in the concerts and tell people to spit on me. I'm saying to them 'You are no different from me'. — Marilyn Manson

She seemed to fold into herself, like a pleated wing. Her pain antagonized me. I wanted to open her up, crisp her edges, ram a stick down that hunched and curving spine, force her to stand erect and spit the misery out on the streets. But she held it in where it could lap up into her eyes. — Toni Morrison

Luce," he said at last, his voice soft. "what do you want me to do?" He paused, waiting for my response, but I wasn't sure what he was asking, so no response came.
"Please, just tell me," he continued. "Tell me what you want me to say, and do, when it comes to Adriana or any other girl that looks my way, and I'll do it. You want me to fire a spit wad between their eyes? So be it. You want me to flip them off any time any one of them looks my way? You got it. You want me to poke my eyes out so I can't see another one of their suggestive smiles again?" he trailed on, half of his face squishing together. "Well, that would suck, but I'd do it. For you." Cradling my face in his hands again, he leaned forward so his eyes were staring into mine from half a foot away. "Just tell me, baby. What do you want me to do? — Nicole Williams

Give me a dollar or I'll spit on you. — Louis Sachar

To be laughed at is no great hardship to me. I can delight in scoffs and jeers. Caricatures, lampoons, and slanders are my glory. But that you should turn from your own mercy, this is my sorrow. Spit on me, but, oh, repent! Laugh at me, but, oh, believe in my Master! Make my body as the dirt of the streets, but damn not your own souls! — Charles Spurgeon

Death was the greatest villain, no matter how it got you; it always had the same outcome. It chewed you up and spit you out. It went on a war path, destroying everything. No one was ever happy after death came around. there was always sadness and pain. Death was the most selfish and heartbreaking vulture. Death disgusted me. — Holly Hood

Whether it's a double take or a spit take or an extra-long pause before a reaction or a line, I try to be as cognizant as possible about the technical end of it. So I think the physical stuff works easier for me than maybe for others who are more just going on instinct. — Neil Patrick Harris

Nico strode forward. The enemy army fell back before him like he radiated death, which of course he did.
Through the face guard of his skull-shaped helmet, he smiled. "Got your message. Is it too late to join the party?"
"Son of Hades." Kronos spit on the ground. "Do you love death so much you wish to experience it?"
"Your death," Nico said, "would be great for me."
"I'm immortal, you fool! I have escaped Tartarus. You have no business here, and no chance to live."
Nico drew his sword-three feet of wicked sharp Stygian iron, black as a nightmare. "I don't agree. — Rick Riordan

It's not fear of striking out that makes me reluctant to step up to the plate. It's the fear of getting hit in the head by a 90 mph fastball, the pitcher coming off of the mound to stomp me with her cleats while I am down, the rest of the opposing team rushing out of the dugout hurling insults as they kick me and spit on me, while all along the crowd in the stands is cheering them on and laughing at my failure. So, no, it's not the fear of striking out that keeps me from stepping up to the plate. — Jim Copeland

Listen ... The universe is full of creatures that can get inside your soul. Things that try to take away the very things that make you who you are, who try to reshape you for their own ends, who want to eat you like a piece of fruit and spit out the seeds. It's Turtles all the way down. Are you listening? ... Listen, Chris. The Turtles don't deserve your life. You mustn't let them have you. I know them too well, Chris. They've touched me, infected me, possessed me. I've felt their contamination. I've been on their altars. Listen to me, Chris. They don't have the right ... Not even if they love you ... Not even if they're a god. — Kate Orman

I spit on your happiness! I spit on your idea of life
that life that must go on, come what may. You are all like dogs that lick everything they smell. You with your promise of a humdrum happiness
provided a person doesn't ask much of life. I want everything of life, I do; and I want it now! I want it total, complete: otherwise I reject it! I will not be moderate. I will not be satisfied with the bit of cake you offer me if I promise to be a good little girl. I want to be sure of everything this very day; sure that everything will be as beautiful as when I was a little girl. If not, I want to die! — Jean Anouilh

Signior Antonio, many a time and oft In the Rialto you have rated me About my moneys and my usances; Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, For suff'rance is the badge of all our tribe; You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spet upon my Jewish gaberdine, And all for use of that which is mine own. Well then, it now appears you need my help; Go to, then; you come to me, and you say 'Shylock, we would have moneys.' You say so: You that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold; moneys is your suit. What should I say to you? Should I not say 'Hath a dog money? Is it possible A cur can lend three thousand ducats?' Or Shall I bend low and, in a bondman's key, With bated breath and whisp'ring humbleness, Say this: - 'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; You spurn'd me such a day; another time You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much moneys? — William Shakespeare

It seems you didn't understand me," Rakel said, adjusting her grip on his hand. She had to spit the words out around the pain that tore through her. "When I say that love is pure, I mean it stands unrivaled in its power. — K.M. Shea

Of course. I loved it so much it made me want to spit on you!! — Jun Mochizuki

I live inside my own skin. Anything that happens outside it doesn't change who I am. This isn't something I'm proud of; as far as I'm concerned, it's a bare minimum baseline requirement for calling yourself an adult human being, somewhere around the level of knowing how to do your own washing or change a toilet roll. All those idiots on the websites, begging for other people to pull their sagging puppet-strings, turn them real: they make me want to spit. — Tana French

We haven't had an office open to the public for at least ten years," he answered. "And if I want to complain?" "You do it by telephone." "And if I want to spit in someone's face?" He advised me politely to try the office in Via Confienza, a hundred yards farther on. — Elena Ferrante

Now I meet people with full-color Wolverine tattoos on their backs. Thank God I did okay, because I think if I hadn't, they'd spit on me in the street. — Hugh Jackman

I wouldn't even hold my kids sometimes because I didn't want them to spit up on me when I was dressed for an awards show. — Lauryn Hill

Maybe we should consider this for a second. Maybe, instead of surrendering the fight because a Marine made a mistake, maybe we should train Santiago. What do you think, I'm just spit-balling, but maybe we, as officers, have a responsibility to this country to see that the men charged with its security are trained professionals. Maybe we have that responsibility to other members of the Corps. Yes, yes, I'm certain I once read something like that. See, and now I'm trying to think about how I'd feel if some Marine got hurt or killed because a Pfc. in my command didn't know what the fuck he was doing. And I'm trying to think about how the other members of his unit might feel, putting their lives in the hands of a man they can't count on ... and this brief meditation has brought me around to thinking that your suggestion of transferring Private Santiago off base, while expeditious, and certainly painless, might not be, in a manner of speaking, the "American Way". — Aaron Sorkin

Mornings, out in the garden, she would, at times, read aloud from one of her many overdue library books. Dew as radiant as angel spit glittered on the petals of Jack's roses. Jack was quite the gardener. Miriam thought she knew why her particularly favored roses. The inside of a rose does not at all correspond with its exterior beauty. If one tears off all the petals of the corolla, all that remains is a sordid-looking tuft. Roses would be right up Jack's alley, all right.
"Here's something for you, Jack," Miriam said. You'll appreciate this. Beckett describes tears as 'liquified brain.'
"God, Miriam," Jack said. "Why are you sharing that with me? Look at this day, it's a beautiful day! Stop pumping out the cesspit! Leave the cesspit alone! — Joy Williams

It never occurred to me that any of these pleasures were a reward for being a pretty good kid, any more than I needed to restructure my life just to avoid an eternity of being spit-roasted on a subterranean barbecue. If this sounds flip, smug, or disrespectful, it's not meant to be. Obviously, there is great wisdom, beauty, and relevance in millennia worth of collected theological teaching from around the world. The question I'm grappling with is: why didn't these big themes and major stick-and-carrot extremes resonate with me? I just never bought into the concept. Maybe I'm part of a small minority, but I don't think so. — Michael J. Fox

The Dumpster had two lids, side by side, and one of them was open. I put both hands on the closed side - and something bolted up and out of the opening with a horrible screech and flew past my ear and I was absolutely paralyzed by sheer terror before I recognized it as a cat. It was tattered and filthy and beat-up, but it landed a few feet away and arched its back and spit at me in the full Halloween pose. I just looked back and for a second I thought the music had started up again in the club, until I realized the thumping was only my heartbeat. The cat turned and stalked away out of the alley, I leaned on the Dumpster and took a deep breath, and the Passenger stirred itself just enough to give me a serves-you-right chuckle. I — Jeff Lindsay

You disgust me, all of you, with your happiness! With your life that must be loved at all costs. [ ... ] I spit on your idea of life! [ ... ] You are all like dogs that lick everything they smell! [ ... ] I do not want to understand. I am here for something other than understanding. I am here to tell you no, and to die. To tell you no and to die. — Jean Anouilh

Spare me your empty little compliments, girl ... and you ser's. I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows. — George R R Martin

I wanted them," Fudge whined.
"I know you did. But we can't buy everything you want." [Mom told him]
"Why"
"We don't have the money to buy ... " I could tell Mom was having a hard time explaining this. She thought for a minute before she finished. " ... just for the sake of buying. Money doesn't grow on trees."
"I know it doesn't grow on trees," Fudge said. "You get it at the ATM."
"You can't just go to the ATM whenever you want money," Mom told him.
"Yes you can," Fudge said. "You put in your card and money comes out. It works every time."
"No. You have to deposit money into your account first," Mom said. "You work hard and try to save part of your salary every week. The cash machine is just a way to get some of your money out your account. It doesn't spit out money because you want it. It's not that easy."
"I know, Mom," Fudge said. "Sometimes you have to stand on line."
Mom sighed and looked at me. "Got any ideas Peter? — Judy Blume

I am very thankful that man took one look at me showing with a baby coming along, with my hair falling down, and the broom lying at a mound of broken glass, and supper boiling over on the stove, April wearing a dirty pinafore screaming for me to hold her, and just then the baby in my arms spit up all over me, and he said, You know ... I'd be kindly obliged if you'd let me have supper some other time. — Nancy E. Turner

First memory: a man at the back door is saying, I have real bad news, sweat is dripping off his face, Garbert's been shot, noise from my mother, I run to her room behind her, I'm jumping on the canopied bed while she cries, she's pulling out drawers looking for a handkerchief, Now, he's all right, the man say, they think, patting her shoulder, I'm jumping higher, I'm not allowed, they think he saved old man Mayes, the bed slats dislodge and the mattress collapses. My mother lunges for me.
Many traveled to Reidsville for the event, but my family did not witness Willis Barnes's electrocution, From kindergarten through high school, Donette, the murderer's daughter, was in my class. We played together at recess. Sometimes she'd spit on me. — Frances Mayes

I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you how sorry I am. It doesn't mean I won't try, because you, Perry, you deserve a lifetime of servitude. Eons of groveling. Even then, I dont' think I can show enough, do enough to let you see. And that's OK. You have every right to hate me for this lifetime and many others. You have every right to never see me again. To spit on my grave. But tonight, now I"m not going to give up on you. I'm going to fix you, or die trying". — Karina Halle

I had loved him since the moment he'd taken the pudding from me. When my father had announced on Dez's eighteenth birthday that he supported a match between us, I'd never been happier than I was in that moment. I was young. And stupid. When Dez had disappeared the very next day, I experienced a heartache that I thought would swallow me whole and never spit me out. He'd been more than a crush. He had been my best friend, my confidant and my world. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

I'd been very annoyed, because she'd promised me one of Palsson's cinnamon twists, which sold out very quickly. I'm a bit ashamed to recall that I told Brian that if he died and kept me from my cinnamon twist, I'd spit on his grave. I don't know if he remembers it at all, since he'd seemed very focused on breathing through a cup made of his hands. I hope he doesn't, because my character's improved a lot since then. Nowadays I would've only thought the spitting part instead of saying it to his face. — Maggie Stiefvater

Jen put her hands on her hips and pinned Sally with the famous 'you're going to spit it out or I'm going to rip it out of you' look. "You talked?" Jen asked sarcastically. "Sally," she cleared her throat then continued, "you have a mate. A guaranteed husband. A sure thing. Not to mention he's hot, funny, sweet, and he has a dimple. You talked?" She repeated. This time Jen's voice was skeptical. Before Sally could defend herself, however, her door opened slowly, calculatingly.
"I know you weren't describing me Jennifer. So who is this male who has caught your eye so descriptively? Please do tell, so that I can rip him to pieces." Decebel's power filled the room and Sally took an involuntary step away from the very angry Alpha. — Quinn Loftis

Mother, he is a gentleman.
He is a builder with bricks of moonlight.
He knows the secret places of the earth.
He washes the sleep from the eyes of the souls.
He lets them look on beauty.
He lets them tell him they hate him.
In the mornings, I gather berries and apples.
I scrub his back with rind.
I weave spider-spit, eyelash.
He talks in his sleep: pudding, fire, discus,
the things he misses.
He breathes, Your body is my orchard.
I am undulating grass.
I am a field of wheat he parts with his fingers.
Poppies bloom in my veins.
When he kisses me, he tastes pomegranate.
The night crawls nearer.
The moans of the dead roll and swell.
Mother, we are well. — Tara Mae Mulroy

I had begun to see a new map of the world, one that was frightening in its simplicity, suffocating in its implications. We were always playing on the white man's court, Ray had told me, by the white man's rules. If the principal, or the coach, or a teacher, or Kurt, wanted to spit in your face, he could, because he had power and you didn't. If he decided not to, if he treated you like a man or came to your defense, it was because he knew that the words you spoke, the clothes you wore, the books you read, your ambitions and desires, were already his. Whatever he decided to do, it was his decision to make, not yours, and because of that fundamental power he held over you, because it preceded and would outlast his individual motives and inclinations, any distinction between good and bad whites held negligible meaning. — Barack Obama

Fuck me," said Roger. He spit a mouthful of stomach acid into the hall and looked at the bodies. "Look at the old man, going all Bruce Willis on us. — Peter Clines

You can spill drinks on me, even spit on me. I'll just laugh about it. But If you dare to hurt my friends ... I WON'T FORGIVE YOU! — Eiichiro Oda

ESAELP GNITTIPS ON
This mysterious decree would incite me to defy it and spit on the ground at once, but because the police were stationed two steps away in front of the Governor's Mansion, I'd just stare at it uneasily instead. Now I began to fear that spit would suddenly climb out of my throat and land on the ground without my even willing it. But as I knew, spitting was mostly a habit of grown-ups of the same stock as those brainless, weak-willed, insolent children who were always being punished by my teacher. Yes, we would sometimes see people spitting on the streets, or hawking up phlegm because they had no tissues, but this didn't happen often enough to merit a decree of this severity, even outside the Governor's Manson. Later on, when I read about the Chinese spitting pots and discovered how commonplace spitting was in other parts of the world, I asked myself why they'd gone to such lengths to discourage spitting in Istanbul, where it had never been popular. — Orhan Pamuk

My chair lets out an oil-thirsty whine when I swivel it to take in the view of something that always gets my mind off my damn troubles.

Murphy's on his knees, facing away from me. I've got him spit-shining boots that don't really need to be spit-shined, but he does such a goddamn pretty job of it that I have him do it every chance I get. I sit back in my chair and cross my arms, admiring the display. — Bey Deckard

I saw Elvis live in '54. It was at the Big D Jamboree in Dallas and the first thing, he came out and spit on the stage ... it affected me exactly the same way as when I first saw that David Lynch film. There was just no reference point in the culture to compare it to. — Roy Orbison

Anyway. Leo said, I hope you've got your worksheet, 'cause I used mine for spit wads days ago. Why are you looking at me like that? Somebody draw on my face again? — Rick Riordan

You expect me to believe you're a witch? A broom riding, cauldron stirring, poison apple witch? Witches are Fae, Angelina," Dasan mocked.
"No, you creeper, witches are not Fae. Maybe some are, but there are mortals who practice witchcraft, and I'm one of them!" Angelina almost spit the words at him. "And we don't ride brooms, get real! How Hans Christian Anderson are you, anyway? As for poison apples, you'll be lucky to not get served one in your lifetime! I mean, you and your buddy here turn into giant ... what are you ... dogs ... but you can't believe in a little earth magic? Grow up!"
"See, this is the kind of conversation that would crop up on like a third or fourth date," I chimed in, unable to help myself.
-told by Finley in The Sacred Oath — D.C. Grace

If you want to hit me, scratch me, punch me, I'll take it. If you want to yank my hair, spit on me, kick me, I'll endure it. I deserve to be punished. Leave your mark on my body. Show me how much I hurt you, then show me again. Because I'm prepared to withstand anything in order to keep you by my side. — Faith Sullivan

Now, if someone wants to spit on me, I just roll up the window of my BMW 540i. — Henry Rollins

Each person in the group said something except for me. My silence became noticed. About halfway through the meeting I started to think, I've got to talk. Today, I've got to talk. Fear racked me so bad that sweat ran down my sides. I thought, After the curly-haired woman stops talking I'll raise my hand. A man with a cocky smile told the curly woman that her story was nothing compared to his, he'd been passed out cold from heroin and God knows what, and I wanted to tell him to quit glorifying hinself. I was just about to say the words, a few faces turned toward me as if they could sense my imminent speech, when a man across the circle interrupted.
The opportunity passed; what I wanted to say wouldn't fit now. I tilted on the back two legs of the chair and waited for my desire to speak and be noticed and be part of the group to travel back through my nervous system. Up the synapses condemnation rushed: Why couldn't I spit something out like a normal person? — Daphne Scholinski

I knew I was going to fall out of the tree. Girls as athletically challenged as I was should never climb trees. At the very least, I was going to snag my underwear on a branch and be stuck wearing only a tank top high up in the tree. I shuddered in horror. I was NOT that kind of girl. I had a decent rear-end, but I don't think anyone's butt looks good climbing trees. At the very worst, I would impale myself on a sharp branch like a pig on a spit. Knowing me, both would happen, and I would soon be pantiless and impaled. I could just see the story in the local newspaper: "Local Woman Found Dead and Half Naked in Tree. — Amy Harmon

I'm the one who steps from the shadows, all trenchcoat and cigarette and arrogance, ready to deal with the madness. Oh, I've got it all sewn up. I can save you. If it takes the last drop of your blood, I'll drive your demons away. I'll kick them in the bollocks and spit on them when they're down and then I'll be gone back into darkness, leaving only a nod and a wink and a wisecrack. I walk my path alone ... who would walk with me? — Garth Ennis

How can I give up stalking when I have a family to feed? Get a job? I don't want to work for you, your work makes me puke, do you understand? This is the way I figure it: if a man works with you, he is always working for one of you, he is a slave and nothing else. And I always wanted to be myself, on my own, so that I could spit at you all, at your boredom and despair. — Arkady Strugatsky

Nobody knew me at Buckton. Clem had chosen the town because of that; and besides, even if I had wimp out, there was not enough gas to help me going further north. - I spit on your graves , — Boris Vian

I know the anger lies inside of me like I know the beat of my heart and the taste of my spit. It is easier to be furious than to be yearning. Easier to crucify myself in you than to take on the threatening universe of whiteness by admitting that we are worth wanting each other. — Audre Lorde

Do you remember the fundraiser buffet for the senator at the Yacht Club?" ... "I'd forgotten something in my car so I was outside when you arrived. I saw you driving too fast with the top down and the music too loud. You were belting out the lyrics like you didn't care who was listening. Then I watched you use the rearview mirror to fix yourself up so you'd look respectable, and when you were all spit-polished and perfect, you gave the mirror the finger."
She remembered. "You asked me out on our first date that night. — Shannon Stacey

As for helping me in the outside world, the Convent taught me only that if you spit on a pencil eraser, it will erase ink. — Dorothy Parker

Despair

Who is he?
A railroad track toward hell?
Breaking like a stick of furniture?
The hope that suddenly overflows the cesspool?
The love that goes down the drain like spit?
The love that said forever, forever
and then runs you over like a truck?
Are you a prayer that floats into a radio advertisement?
Despair,
I don't like you very well.
You don't suit my clothes or my cigarettes.
Why do you locate here
as large as a tank,
aiming at one half of a lifetime?
Couldn't you just go float into a tree
instead of locating here at my roots,
forcing me out of the life I've led
when it's been my belly so long?

All right!
I'll take you along on the trip
where for so many years
my arms have been speechless — Anne Sexton

I remember once, when I lived in the Capital for a month and bought the paper fresh each day, I went wild with love, anger, irritation, frustration; all of the passions boiled in me. I was young. I exploded at everything I saw. But then I saw what I was doing: I was believing what I read. Have you noticed? You believe a paper printed on the very day you buy it? This has happened but only an hour ago, you think! It must be true.' He shook his head. 'So I learned to stand back away and let the paper age and mellow. Back here, in Colonia, I saw the headlines diminish to nothing. The week-old paper - why, you can spit on it if you wish. It is like a woman you once loved, but you now see, a few days later, she is not quite what you thought. She has rather a plain face. She is no deeper than a cup of water. — Ray Bradbury

My mum used to say to me, 'Spit on yer 'ands and take a fresh 'old.' Keep going even if you have setbacks. — Lesley Garrett

Word on the street is how the Pastor bought pussy on Saturday, and then spit cum lies on Sunday. Riddle me that Batman, — Flenardo L Taylor

- How dare you, I repeat, In disregard of all decency, call me a goose?
- I spit on your head, Ivan Ivanovich! What are you screaming so for? — Nikolai Gogol

Is this about Archer? Please don't tell me you're upset about us, because ... I mean, you're dead."
She floated closer to me, until she was right in my face. At first I thought she was going to spit ectoplasm on me or something, but then I saw her lips moving again. I wasn't an expert lip-reader, but she was close enough and speaking slowly enough that I was able to make out what she said. "I told you," her pale lips mouthed, "that I'd haunt your ass."
I stared at her mouth, horrified, as she smirked. And then,just like that, she was gone. The air near my face wafted sligtly, like someone had just opened a window.
"I don't need this!" I said to the empty room. "Seriously, plate? FULL."
But there was no reply. — Rachel Hawkins

All right, God, say that You are really there. You have put me in this fix. You want to test me. Suppose I test You? Suppose I say that You are not there? You've given me a supreme test with my parents and with these boils. I think that I have passed Your test. I am tougher than You. If You will come down here right now, I will spit into Your face, if You have a face. And do You shit? The priest never answered that question. He told us not to doubt. Doubt what? I think that You have been picking on me too much so I am asking You to come down here so I can put You to the test! I waited. Nothing. I waited for God. I waited and waited. I believe I slept. — Charles Bukowski

Georgie Porgie puddin' and pie. Kissed the boys and made them cry. What kind of name is Georgia?"
"My great-great grandma was Georgia. The first Georgia Shepherd. My dad calls me George."
"Yeah. I've heard him. That's just nasty."
I felt my temper rise in my cheeks, and I really wanted to spit on him from where I sat atop my horse, looking down on his neatly shorn, well-shaped head. He glanced up at me and his lips twitched, making me even angrier.
"Don't look at me like that. I'm not trying to be mean. But George is a terrible name for a girl. Hell, for anyone who isn't the King of England."
"I think it suits me," I huffed.
"Oh, yeah? George is the name for a man with a stuffy, British accent or a man in a white, powdered wig. You better hope it doesn't suit you."
"Well, I don't exactly need a sexy name, do I? — Amy Harmon

The marker slants, flowerless, day's almost done,
I stand above my father's grave with rage,
often, often before
I've made this awful pilgrimage to one
who cannot visit me, who tore his page
out: I come back for more,
I spit upon this dreadful banker's grave
who shot his heart out in a Florida dawn
O ho alas alas
When will indifference come, I moan & rave
I'd like to scrabble till I got right down
away down under the grass
and ax the casket open ha to see
just how he's taking it, which he sought so hard
we'll tear apart
the mouldering grave clothes ha then Henry
will heft the ax once more, his final card,
and fell it on the start. — John Berryman

You have every right to hate me for this lifetime and many others. You have every right to never see me again. To spit on my grave. But tonight, now, I'm not going to give up on you or," his voice fell with weight, "die trying. — Karina Halle

The truth is, I would do anything for Alan Rudolph. If he asked me to stand on my head and spit wooden nickels, I would. I love him. I loved working with him. — Lesley Ann Warren

I don't know whether the spider perhaps does not hate the fly he has marked and is snaring. Dear little fly! It seems to me that the victim is loved, or at least may be loved. Here I love my enemy. I am delighted, for instance, that she is so beautiful. I am delighted, madam, that you are so haughty and majestic. If you were meeker it would not be so delightful. You have spat on me
and I am triumphant. If you were literally to spit in my face I should really not be angry because you
are my victim; mine and not his. How fascinating was that idea! Yes, the secret consciousness of power is more insupportably delightful than open domination. If I were a millionaire I believe I should take pleasure in going about in the oldest clothes and being taken for a destitute man, almost a beggar, being jostled and despised. The consciousness of the truth would be enough for me. — Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I'm reading,' said Bruno. 'What are you reading?' she asked him, and rather than answer he simply turned the cover towards her so she could see for herself. She made a raspberry sound through her lips and some of her spit landed on Bruno's face. 'Boring,' she said in a sing-song voice. 'It's not boring at all,' said Bruno. 'It's an adventure. It's better than dolls, that's for sure.' Gretel didn't rise to the bait on that one. 'What are you doing?' she repeated, irritating Bruno even further. 'I told you, I'm trying to read,' he said in a grumpy voice. 'If some people would just let me.' 'I've got nothing to do,' she replied. 'I hate the rain.' Bruno found this hard to understand. It wasn't as if she ever did anything anyway, unlike him, who had adventures and — John Boyne

Beyond the few boats still on their moorings, a bank of fog was moving in off the sea. I watched it slowly cover the spit of land at the mouth of the inlet, shrouding the fir trees and the granite shore, and then the whole end of the bay, covering the barnacled outcroppings where the cormorants landed and seals basked in summer, rolling slowly toward me over the water until I saw that it wasn't fog but snow, the flakes tumbling thick and silent out of the encompassing cloud, and I remembered that was how it had been up here when we were kids, seeing weather approach from a distance, a thunderstorm on the horizon, rain sweeping toward us like a curtain across the water, and how it had thrilled me, that enormity and power, how oblivious it was of us. I had an inkling of that again now, of that state of being wide open to time, not as a thing to use or waste, but as a motion of its own, an invisible wholeness made apparent by the motion of the world. — Adam Haslett

I get mailings from Amnesty International, and as I look at their photos of men and women who have been beaten and cattle-prodded and jabbed and spit on and electrocuted, I ask myself, "What kind of human being could do that to another human being?" Then, I read the book of Acts and meet the kind of person who could do such a thing, now an apostle of grace, a servant of Jesus Christ, the greatest missionary history has ever known. If God can love that kind of person, maybe, just maybe, He can love the likes of me. — Philip Yancey

The bullying of citizens by means of dreads and fights has been going on since paleolithic times. Greenpeace fund-raisers on the subject of global warming are not much different than the tribal Wizards on the subject of lunar eclipses. 'Oh no, Night Wolf is eating the Moon Virgin. Give me silver and I will make him spit her out. — P. J. O'Rourke

Aw, boss." The redcap who was spit on smiled at me and licked his fangs. "Can't we chew on the princess, just a little?"
One-Eyed Jack slapped the offending faery upside the head without looking at him. "Idiot," he snapped. "I have no desire to pick your frozen guts off the pavement. Now move, you stupid lot. Before I lose my temper. — Julie Kagawa

FEMALE VOICE: 'The truth is people are pushed around by two men who move all the bodies on earth into patterns that please them.'

MALE VOICE: 'I love my mind when it is fucking the cracks of events.'

MALE VOICE: 'What I give to all the people who do not want to live with me is arithmetic.'

FEMALE VOICE: 'Everyday, I do nothing important because I am scared blank and lazy. But then the men come. I put my mouth on them. I spit and write with the wet.'

MALE VOICE: 'I was not born live. This body grew but I did not feel cells split. — Jenny Holzer

The train station - busy, swarming with people, luggage, porters, taxi drivers and limousine chauffeurs - a giant honeycomb, with worker bees flying in and out, carrying the trash, which covers the entire floor, in and out of the building. Only the honey has been consumed by the selected few, and nothing but the mucus remains. The line - a monstrous larva - the line stretches from the information window and extends almost out of the door. A human worm - hundreds of legs and hands, twisting and breathing disease. What was I thinking? This is just a city like any other, a city with its inhabitants, always busy, from the morning until the nighttime, always itching for a fight, always ready to chew me up and spit me out. A stripped and ragged bone, tossed aside when I can no longer feed its hungry belly. The belly of a beast - a human beast - merciless, yet placatory on the surface. I light a cigarette, spit on the floor, and walk towards the daylight. — Henry Martin

On the other hand, men are sometimes wildly inappropriate in the way they share with women. By a show of hands, how many of you have seen a strange penis on the street? On the subway? At a sleepover? I was once walking with my friend Keri in the middle of the day and some guy asked us for the time. When we looked down at our watches, his dick was in his hands. We giggled and screamed and ran away. We were probably ten. I have been really drunk in high school and had a guy try to fool around with me. I have been called a bitch and a lesbian when I rejected a guy in college. I have locked eyes with various subway masturbators. I have been mugged but not raped, pushed and spit on by someone I knew, and forced to pull over in a road-rage incident where a man stuck his head into my car and told me he was going to "cum in my face." And I count myself very lucky. That is what "very lucky" feels like. Oof. — Amy Poehler

Can you make it past me, thief-catcher?" Mat called, careful not to take his eyes off the man waiting for him with blade poised to strike. Sandar had insisted irritably on "thief-catcher," not "thief-taker," though Mat could not see any difference.
"I cannot," Sandar called from behind him. "If you move to let me by, you will lose room to swing that oar you call a staff, and he will spit you like a grunt."
Like a what? "Well, think of something, Tairen. This ragamuffin is grating my nerves."
The man in the gold-striped coat sneered. "You will be honored to die on the blade of the High Lord Darlin, peasant, if I allow it so." It was the first time he had deigned to speak. "Instead, I think I will have the pair of you hung by the heels, and watch while the skin is stripped from your bodies - "
"I do not think I'd like that," Mat said. — Robert Jordan

The drink you spilt all over me
'Lover's Spit' left on repeat
My mom and dad let me stay home
It drives you crazy, getting old — Lorde

Go ahead, throw this book away. Spit on me. Revile me. I dare you. Cast me out of your intellectual orbit. Throw me out of your backpack. Pitch me in the airport trash bin. Leave me on a bench in Central Park!
What do I care?
No. I don't want you to do all that. Don't do that.
DON'T DO IT! — Anne Rice