Snide Remarks Quotes

You cannot kill me here. Bring your soldiers, your death, your disease, your collapsed economy because it doesn’t matter, I have nothing left to lose and you cannot kill me here. Bring the tears of orphans and the wails of a mother’s loss, bring your God damn air force and Jesus on a cross, bring your hate and bitterness and long working hours, bring your empty wallets and love long since gone but you cannot kill me here. Bring your sneers, your snide remarks and friendships never felt, your letters never sent, your kisses never kissed, cigarettes smoked to the bone and cancer killing fears but you cannot kill me here. For I may fall and I may fail but I will stand again each time and you will find no satisfaction. Because you cannot kill me here.

Sisters annoy, interfere, criticize. Indulge in monumental sulks, in huffs, in snide remarks. Borrow. Break. Monopolize the bathroom. Are always underfoot. But if catastrophe should strike, sisters are there. Defending you against all comers.

When it appeared that even the most passive-aggressive attempts would not work, Charlie resorted to the ultimate Beta Male Attack, which was to tolerate Alvin and Mohammed's presence, but to resent the hell out of them and drop snide remarks whenever he had the chance.

If left together for too long, the two of them might actually take over the civilized world, through sheer application of snide remarks.

Single women that place high value on Higher Education are often the brunt of snide remarks and smearing put downs by less educated black man... page 126

I also like to take my glasses off and look at people. The faces around me, all of them, seem kind and pretty and smiling. What's more, when my glasses are off, I don't ever think about arguing with anyone at all, nor do I feel the need to make snide remarks. All I do is just blankly stare in silence.

Earlier in this book I noted that one of my favorite sayings is “You get what you tolerate.” This applies in spades to your relationships. Failing to speak up about something carries the implication that you are OK with it—that you are prepared to continue tolerating it. As a companion saying goes, “Silence means consent.” If you tolerate snide or offensive remarks from your boss or colleague, the remarks will continue. If you tolerate your spouse’s lack of consideration for your feelings, it will continue. If you tolerate the disregard of people who regularly turn up late for meetings or social engagements, they will continue to keep you cooling your heels. If you tolerate your child’s lack of respect, you will continue to get no respect. Each time you tolerate a behavior, you are subtly teaching that person that it is OK to treat you that way.

Please, don’t take it personally,” I said, shivering even though I felt no chill. “Of course not. I’m sure you dry heave after orgasm with all of your lovers.” The sound of clothing rustling followed his snide remark. A few items hit my back as he tossed them at me. “Here. Get dressed. We have to get this door open.” I reached for my clothes and rose, donning them fast. “Um, Falon, where’s my underwear?” “Oh these?” He forced me to glance over my shoulder to find him twirling my black panties on one finger. “I’m keeping them.

Trouble in paradise. As far as I can tell, there are only two unhappy inhabitants of First Class, Pop. 10. I call this pocket of unrest the Aisle of Brooding and Snide Remarks.

Akos carried Cyra into the galley. She wasn’t completely out of it--her eyes were still open--but she didn’t seem there, either, and he didn’t like it. “Come on, Noavek, get it together,” he said to her as he turned sideways to get her in the door. It wasn’t quite steady on the vessel; he stumbled. “My Cyra would have made at least two snide remarks by now.” “Hmm.” She smiled a little. “Your Cyra.

And before you make the effort to give up smoking, take note that smoking cigarettes and cigars is excellent practice for being in Hell. AND before you make some snide remark, based on my general temperament, that I must be “riding the cotton pony” or suffering from a “red-letter day,” need I remind you that I am dead, deceased, and rendered eternally prepubescent and therefore immune to the mindless reproductive biological imperatives that, no doubt, shape every living, breathing moment of your crummy living, breathing life.

I was not in a country where my ancestors had been enslaved. I was not stared at when I walked through different neighborhoods either in the day or the evening, no waitress gave me poor service, no one made any snide remarks about my body, and I never heard a racial slur. In short, I was free.

No one ever stops to ask glue how it’s holding up. If it’s tired of sticking things together or worried about falling apart or wondering how it will pay its bills next week. Kenji is kind of like that. He’s like glue. He works behind the scenes to keep things together and I’ve never stopped to think about what his story might be. Why he hides behind the jokes and the snark and the snide remarks. But he was right. Everything he said to me was right. Yesterday was a good idea. I needed to get away, to get out, to be productive. And now I need to take Kenji’s advice and get over myself. I need to get my head straight.

Third, it’s important to remember that a lot of cooperation doesn’t feel like “cooperation.” Friends are friends not only because of what they do together but also because of what they don’t do separately. Your friends don’t steal your stuff, make snide remarks about you, or try to bed your significant other. These everyday acts of nonaggression are inconspicuous forms of cooperation,

I spent my lifetime fighting the darkness without becoming the darkness. Maybe I had falteredat the very end. Maybe I had finally come up against something that made me cross the line-but even then, I hadn't turned into a degenerate freakazoid of the Kemmler variety. One mistake at the end of my life couldn't erase all the times I had stood unmoved at the edge of the abyss and made snide remarks at its expense.

The materialist interpretation of the world and of science itself is protected not by the facts or by the data of our honest experiences, but by what is essentially social and professional peer pressure, something more akin to the grade-school playground or high school prom. The world is preserved through eyes rolling back, snide remarks, arrogant smirks and subtle, or not so subtle, social cues, and a kind of professional (or conjugal) shaming.

After I’d been in his class a few weeks he looked at me thoughtfully and said: ‘Ah . . . Cleeeese . . .’ ‘Sir?’ ‘Your housssemaster ssays you’re intelligent.’ ‘Oh!’ ‘. . . I don’t sssee it mysssself . . .’ I wasn’t hurt or surprised. I took his remark as pure information. It was only when I recalled this many years later that I found myself thinking, ‘What was he intending to achieve with this remark?’ And I came to the conclusion that it made him feel better about himself – the same reason people read snide gossip columns.

If you commit to philosophy, be prepared at once to be laughed at and made the butt of many snide remarks, like, ‘Suddenly there’s a philosopher among us!’ and ‘What makes him so pretentious now?’ Only don’t be pretentious: just stick to your principles as if God had made you accept the role of philosopher. And rest assured that, if you remain true to them, the same people who made fun of you will come to admire you in time; whereas, if you let these people dissuade you from your choice, you will earn their derision twice over.

AND before you make some snide remark, based on my general temperament, that I must be “riding the cotton pony” or suffering from a “red-letter day,” need I remind you that I am dead, deceased, and rendered eternally prepubescent and therefore immune to the mindless reproductive biological imperatives that, no doubt, shape every living, breathing moment of your crummy living, breathing life. Even now I can hear my mom saying, “Madison, you’re dead, so just calm down.” Increasingly, I’m not sure to which I was more addicted: hope or Xanax.

For a tick there was only her weight, her warmth, and relief. And then everything came back: the crush of people in the transport vessel, their silence as they stared, Isae and Cisi strapped in near the nav deck. Cisi gave Akos a smile as he caught Cyra around the waist and picked her up. Cyra was tall, and far from dainty, but he could still carry her. For a while, anyway. “Where are your medical supplies?” Akos asked Teka and Jyo, who were coming toward them. “Jyo has medical training; he can take care of her,” Teka said. But Akos didn’t like how Jyo was looking at her, like she was something valuable he could buy or trade. These renegades hadn’t rescued her out of the goodness of their hearts; they wanted something in return, and he wasn’t about to just hand her over. Cyra’s fingers curled around the armor strap on his rib cage, and he shivered a little. “She doesn’t go anywhere without me,” he said. Teka’s eyebrow lifted above the eye patch. Before she could snap at him--which he got the sense she was about to--Cisi unbuckled herself and made her way over. “I can do it. I have the training,” she said. “And Akos will help me.” Teka eyed her for a beat, then gestured to the galley. “By all means, Miss Kereseth.” Akos carried Cyra into the galley. She wasn’t completely out of it--her eyes were still open--but she didn’t seem there, either, and he didn’t like it. “Come on, Noavek, get it together,” he said to her as he turned sideways to get her in the door. It wasn’t quite steady on the vessel; he stumbled. “My Cyra would have made at least two snide remarks by now.” “Hmm.” She smiled a little. “Your Cyra.

Suddenly he spotted Gran deep in conversation with Kitty’s closest friend, and relief coursed through him. Gran would squelch the tale at once. And once she tried to quash the gossip, he would win-because he could then threaten to send notice to the papers of his betrothal if she didn’t back down. She’d have no choice but to give up on her scheme. Except…she wasn’t acting as if she meant to squelch it. She was talking to the other woman with great animation. And when she met his gaze from across the room, beaming from ear to ear, he realized in a flash that he’d misunderstood everything. Everything. She hadn’t been bluffing him. All the rot about trying to buy Maria off, the disapproving looks and snide remarks…all along, Gran had been goading him toward what she wanted. God preserve him. With a sickening sense of inevitability, he saw her go to the duchess’s side and whisper a few words, then saw the duchess rise and tap her glass to indicate she had an announcement to make. With a triumphant smile, Gran announced the engagement of her grandson, the Marquess of Stoneville, to Miss Maria Butterfield of Dartmouth, Massachusetts. All eyes turned to him, and the whispers began anew. He couldn’t believe it. How could he have been so blind? He’d lost the battle, maybe even the war.

I was exhausted and had to rely on Herr Schreiner to help me and knew in my soul that God had sent him to my aid. As tired as I was, I couldn’t have handled my luggage alone. Finally another train did pull into the station but in stark contrast to the empty platform we were standing on, the train was completely full of people. Although he wasn’t that big of a man, Herr Schreiner pushed my suitcases up the two steps into the railway car, and I climbed up behind them. As the train left the station, he hung onto the two entrance handles right behind me and I pushed for space, trying to make enough room for him to get into the carriage. With every surge of the train I expected him to lose his grip but with what I am certain was superhuman strength, he hung on as the train picked up speed. Several of the people made snide remarks but I turned a deaf ear to this and pushed as hard as I could, so that he could also get in. With the help of another man pulling on his coat, Herr Schreiner finally managed to squeeze in far enough so that we could close the door behind him. Once safely on the train, someone from his school in Mannheim recognized him. Herr Schreiner had been a very popular, much admired school principal and seeing how tired and bedraggled we now looked, the passenger offered us his window seats and helped to make room so that we could store our suitcases in the luggage rack above our heads. The train didn’t make any more stops and continued east crossing the Rhine River Bridge, which miraculously was still there. I couldn’t believe that everything had come together as well as it had, and that I was on my way back to Überlingen and my children.

lingering belief in this male-chauvinist society that women who are raped somehow were asking for it, and the inapproachability becomes absolute. Women who nevertheless have braved the intimidation at the all-male police stations have said the experience merely added insult to injury. They report that the first reaction of a thug they encounter, who calls himself an officer, is a snide remark along the lines of whether she would perhaps like to "meet up" later that evening at a fast-food restaurant to discuss the issue further. Her "honor" no longer intact, she is to blame; and so she is now considered fair game.

Cassie took a chance on this joker here, and if that’s not a gamble, I don’t know what is.” Cassie chuckled while she arranged her cards. “He does have a point.” Jamie slapped Blake’s hand away with a scowl. “You’re just jealous because now I’m the good son in this family.” His gaze shifted to his wife with a dangerous smile. “And any more snide remarks from you, Mrs. MacKenna, and I’ll be showing you ‘trouble’ at home.” Alli bumped shoulders with Cassie. “Not if she hog-ties you with her stinky rope, eh?” Caitlyn

He likes me… That’s it. After all of the tiffs, and snide remarks, all of that awkward energy, and the expressions, and… he likes me. And damn if I don’t like him back… A little too much, even...

My aunts did not share in the housework, but they contributed greatly to all of the village gossip. They had fake faces, showing Mama kindness and calling her ate, “big sister,” but once they were alone, I heard the snide remarks they shot like an arrow in her direction. They had no shame. On that day of our deepest sorrow, the two of them snorted, elbowing each other while Mama writhed in agony on the floor,

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.

One mistake at the end of my life couldn’t erase all the times I had stood unmoved at the edge of the abyss and made snide remarks at its expense.

The worst part was I had to act like nothing had changed. I still had to be cool and ironic, that sleepy eating machine who dispensed snide remarks. It had been my mask for so long, I had become it.

I spent my lifetime fighting the darkness without becoming the darkness. Maybe I had faltered at the very end. Maybe I had finally come up against something that made me cross the line-but even then, I hadn't turned into a degenerate freakazoid of the Kemmler variety. One mistake at the end of my life couldn't erase all the times I had stood unmoved at the edge of the abyss and made snide remarks at its expense.

Determined to appease, to be flexible and hide my true feelings, which came out when I was alone, writing frantically in my journal, or more rarely in snide remarks under my breath. But mostly I wrapped up my real feelings and buried them. If you do this long enough, you stop being able to tell what your real feelings even are.

What is being a Scot like?" Ellice heard her mother ask. 'Oh, no.' "A certain independence of spirit,"she answered before the men could. Or before the girl serving the venison could hear, take notes about Enid's snide remarks, and carry them to Brianag. "An ability to carry on despite circumstances," she continued. "Perhaps a belief in otherworldly phenomena." "Do you think we all believe in ghosts?" Gadsden asked. She glanced at him. Now was not the time to recall the feeling of her breasts pressing against his chest, of his fingers on her skin, his lips trailing kisses along her throat. Or her earlier image of him unveiling her, inch by inch. Her cheeks warmed. "Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked him. "Not the incorporeal ones," he said. "Only those of memory and mind." "Are you a haunted man?" He didn't answer her, merely sat there, his gaze steady on her. To her surprise neither her mother nor Macrath said a word. Or perhaps they did and she didn't hear anything. She was caught by his gray eyes, snared and netted until she could almost imagine she was at his feet, head bowed, swearing allegiance to him. He'd raise her up with both hands on her arms until she stood before him, clad only in her gauzy tunic. A slave brought to the man who declared himself her master.

I wasn’t getting along with Trouble and for good reason. He strolled over and made a snide remark. “Patches,” he meowed, “why do you look so worried? Has Santa got you on the Naughty List this year? Oh, look, someone left some muddy shoes by the back door. Meowr.” “GRmpf.” I snarled. “Oh. And is this a Patch-of-mud on the doormat?” mewed Trouble. “Look, Cat,” I said, “My status with Santa is a private affair. Someone with a name like yours shouldn’t be pointing paws!” “That’s so. That’s so,” he purred. “Pointing paws usually lead to flying fur and the need for hair ex-ten-sions.” Trouble did say things that made sense sometimes, in a weird sort of way. (He was trying to mes-mer-ize me with those purrs, but it wouldn’t work). “Purr--cise-ly. Oh, uh-hum, I meant to say, pre-cise-ly,” I growled, “So let’s drop the subject.” Then he PURRED at me.

With her snide remark, Ashley thrust the searing curling iron into Jane's vagina.

Day after day I hear complaints about the prejudices that the straight society has against the gay society. Let’s look at our own prejudices…. We ostracize people because they do this that or the other in bed. We make snide remarks about a drag queen who isn’t quite convincing enough…. Then there is the hair fairy. If we want the majority of society to accept us as we are, we are going to have to start accepting ourselves and others like us. There are many organizations for homosexuals all over the country. Most of them have rules like no drag, no hair fairies, etc. etc. This is fine in a legal situation, but why shouldn’t we take the chance of getting busted? These people are homosexual just like us.

They took the snide grimaces and foul remarks of the day, the shoves in the hallway or laughs on the playground, and turned them into monsters and giant squids they could just as easily vanquish to darkened caves under the earth. They made the bullies’ scoffs destructible things.

The snide remark pierces right through my chest cavity. His intentions may be harmless, but that’s sure not how it feels. Because right now my own brother is backing up that article. The one that wondered if I’d be enough for Carter, the one Cara only just managed to convince me was a load of crap.

The other candidates," I would say, " are going to be coming in here, or their campaign workers are and saying, 'Don't vote for Shirley Chisholm, because she has no chance to be President. Vote for somebody who can win.' Well if I can't be President, I can be an instrument for change. Why do you think people are running around saying I can't be President? They know I have the intellect and creative ability to put it together. That's why they are afraid. They know that I can't be bought; they know I can't be bossed. They know I can't be controlled. I am asking my brothers and sisters to give me a chance. The time has come when we no longer have to be passive recipients of whatever politicians of this nation may decree for us. We no longer have to remain disillusioned, apathetic, helpless and powerless. We now have a person who is willing to accept the snubs, the snide remarks, the humiliation and abuses because she dares to go against the tradition in this country—a country in which only white males can run for the Presidency. I am willing, because I understand.

I felt inadequate. In your dad’s eyes, I was always that. This particular day, he made a snide remark when he was leaving for work, and I snapped—not at him, but inside me.

Who was this new Brussels civil servant? He was, as a Wall Street Journal reporter snidely remarked, 'a bureaucrat without a country [who] for the past twenty years has written rules that nobody had to follow. He has pronounced upon matters that no one particularly wanted him to pronounce upon. He has invented jargon nobody understood. He has been well-paid, well fed, and universally mistrusted by the people who employed him. He was, and is, a Eurocrat.

Without a word, I grabbed Rachel’s hand and towed her back outside. She laughed and tugged against me, but I wasn’t letting her win this one. “Kash, what? Did you forget stuff in the truck?” “Nope.” I stopped suddenly, whirled around, and knocked her legs out from under her, catching her and cradling her in my arms before she could hit the ground. She gasped and glared at me, but I kissed her soundly to silence any snide remark she could have made. She wasn’t about to ruin this. “I forgot this.” I met her blue death stare and waited for it to soften before speaking again. “Mrs. Hendricks . . .” Wrong name. Wrong. Name. “Isn’t it tradition to carry your new bride across the threshold?” Her head tilted back and she laughed. “Isn’t it tradition for the bride to be aware that she got married?” I paused with one foot in the villa and one out. “You’re ruining it, woman,” I growled. “Well, husband”—her laugh died down and she ran her hand down the side of my face to my neck—“we should probably continue with tradition and consummate the marriage.” Kissing her lips once, I left my mouth hovering over hers as I took the last step into the villa. “Let’s get to it, wife.” I

I was and still am a big Dylan fan and admirer, so I asked Bob Johnston if there was any way he could let me play on just one session. Sessions in Nashville are scheduled so you can fit four into a day: 10: 00 a.m., 2: 00 p.m., 6: 00 p.m., and 10: 00 p.m. As it happened, the guitar player they had scheduled for the 6: 00 p.m. session couldn’t make it and wouldn’t show up until the 10: 00 p.m. session, so Bob fit me in for 6: 00 p.m. I was the hungriest musician in the studio. I hung on every note that Bob Dylan sang and played on his guitar and did my best to interpret his music with feeling and passion. When the session was over, I was packing up my guitars to head to my club gig, and Bob Dylan asked Bob Johnston, “Where is Charlie going?” Bob told him I was leaving and that he had another guitar player coming in. Then Bob Dylan said nine little words that would affect my life from that moment on. He said, “I don’t want another guitar player. I want him.” And there it was. After all the put downs, condescension, and snide remarks, after all the times I’d driven to the hill above my house and shook my fist at Nashville and said, “You will not beat me.” After all that rejection, none other than the legendary Bob Dylan was saying that I might be worth something after all. It’s bits of encouragement like that that keep you going. Once in a while something just lights you up and you say, “Yeah, I can do this.

Tiffany and Mom’s bickering had become an almost constant din that kept the atmosphere around the house tense. Tiffany’s attitude exacerbated Mom’s dark moods and each one’s negative energy fueled the other’s. Tiffany would make an unnecessary, snide remark to Mom, and the back-and-forth would escalate until Mom was confiscating her favorite jeans, taking away her phone, or just hitting her with the closest object, like a hanger or a belt.

So there’s a club called The Club?” “Exactly, and it’s full of old rich dudes who think they can play football but they can’t because they’re old and rich and soft,” Tag pointed out. “And they’re not creative with names. We have to beat them or I’ll spend a year listening to Julian Lodge’s snide remarks about how my guys are pudgy and slow.” “And if you win?” Tag shrugged. “Oh, I’ll call his guys pudgy and slow no matter who wins. Pretty much Lodge will too.