Snide Comments Quotes

little life lesson 23: before making a snide comment about someone else's outfit, check to see if you're wearing knee boots with fringe. if you answer yes, drop it. just do.

In some ways blowjobs are better than sex because when you have a mouthful of cock you can't make snide comments.

You’re one of the best men I know. You wear your tats and piercings and those damn leather bracelets that only you could get away with. But inside you are one big teddy bear. When someone you love needs you, there is nothing you won’t do for them. When I needed you, you were always there. I’ve never questioned your heart. It’s made of fucking gold, and we all know it. We laugh at your crude jokes and snide comments because we know they mean nothing. It’s part of your shield. Underneath, I don’t know many men that compare. You’re one of the best, Dewayne. One of the best.

Some people, no, you're never going to change their opinions. It doesn't mean you have to accept it. If they're bold enough to stare or make snide little comments under their breath, then they need to be bold enough to say it to my face.

People who make snide comments to authors like "anyone can write a book" or "well, you did it, so obviously I can/it can't be that hard" or poke at a book because it's "romance" or "genre fiction" and act like that somehow makes it substandard because they don't read it... well, ok, go ahead. Write a bestseller. Don't forget to go through the correct edit process. We'll wait.

Is it my imagination, or are your admirers making snide comments about your sanity?" This time, Phillip's voice sounded in my ear. "Apparently, you agree with them" I murmured back. "If the hammer fits..." Phillip trailed off. "Says the man who likes to throw people off his riverboat," Owen cut in. "You've been holding out on me, Philly," I chimed in again. "That sounds like fun." "See?" Phillip said in a smug voice. "Your crazy woman agrees with me, Owen.

There it was again - the perverse refusal to acknowledge my hostility. She seemed to me like some magical lake in a fairy tale: nothing could disturb the mirror-calm of her surface. My snide comments and bitter jokes disappeared soundlessly into her depths, leaving not so much as a ripple.

That was the problem with snide comments; they invariably lost all their punch on repetition. Besides, when facing impending death, what did the odd witticism matter?

I’d make a snide comment about the youths of america but I’m too impressed by the fact that she’s reading something other than Fifty Shades of Grey.

So, there you go, when people make snide comments at you, criticize your choices, are always quick to judge, maybe it’s not you they resent, maybe they’re just scared.

My parents’ attempts to stop my habit were through guilt and force. They grounded me several times. Carl made cracks when he felt that I was eating too much and snide comments on my weight yo-yoing. They sent me to psychiatrists who tried to quick fix me by Paxil, Zoloft, and Effexor prescriptions. All were antidepressants with weight gain for side effects, which might as well have been rat poison for a bulimic.

It makes me hard when you defy me, wildcat. One day soon, I’m going to make you suffer for every snide comment you’ve said. For every moment you refused to listen.” I curled my lip at him. “Threatening torture? And you wonder why I don’t trust you?” “Oh no,” he purred. “You know I’d never torture you, wildcat.

You’re the same,” I say. “Lonely. You’re all japes and snide comments, just like Sevro, but it’s just a mask.

The library was her home. Books didn’t give her dirty looks or whisper snide comments under their breath. Books didn’t judge.

One thing to be said for Baine was that he couldn’t care less whether the people in his elevator were clothed or unclothed, so Rio was spared the computer’s snide comments. Baine did know about sex, though. As Rio carried Nella out of the lift, Baine muttered, “ Computer interface is so much easier.” “What did he say?” Nella asked as Rio set her on her bed. “Bad machine-language joke. Ignore him.

Jean-Felix was always jealous of our relationship. He tried to hide it—and still does—but it’s obvious to me he hates Gabriel. He’s always bitching about him, implying Gabriel’s not as talented as I am, that he’s vain and egocentric. I think Jean-Felix believes that one day he will win me over to his side, and I’ll fall at his feet. But what he doesn’t realize is that with every snide comment and bitchy remark, he drives me further into Gabriel’s arms.

Suddenly, Liam grabbed hold of me and pushed me hard against the wall, his mouth on mine, his excitement pressing against my thigh. I tried to push him away, tried to say I wasn’t in the mood after his outburst, but in the end, I thought it best to go along with it. I hated the angry Liam, who either sulked and wouldn’t speak to me for days, or berated me and made snide comments and told me how everything was my fault. So I did nothing when he lifted up my dress and yanked my knickers down, ripping them in the process. Did nothing when he picked me up and dropped me roughly onto the stairs, the hard wooden corners digging into my spine. And when he shoved himself inside me, I pretended I was as excited as him. It was better that way. Easier for me.

You're really good." That one got away from me. "Your drawing, I mean." He shrugged. "Not really. Besides, what difference does it make? It's not like I'm going to do anything with it. What's the point...?" He winced. "Jeez, I'm sorry.You're probably heading for MoMA via the Sorbonne and Bennington." "NYU if I'm really really lucky." I smiled, letting him off the hook. I still couldn't quite wrap my head around the fact that I was bantering with Alex Bainbridge. "After that, not a clue. You?" "Yale,then Powel Law." No With Luck or I hope or even If all goes as decreed. "Wow.It must be nice to be so certain in your path." I didn't mean to snound snide.I really didn't. "No starviing artistry in your future,that's for sure." Occasional stupid Mafia comments aside, Alex is no dummy. "It must be nice to be so certain in your convictions. No moral low road for you, that's for sure." I felt myself blushing, felt that Blood Surge of Humiliation beginning.

Felicity’s Journey Home, as I deemed this new chapter in my life, wasn’t just about relocating back to my small hometown of Prescott, Montana. It was about making amends. It was about setting aside my mask and revealing the real me. For too long, I had hidden behind layers of false confidence and snide comments. I had disguised my vulnerabilities and insecurities with “attitude”. It was time to do better. Be nicer. It was time to show people that I had changed.

We were interrupted as the four Heirs spilled out of the house and I looked around to find Caleb smirking at me. I returned his smile for the briefest of moments before looking back at my sister. “Can I have a word for a moment, Roxy?” Darius asked as he drew closer to us. The other Heirs kept going and they moved past us to join Orion as he started walking further down the drive. Darcy looked between us uncertainly and I gave her a reassuring smile before she hurried after the others. “So?” I asked, unsure whether he was pissed at me or not. It was nearly midnight after all so his nice guy act was about to go pop. He took my hand and pulled my arm around his as he glanced back at the manor. He started walking, drawing me along with him and I let him as curiosity prickled at me. “You shouldn’t have spoken to my father the way you did,” he said slowly and I geared myself up to go on the defensive. “Well he didn’t really give me much choice.” “What was it you called him again?” he asked. “Ummm, I don’t really recall...” “I think you said something about an oversized iguana,” he prompted and I snorted a laugh. Darius tried to resist laughing too but he couldn’t really hide his smile. “You’re lucky he didn’t kill you for that. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone insult him in all my life,” he added. “Well, maybe they don’t... to his face,” I hedged and his smile widened for a moment before falling back into a frown. Darius slowed me down before we could get any closer to the others who were waiting by a huge water fountain which stood beyond the drive. I glanced up at him and the look in his eyes pulled me up short as he gripped my arm tighter. “Don’t ever do anything like that again though,” he warned. “I diverted his attention this time but he won’t ever take that kind of attitude from you a second time.” I wanted to make some snide comment but he was looking at me so intensely that I only nodded. I had no intention of ever seeing Lionel Acrux again anyway. I certainly wouldn’t be accepting anymore invitations from him. (tory)

He drained her of self worth: death by a thousand cuts. Snide little comments, rolling eyes and always that tone in his voice, the one that told her how worthless she was.

I tense my jaw, biting back a snide comment. It feels like I have to do that more and more these days, and I'm not sure if he's more intolerant, or I'm just becoming less tolerant of him.

His early impressions of life were of white faces buying drugs down the street from his house, and white faces snarled with hate swinging a baton at his head, and white faces looking at him with fear and contempt at every turn, the whispers, the snide comments, the subtext of every interaction the same. You are a thug, and I don’t trust you. But there was one problem. They were wrong.

It circled back to her looks, as most snide comments did. Surely a pretty blond girl had to be shallow and dim-witted.

The combination of internal controls and international protectionism gave India a distorted economy, underproductive and grossly inefficient, making too few goods, of too low a quality, at too high a price. The resultant stagnation led to snide comments about what Indian economist Raj Krishna called the “Hindu rate of growth,” which averaged some 3.5 percent in the first three decades after independence (or, to be more exact, between 1950 and 1980) when other countries in Southeast Asia were growing at 8 to 15 percent or even more.

I don’t really comprehend time’s passing, at least not in the way that I used to, when time was available to me. So when the door opens again and Peter walks into my cell, I don’t know how much time has gone by, only that I am exhausted. “Let’s go, Stiff,” he says. “I’m not Abnegation.” I stretch my arms above my head so they brush against the wall. “And now that you’re an Erudite lackey, you can’t call me ‘Stiff.’ It’s inaccurate.” “I said, let’s go.” “What, no snide comments?” I look up at him with mock surprise. “No ‘You’re an idiot for coming here; your brain must be deficient as well as Divergent’?” “That really goes without saying, doesn’t it?” he says. “You can either get up or I can drag you down the hallway. Your choice.” I feel calmer. Peter is always mean to me; this is familiar. I stand and walk out of the room. I notice as I walk that Peter’s arm, the one I shot, is no longer in a sling. “Did they fix up your bullet wound?” “Yeah,” he says. “Now you’ll need to find a different weakness to exploit. Too bad I’m fresh out of them.” He grabs my good arm and walks faster, pulling me along beside him. “We’re late.

Don’t put other people down – a big mistake that a lot of opinionated people make is always putting those around them down. They make snide remarks and mean comments that are meant to make themselves look good, but only serve to make themselves look arrogant. Nobody likes arrogance.

Words matter, he tells them and us, and we have a choice to use them for good or for ill. We can choose to be boastful, mouth off a snide comment, fire a well-placed jab. Or we can let our words be a reflection of God's grace, so the words that echo are of peace and healing, not brokenness and pain.

His snide comment irritates the shit out of me. “Well, I do have a lake house, Mercedes, a condo in Atlanta, Miami, and Los Angeles, so I’d have to go with the fact that I just sell a fuck load of shitty ass books.” “How

Three elves were wheeling a large wagon across the paved courtyard with several sloshing jugs stacked on top. I opened the door all the way. “Hey,” I called. “Lemme have one of those.” The elves curled their lips in disgust, and I shuffled out of the workshop with Ruela close behind. Some snide comment was made in Elvish before the three pushed on with their wagon. “No, seriously,” I assured them. “I’m gonna need one of those jugs.” When they continued to walk on, I pulled the revolver from my hip, and the three heads turned at the sound of the hammer cocking. “Here,” I said. “I’m gonna shoot this, and just imagine you’re on the other end of it.” I fired the revolver toward a stout tree, and a branch split off and crashed to the ground. Ruela’s growls ripped through the quiet of the early morning almost as angrily as the revolver. “There.” I smirked. “That whole situation, but it’s you. Now, give me the fucking wine.

And I really think it would be better if Mum stayed indoors while the moustache is in full bloom, as people are always making snide comments about that woman in the cake shop (to be honest, I made one or

You run on along now. Don’t you have a bible study somewhere you should be at?” Arguing with him was pointless. He would just start throwing out more snide comments until he had me so mad I couldn’t see straight. I pressed the gas and turned into the parking lot. Like I was going to be able to just leave and let him drive home drunk. He could infuriate me with a wink of his eye, and I worked real hard at being nice to everyone. I scanned the parked cars for his old, black Chevy truck. Once I spotted it, I walked over to him and held out my hand. “Either you can give me the keys to your truck or I can go digging for them. What’s it going to be, Beau? You want me searching your pockets?” A crooked grin touched his face. “As a matter of fact, I think I might just enjoy you digging around in my pockets, Ash. Why don’t we go with option number two?” Heat rose up my neck and left splotches of color on my cheeks. I didn’t need a mirror to know I was blushing like an idiot. Beau never made suggestive comments to me or even flirted with me. I happened to be the only reasonably attractive female at school he completely ignored.

Playing Dead is a compelling book—a true page-turner. Smart, strong, and protective of her children, Monique was barraged with snide comments and criticism, yet had no idea that this was verbal abuse and never suspected its extreme escalation. Every chapter compels the reader forward to what's next."—Patricia Evans, author of The Verbally Abusive Relationship, Controlling People, and more.

Edward to Jacob: "I think you maybe right" "Jacob just had an idea" Jacob: "It wasn't an idea, it was a snide comment" Carlisle: "What were you thinking?" Jacob: "That it's probably just looking for someone to sink it's teeth into

Of course she loved her only child, but she had too much respect for herself to tolerate any more snide comments. It was like strikes—after three, Ryn ended the conversation.