Back Biters Quotes

Be careful of who becomes your friend and why. The person who will bite off your lips one day will have to first promise you a kiss today. Be careful of hypocrites.

You’re nothing but the yellow-bellied offspring of a canker-ridden bunter. You’re a bastard, you are, and an unlicked cub; a dung-splattered, tallow-faced rock-gnasher; a puking villain and a noxious toad; the runty, mewling spawn of a greasy sow. I wouldn’t give you my last crust if you were starving, or a drop of water if you were burning, or a beggar’s grave if you were dead. You have pus for marrow and fungus for brains, and you’re a scug-backed cheek-biter!

When we pull back into the castle courtyard, James is waiting. And he does not look happy. Actually he looks like a blond Hulk . . . right before he goes smash. Sarah sees it too. “He’s miffed.” “Yep.” We get out of the car and she turns so fast there’s a breeze. “I should go find Penny. ’Bye.” I call after her. “Chicken!” She just waves her hand over her shoulder. Slowly, I approach him. Like an explorer, deep in the jungles of the Amazon, making first contact with a tribe that has never seen the outside world. And I hold out my peace offering. It’s a Mega Pounder with cheese. “I got you a burger.” James snatches it from my hand angrily. But . . . he doesn’t throw it away. He turns to one of the men behind him. “Mick, bring it here.” Mick—a big, truck-size bloke—brings him a brown paper bag. And James’s cold blue eyes turn back to me. “After speaking with your former security team, I had an audience with Her Majesty the Queen last year when you were named heir. Given your history of slipping your detail, I asked her permission to ensure your safety by any means necessary, including this.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a children’s leash—the type you see on ankle-biters at amusement parks, with a deranged-looking monkey sticking its head out of a backpack, his mouth wide and gaping, like he’s about to eat whoever’s wearing it. And James smiles. “Queen Lenora said yes.” I suspected Granny didn’t like me anymore; now I’m certain of it. “If I have to,” James warns, “I’ll connect this to you and the other end to old Mick here.” Mick doesn’t look any happier about the fucking prospect than I am. “I don’t want to do that, but . . .” He shrugs, no further explanation needed. “So the next time you feel like ditching? Remember the monkey, Your Grace.” He puts the revolting thing back in its bag. And I wonder if fire would kill it. “Are we good, Prince Henry?” James asks. I respect a man willing to go balls-to-the-wall for his job. I don’t like the monkey . . . but I respect it. I flash him the okay sign with my fingers. “Golden.

Pity those who are punished. Alas! Who are we, after all? Who am I who speak to you now? Who are you, listening to me? Where do we come from? And is it quite certain we did nothing before we were born? The earth is not without some resemblance to a gaol. Who knows whether man is not a previous offender against divine justice? Take a close look at life. It is so organized that everywhere there is a sense of punishment. Are you what is called a happy man? Well, you are sad every day. Every day has its great sorrow or petty anxiety. Yesterday you were trembling for the health of someone dear to you, today you fear for your own; tomorrow it will be financial worries, the next day some back-biter’s slander, the day after that a friend’s misfortune. Then the weather, then something broken or lost, then a pleasure that your conscience and your backbone begrudge you. Another time, what is going on in the world. Not to mention heartache. And so on and so forth. One cloud clears, another forms. Hardly one day in a hundred that is entirely joyous, entirely sunny. And you are one of that small number who are happy! As for the rest of mankind, stagnant night is upon them. Reflective minds rarely use those terms, ‘the happy’ and ‘the unhappy’. In this world, the antechamber to another, of course, no one is happy. The real human division is this: the enlightened and the benighted. To reduce the numbers of the benighted, to increase the numbers of the enlightened, that is the object. That is why we cry: Education! Science! To teach someone to read is to light a fire! Every spelled-out syllable sparkles! And he who says ‘light’ does not necessarily say ‘joy’. People suffer in the light. An excess of it burns. The flame is enemy to the wing. To burn without ceasing to fly, that is the marvel of genius. Even if you have knowledge and even if you have love, you will still suffer. Each day begins with tears. The enlightened weep, if only for the benighted.

I became aware that Francis was looking at me with an intent, fixed expression on his face. I mumbled something and got up and went to the bureau to get an Alka-Seltzer. The sudden movement made me feel light-headed. I was standing there dully, wondering where I'd put the box, when all of a sudden I became aware that Francis was immediately behind me, and I turned around. His face was very close to mine. To my surprise he put his hands on my shoulders and leaned forward and kissed me, right on the mouth. It was a real kiss — long, slow, deliberate. He'd caught me off balance and I grabbed his arm to keep from falling; sharply, he drew in his breath and his hands went down to my back and before I knew it, more from reflex than anything else, I was kissing him, too. His tongue was sharp. His mouth had a biter, mannish taste, like tea and cigarettes. He pulled away, breathing hard, and leaned to kiss my throat. I looked rather wildly around the room. God, I thought, what a night. "Look, Francis," I said, "cut it out." He was undoing the top button of my collar. "You idiot," he said, chuckling. "Did you know your shirt's on inside-out?" I was so tired and drunk I started to laugh. "Come on, Francis," I said "Give me a break." "It's fun," he said, "I promise you." Matters progressed. My jaded nerves began to stir. His eyes were magnified and wicked behind his pince-nez. Presently he took them off and dropped them on my bureau with an absent clatter. Then, quite unexpectedly, there was another knock at the door. We sprang apart. His eyes were wide. We stared at each other, and then the knock came again. Francis swore under his breath, bit his lip. I, panic-stricken, buttoning my shirt as fast as my numb fingers would go, started to say something but he made a quick, shushing gesture at me with his hands.

Vera started to rock in her chair again. Now she knew why most crazy people did it. There was some comfort to be found in the motion of moving back and forth.

One of Ross’s biggest gripes was the way I operated in meetings, something that had always driven the team crazy, too. He called out my bad habits: I was notoriously impatient, prone to distraction, and a fidgety nail-biter. I also talked over people and dismissed underdeveloped ideas that deserved more conversation. Ross said, “You can’t put all of your attention on the content in meetings. You have to reserve at least 10 percent of it to observe what’s happening in the room, to watch the body language and pick up on how people are truly feeling.” It was a radical notion for me, the idea that I was responsible for reading the room. And I wasn’t even sure why it was important, until Linda sharpened Ross’s point: “Everything you do is a clue for other people about how it is and isn’t okay to behave,” she said. “When you yawn during a presentation, or miss a deadline, or interrupt a speaker, you’re telling everyone that that behavior is acceptable.” Until then, I’d been oblivious to how I was being perceived. So, to prove the point, Ross made me stand on a conference room table during a staff meeting and look down at everyone while we had a conversation. It felt ridiculous, totally uncomfortable, but it taught me about the CEO’s megaphone effect. “You know when you say things like ‘Hey, we should go and do this,’ but you don’t really mean it? In fact, you’ve given it no more than five seconds of thought?” Ross said. “Someone is going to go run and waste time doing that thing you didn’t even want them to do, because you’re the guy with the megaphone. You’re standing on top of the table.” Other times, I’d explode into the office on a Friday morning and announce, “I want to wrap every water tower in New York in a charity: water banner,” and I’d expect everyone to leap into action. Ross had a shorthand for my impulsive ideas. He’d say, “Scott. Squirrel”—as in “Don’t be like a dog chasing after every squirrel you see.” Sometimes I’d fight back and say, “No, this is not a squirrel. Doing this one thing is the whole point.” But most of the time, I’d back off, and my team would breathe a huge sigh of relief.

We are a nation of fence-sitters, face-flatterers and back-biters.

God's Gonna Cut You Down" "You can run on for a long time Run on for a long time Run on for a long time Sooner or later God'll cut you down Sooner or later God'll cut you down Go tell that long tongue liar Go and tell that midnight rider Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down Well, my goodness gracious, let me tell you the news My head's been wet with the midnight dew I've been down on bended knee Talkin' to the Man from Galilee He spoke to me in the voice so sweet I thought I heard the shuffle of angel's feet He called my name and my heart stood still When he said, "Johnny, go do My will!" Go tell that long tongue liar Go and tell that midnight rider Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down You can run on for a long time Run on for a long time Run on for a long time Sooner or later God'll cut you down Sooner or later God'll cut you down Well, you may throw your rock, hide your hand Workin' in the dark against your fellow man But as sure as God made black and white What's down in the dark will be brought to the light You can run on for a long time Run on for a long time Run on for a long time Sooner or later God'll cut you down Sooner or later God'll cut you down Go tell that long tongue liar Go and tell that midnight rider Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down

I took one look at that alien head and started to panic again. I mean, how could I trust a guy with an alien head on his face? Pushing my way back to the bathroom for another cry session, I said to him, “Jimmy, I don’t think I can do this. I mean, making PB&Js is kid stuff. I’d be like the best superhero ever for a birthday party. Those little ankle biters could just eat sandwiches and smoosh them in each other’s faces the whole time.” Jimmy looked at me blankly. Maybe “ankle biters” reminded him too much of his little brother, Randy the Terror. “But beating a super villain?” I continued, shaking my head. “He’s gonna turn me into a bean burrito!” Jimmy suddenly snapped back to reality. “I love bean burritos,” he said. “Exactly,” I said. “He’ll turn me into a burrito, and you can eat it. Case closed.” “You know, PB&J, all this burrito talk is making me thirsty.” So we walked to the kitchen to find some juice. My mom and dad were watching the morning news in the living room. “Hey, guys!” They were both talking in high voices and had big smiles on their faces, like actors in a terrible show for babies. There was an awkward pause. Jimmy tripped on the back of my shoe and hit the kitchen counter. As he fell to the ground again, he started making a strange mooing sound. Suddenly, Mom spoke up. Her voice was cracked and high-pitched. From my ten years of experience with Mom, she was also about to start crying at any second—and I’m talking thunderstorm tears, not just a light cry like my bathroom time. I braced for the worst and considered grabbing an umbrella.

it sank its teeth into Luke’s cheek, ripping at the skin and tearing off great chunks. Joe pushed Violet behind him, and ran for the man while Tony froze in terror. Joe grabbed the biter from behind, pulling him off Luke. Luke stumbled toward Violet, spraying her with blood as he fell. She tried to stop him landing so hard, holding onto him as he went down. His blood soaked her shirt, and she clamped her hand over her nose and mouth, using the other to try to stop the bleeding. Oh no. Just don’t breathe, don’t breathe. “Help me,” she called to Tony, who still didn’t move. Joe was trying to hold the dead man back. “Help me stop the bleeding,” she ordered. Tony opened and closed his mouth like a fish, still not moving. She heard Joe cry out in triumph as he stabbed the biter through its eye, letting it fall to the ground. Then he appeared at Violet’s side. “Go into the bathroom,” he ordered. She stumbled to her feet, still not daring to breathe, and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Things were spinning, but she was still in control. For now.