Snippy Quotes

You said nothing to me of the newspaper clippings.” “No, because you were displaying…snippiness yesterday.” “Snippiness?” he asked. “It’s a word.” “I think not.” “I’ll ask Books when we get back.

I guess we all get a little snippy when we're not feeling good.

Isn't the information about your ability enough to digest right now?" "The info is digested, Michael. As a matter of fact, it's so digested it's getting ready to come out as a big pile of sh-" "Don't get snippy with me." His eyes flashed a warning. "I'm not snippy. I'm mad," I returned through gritted teeth. "And your personal health is in danger if you don't fess up about what's going on.

We could have made it to the Arizona border in a few more hours if we hadn't been distracting each other with stupid little arguments. Don't get me wrong; I liked J.Lo fine. I've made that bed. But I'm not sure there's a person in the world I could be with twenty-four hours a day for three weeks without getting a little snippy. If I ever meet such a person, I'm marrying them.

I couldn't believe it had taken me all these years to see this side of him. He tucked himself inside a shell, shutting himself away from others here because the palace had trapped him. Behind the books and the snippy remarks there was a curious, engaging, and sometimes very charming person.

It doesn't matter who came to talk to me,' he said (Barack Obama). He went on to say that I needed to realize the power of my words. I could not send emails like that because they - I am paraphrasing - freak everyone out. Developing self-awareness is a lifelong process; you don't just wake up one day and have all you need. So even though I'd spend the last few months demonstrating that I was cable and knew what I was doing, this was something of a revelation. When the president of the United States tells you your words are powerful, it can be pretty shocking. I honestly didn't think anyone would give a shit if I sent a snippy email. It was good advice, specifically to me at the time but generally as it relates to any kind of replying-all in life: Think about how what you say could affect people, from the top down. It was also a wake-up call for me about my state of mind: I didn't know why (yet) - though I'm sure I did, deep down - but my temper was getting worse, and my fuse shorter and shorter.

So might I suggest at your earliest convenience that you pay a visit to the Okins Funeral Salon to make arrangements?" "Why'd I wanna do that?" she says so damn snippy. "Because on my return visit you can count on my beatin' the ever-lovin' shit outta you with a rusty shovel. Twice.

She’d take Jane Turner’s brisk snippiness any day over this woman’s prissy sweetness with its razor-sharp edges.

I will rule you, Ashe,” he admitted. “I’ll tell you what to do and you’ll give me that snippy look you have and tell me what to do.

Mrs. Davenport - There's no cause to be so snippy. Gertrude - There's no cause to embarrass a person either, but that didn't stop you from sending me off to a formal engagement celebration wearing a birdcage attached to my behind.

The hemming and hawing is courtesy of Mrs. Duchamps, head of nursing, a small, snippy woman who always seems to know best. She's French: she should have stayed in France. Arrogant and unsympathetic, but she does have a cute French accent.

They put me in jail. Holy shit. They put me in fucking jail. Call my mother and tell her I love her, call my father and tell him I can’t loan him any more money, call my grandmother and tell her she needs to stop day drinking. I am never getting out of this. All right, on the plus side, it’s not like I’m sitting in a city jail. It’s a hotel holding room, which basically means beige-colored carpet with beige walls and a beige futon. In Vegas, if they put you in beige, you are seriously fucked. No sequins or rhinestones anywhere means I must have done something abominable. Okay. I take three deep breaths, trying to achieve my zone neutrality. Or something. I don’t know! Okay, keep calm, Julia. Maybe they can help. Maybe they can help piece together whatever insane stuff you did last night. Or rather, the weird shit that your David Tennant personality did. On second thought, maybe talking about Doctor Who would be a very bad thing right now. The door opens, and Gray Suit— his name’s actually Todd, but I’m sticking with Gray Suit— enters and sits down in a chair opposite me. “Now Ms. Stevens—” “I’m not going to prison,” I blurt out. “I’m too soft. I watched Orange is the New Black. I don’t want to eat tampon sandwiches.” Gray Suit blinks slowly. “Okay. I’ll bear that in mind.” “Look, what the hell am I even doing here?” I snap. Great, Julia. Get snippy with the authorities. This’ll go down swimmingly. “What is happening?” Gray Suit sighs. “It’s about what you did last night, Ms. Stevens.

Given their relationship with the locals and their general enthusiasm level, Doherty and Byrne had been assigned to go through a bazillion hours of closed-circuit TV footage, looking for regular unexplained visitors to Glenskehy, but the cameras hadn’t been positioned with this in mind and the best they could come up with was that they were fairly sure no one had driven into or out of Glenskehy by a direct route between ten and two on the night of the murder. This made Sam start talking about the housemates again, which made Frank point out the multiple ways someone could have got to Glenskehy without being picked up on CCTV, which made Byrne get snippy about suits who swanned down from Dublin and wasted everyone’s time with pointless busywork. I got the sense that the incident room was blanketed by a dense, electric cloud of dead ends and turf wars and that nasty sinking feeling.

Half inebriated, he vaulted up the stairs to find them lolling in chairs in the hall outside Maria’s door. Gabe clasped a bunch of violets in his hand while Jarret held a rolled-up piece of parchment in his. “What are you two louts doing here in the middle of the night?” he growled. “It’s nearly dawn,” Gabe said coolly. “Hardly the middle of the night. Not that you would have noticed, in your drunken state.” Scowling, Oliver took a step toward them. “It’s still earlier than you, at least, every rise.” Gabe glanced at Jarret. “Clearly, the old boy doesn’t remember what today is.” “I believe you’re right,” Jarret returned, a hint of condemnation in his tone. Oliver glared at them both as he sifted through his soggy brain for what they menat. When it came to him, he groaned. St. Valentine’s Day. That sobered him right up. “That doesn’t explain why you’re lurking outside Maria’s door.” Jarret cast him a scathing glance as he got to his feet. “Why do you care? You ran off to town to find your entertainment. Seems to me that you’re relinquishing the field.” “So you two intend to step in?” he snapped. “Why not?” Gabe rose to glower at him. “Since your plan to thwart Gran isn’t working, and it’s looking as if we’ll have to marry someone, we might as well have a go at Miss Butterfield. She’s an heiress and a very nice girl, too, in case you hadn’t noticed If you’re stupid enough to throw her over for a bunch of whores and opera dancers, we’re more than happy to take your place. We at least appreciate her finer qualities.” The very idea of his brothers appreciating anything of Maria’s made his blood boil. “In the first place, I didn’t throw her over for anyone. In the second, I am damned well not relinquishing the field. And I’m certainly not giving it over to a couple of fortune hunters like you.” The sound of footsteps coming down the hall from the servants’ stairs made them whirl in that direction. Betty walked slowly toward them, one hand shading her eyes. That’s when it hit him. His brothers were here because of that silly superstition about a maiden’s heart being joined to that of whoever was the first man she spotted on St. Valentine’s Day. “Good morning, gentlemen,” Betty murmured as she approached, carefully avoiding looking at any of them. A devilish grin lit Gabe’s face. “Betty, catch!” he cried and tossed a violet at her. She didn’t even move a finger to stop it from bouncing off her and falling to the floor. “If your lordships will excuse me,” she said in a decidedly snippy tone, “my mistress rang the bell for me.” With a sniff that conveyed her contempt for them, she slipped inside Maria’s rom and shut the door firmly behind her. “That was shameful,” Jarret told Gabe. “You know bloody well that Betty and John are sweethearts.” “It’s not my fault that John didn’t show up this morning so she could see him first,” Gabe said with a shrug.

So what do you guys want to do first?” Claire asked excitedly from the backseat. “Oh my God, Claire. I don’t know, but maybe you should ask us again in five minutes. We haven’t had enough time to think about it since the last time you asked.” Chelsea’s mood had gone downhill quickly during the car ride into the mountains, and she had lost her patience for everyone-including Claire-who was usually safe from her temper. “Effin’-A, Chels, I was just asking.” Claire’s lips drew together tightly as she crossed her arms in front of her. It was as close to swearing as Claire ever got. Claire must have really been tired of Chelsea’s snippy tone. Chelsea didn’t apologize; instead she closed her eyes and took another deep breath, leaning her head back against her seat. “Do you want me to pull over again?” Jay asked, glancing anxiously at Chelsea in his rearview mirror. He shot a nervous look at Violet, and Violet knew exactly what he was thinking. He didn’t want Chelsea to puke…in his car. Chelsea sighed with annoyance. “Why, Jay? So I can walk around in the cold again, talking about how fucking-yeah, that’s right, Claire, I said fucking-sick I feel? No, thank you. Just keep driving. The sooner we get there, the sooner I get out of this hellhole.” “No offense taken. Right, Jay?” Mike laughed, hitting Jay’s headrest playfully. Apparently he thought he was safe from Chelsea’s caustic remarks. He wasn’t. “That’s too bad,” Chelsea shot back without opening her eyes. “Maybe someone should take offense. Maybe it’s not the car making me sick, maybe it’s the driving.” Violet started to laugh but caught herself, just barely, in time to stop the sound from actually escaping her lips. She covered her mouth with her hand so that only those with their eyes open could see her. Ha-ha, Jay mouthed, when she glanced sideways in his direction, making it even harder to contain herself. Sorry, she mouthed back to him, when she finally felt like she had enough control not to laugh.

The ordinary sapper is a great deal better educated than the common soldier, and they discussed the peculiar conditions of the possible fight with some acuteness. I described the Heat-Ray to them, and they began to argue among themselves. "Crawl up under cover and rush 'em, say I," said one. "Get aht!" said another. "What's cover against this 'ere 'eat? Sticks to cook yer! What we got to do is to go as near as the ground'll let us, and then drive a trench." "Blow yer trenches! You always want trenches; you ought to ha' been born a rabbit Snippy." "Ain't they got any necks, then?" said a third, abruptly--a little, contemplative, dark man, smoking a pipe. I repeated my description. "Octopuses," said he, "that's what I calls 'em. Talk about fishers of men--fighters of fish it is this time!" "It ain't no murder killing beasts like that," said the first speaker. "Why not shell the darned things strite off and finish 'em?" said the little dark man. "You carn tell what they might do." "Where's your shells?" said the first speaker. "There ain't no time. Do it in a rush, that's my tip, and do it at once." So they discussed it.

Dear troubles, my amigo Accolades to your valour and vigour in battling Me. Though each time you have lost the crusade, your persistent effort in drubbing me down with tiresome regularity, is remarkable. Sadly your trials have all been clunkers, and your lingering rage at being unceremoniously busted by snippy woman storm trooper inside me to boot is axiomatic. I know it’s not your fault, fighting me is not a cake walk. You can’t quash my acquaintance with the strategic moves you make, or the unreal-fleeting bonds you break. I am rather familiar with aimless, exasperated steps you take and that Duchenne smile you fake. I can, for sure, guess any rare cryptic word you say or sinister cat and mouse game you play. My dear old stinging Gordian’s Knot, I love the way you have always tailed me, but to your dismay I guess I was always ahead of the curve. My love, my darling, quandary little Catch-22, I suggest you kill me now, shoot me now, show no mercy bury me deep, deport me to hellhole, coz I have right to die. Hang me and close me in a gas chamber, entomb me and put my soul in a bottle, cap it tight and throw it in the deep sea. Get rid of me else if slightest of me comes back then my lovely, ‘stumbling hornets nest’, you are bound to fizzle out and evanesce into nothingness. Run, I say, run now and never return, you know I am kinda tried and tested………..

You are a good man, Ioan,” she said to him. “By all appearances, a fine and capable leader as well. A queen could do well with a man such as you by her side.” Christian’s ears perked up at her words. Even though his body was throbbing from pain, he didn’t miss the look of heat that came into Ioan’s eyes, or the speculative gleam in Adara’s. It made his vision dim. Ioan gave her a hot, seductive smile. “I appreciate your compliment, Majesty. While we await your quarters being prepared, would you like to have something to eat?” His wife all but preened under the Welshman’s look. “Aye, my lord. We are truly famished and your kindness would be most appreciated.” Christian’s sight dimmed even more as he watched her coy smile. She even batted her eyelashes. This was more than he could stand. “Abbot?” Phantom asked. “Are you all right?” “I am fine,” he said from between clenched teeth. Phantom scoffed. “Whatever you say.” “He looks ill to me,” Lutian said. “Rather green and red. Can’t tell if he’s angry or vomitous.” Christian slanted a look at the fool that had him retreating. Adara felt a modicum of satisfaction at her husband’s ill humor until she saw the reddish stain that was barely discernible through the black cloth of his robe. “You’re bleeding,” she said sternly, moving to stand beside him. Christian tried to brush her off, but she would have none of it. Her anger flared. “Cease with your stubbornness, Christian. Your wounds need to be tended.” He glared at her. She glared back. Ioan whistled low. “Phantom, who is the queen, that Christian would tolerate her thusly?” Phantom folded his arms over his chest as he watched them. “His wife.” “Only until our marriage is annulled,” Christian snapped. Adara put her hands on her hips as she continued to glower at him. “Well, if you stand there until you bleed to death, we won’t need an annulment, now, will we?” Phantom sucked his breath between his teeth. “The queen has gotten a bit snippy, eh?” Christian looked to Ioan. “Have you a healer in your company?” Ioan snorted at that as he looked back and forth from Christian to Adara. “Heed my words well, Abbot, no man who possesses his full sense will ever come between a woman and her husband.” -Adara, Ioan, Phantom, Christian, & Lutian

Do we take the red one or the blue tunnel?" "I'd describe it as more of an aqua." "Perhaps we should wait for the men and women bearing guns who will be along shortly and ask their thoughts?" "Just because we've had a minor setback that may well result in our deaths and those of everyone left on the ship isn't a reason to get snippy." Nash

You’re… odd. And chatty.” Rose took offense to that. She didn’t think she was particularly chatty. Irreverent? Sure. “Yeah, well my mate thinks I’m delightful.” “Not the word I’d choose, mo chroí,” Fionn said, staring down at the dead bodies. “Oh?” At her snippy tone, he looked over at her. “You’re fucking magnificent.

Well, I don't care," she announced. "I just don't care that he isn't offering a reward. In fact, I'm glad I'm much happier here than I was with any of my guardians." "I would be, too," Blake said wryly, "If Perriwick and Mrs. Mickle treated me this way." Caroline turned to him with a wicked smile, the urge to tease him too strong to ignore. "Now, now, don't get snippy because your servants like me best." Blake started to say something, then just laughed.

And that, my love, is precisely my point. Justice bites. With snippy sharp teeth. If it doesn’t, then the common folk will perceive it as unbalanced, forever favouring the wealthy and influential. When robbed, the rich cry out for protection and prosecution. When stealing, they expect the judiciary to look the other way. Well, consider this a royal punch in the face. Let them smart.

What do scissors sound like? What did they say? Sly and steely, they started softly, a small susurration that quickly grew, whispering and slicing, hissing and metallic, forming what sounded more like human words, in a language Benny took to be Chinese, although he couldn't be sure. He didn't speak Chinese, so how could he know? But he seemed to understand all the snide, snippy things they insinuated into his ear about his teacher, Ms. Pauley.

Where was the fear? She searched herself as she listened: sometimes the rat-tat-tat of gunfire, rapid and snippy like the keys of two vast duelling type-writers battering out threats to each other on a paper sky.

He thinks he’s scaring me off with his snippy attitude. Little does he know, I’m thriving off his surliness. I open the door, revealing the outfit I was already wearing: jeans and a T-shirt and a kiss-my-ass grin. “Like this?” He eyes me head to toe, scowls, and turns to walk to his door. He only opens it a crack and practically wiggles inside before closing it quickly behind him.

What has put you in such a foul mood?' Castor asked. 'Were you watching Evangeline again?' 'I'm not here because of her,' Jacks snapped. 'Well, you're certainly snippy about her.' Jacks glared. 'And you're in a disturbingly good mood for someone who just slaughtered an entire family.

We human pioneers of the “great camping trip,” as George Attla would dub it, will remain incorporated, as it were, in the fabric that weaves our history. But what of the four hundred pioneer dogs? Those wonders of God’s creation, who weathered Arctic gales, slept in snowbanks, suffered exhaustion, sore, raw feet, and, to some degree, human ignorance, and neglect. What of them? Leaders Genghis, Kiana, and Sonny. Others, who strained in wheel, team, and swing positions, and at times, in lead as well, were Kuchik, Koyuk, Snippy, Eska, Shiak, Flame, Bandit, Casper, and Crazy. Names listed on a sheet of paper seem such a hollow tribute to twelve of a person’s most loyal, tested friends. And hollow that tribute would be, if all twelve of them were not imprinted indelibly in my heart. Those twelve devoted, steadfast trail companions bestowed upon me the one true adventure of my life. In so doing, they became the pathfinders for all ensuing generations of endurance race dogs. Genghis, Kiana, Sonny, Kuchik, Koyuk, Snippy, Eska, Shiak, Flame, Bandit, Casper, and Crazy—a renewed and heartfelt salute.

This response seemed to irritate him. “It’s that unbelievable that I have respect for human life?” he snapped. “I used to fucking be one of them.” My mouth had been half-open with some snippy retort that I immediately forgot. I closed it, stunned into silence. Raihn’s rust-red eyes crinkled with amusement. “It’s satisfying to shock you, princess.” “You’re Turned.” “I am.

Is that so incomprehensible?" Yes. Incomprehensible. It just... defied a certain world order in the House of Night. Hell, in all of Obitraes. "Of course it is," I said. This response seemed to irritate him. "It's that unbelievable that I have respect for human life?" he snapped. "I used to fucking be one of them." My mouth had been half-open with some snippy retort that I immediately forgot. I closed it, stunned into silence. Raihn's rust-red eyes crinkled with amusement. "It's satisfying to shock you, princess.

Describe the shape of his face. Round, square?" "Rectangular, I suppose, with a cleft chin." "We're not at the chin yet." "Well, pardon me," he retorted, stung by her snippy tone. She tilted her head and drew a deep breath.

That’s one of the key challenges of remote work: keeping everyone’s outlook healthy and happy. That task is insurmountable if you’ve stacked your team with personalities who tend to let their inner asshole loose every now and again. Even for people with the best intentions, relations can go astray if the work gets stressful (and what work doesn’t occasionally?). The best ballast you can have is as many folks in your boat as possible with a thoroughly optimistic outlook. We’re talking about people who go out of their way to make sure everyone is having a good time. Remember: sentiments are infectious, whether good or bad. That’s also why it’s as important to continuously monitor the work atmosphere as to hire for it. It’s never a good idea to let poisonous people stick around to spoil it for everyone else, but in a remote-work setup it’s deadly. When you’re a manager and your employees are far flung, it’s impossible to see the dread in their eyes, and that can be fatal. With respect to drama, it therefore makes sense to follow the “No Broken Windows” theory of enforcement. What are we talking about? Well, in the same way that New York cracked down in the ’90s on even innocuous offenses like throwing rocks through windows or jumping the turnstile, a manager of remote workers needs to make an example of even the small stuff—things like snippy comments or passive-aggressive responses. While this responsibility naturally falls to those in charge, it works even better if policed by everyone in the company.

Mature, intelligent name. She prefers Candi." Rose watched Macey nudge the puppy when he tried to edge away from the group. "She had a sort of reaction to the pup." She closed her eyes. "I said something snippy

Behind the books and the snippy remarks there was a curious, engaging, and sometimes very charming person.

I will not be spoken to in that tone," she said to her mother. Enid's mouth gaped open. For only a moment, however, until she began to protest. "You've gotten snippy since your marriage, haven't you? I'll not take that behavior from you, child. Your sister would never have disrespected me in such a fashion." "Enough!" Ellice held up her hand, her gaze never once leaving her mother. "When have you ever respected me, Mother? I'm only a poor substitute for Eudora." She took a deep breath. "I'm not Eudora," she said. "I'm not your beloved daughter who died. I'm the one who lived. I'm tired of hearing about what my sister did or would have done. I suspect that Eudora would have silenced you long before now." She grabbed her skirts and walked around her mother, heading for the kitchen. At the door, she stopped and turned. "Must I die before you begin to value me as well?

Rich, what are you doing here?" I asked, my gaze going over toward Brant, finding him watching and feeling almost guilty. Which was ridiculous because I hadn't invited Rich. "Didn't have much of a choice after you blocked my calls and texts, Mads," he said, shaking his head. "Didn't you maybe consider that was because I didn't want to talk to you?" I asked, lifting my chin slightly. "The only possible explanation for that," he said, his charming boyish smile in place, "is because you have somehow forgotten how awesome I am. You can give me five minutes, can't you?" "Because five years wasn't enough of my time to waste?" I asked, not caring how snippy that came off. "I know I hurt you," he said, looking apologetic. "Let's not romanticize it," I cut him off. "You proposed to me and then dumped me because your parents were going to stop paying your bills." His head jerked back, likely not having expected that. "I fucked up," he admitted, shrugging. "I made the wrong choice." "Yes, you did," I agreed, having no plans on sparing his feelings. He hadn't spared mine. "Maddy, come on," he said, shaking his head. "Give me a chance here." "A chance to what? Somehow try to make me think that dumping me and telling me to get my things out before you came home from work was not possibly the worst possible thing you could have done after I gave you five years of my life?" "I was..." "Insensitive and cold-hearted and money-hungry and a complete and utter asshole," I filled in for him. "Maddy, I didn't even think..." "That sentence was complete right there," I cut him off. "You didn't even think. Period. You didn't think about how much it would hurt me that you valued your money more than the life we had built together. You didn't think of the fact that I had nowhere to go but back to live with my mother. You didn't think that loving me and me loving you would be enough. You didn't think. And now what? You've finally given it some thought." "I talked to my..." He talked to his parents. Ugh. I had thought maybe he had grown a set and told them to take their money and shove it. Not that it would change anything, but it would have restored my faith in him being the decent person I had always thought he was. "And what, Rich? Tried to convince them that I was good enough for them? I don't need their approval. And I don't want to be with a man who values their approval of the person you've chosen to be with so much that it changes your feelings for them." "It never changed my feelings about you," Rich said, voice sad. And I did believe him. He had loved me. There was no way he had been faking that. Again, the bitter truth was- he never loved me enough. Now that I knew that, there was no forgetting it. And the fact of the matter was, I deserved to be loved enough. "I don't want to be a decision, Rich. I want to be someone you love and are with because you can't not love and and you can't not be with me. Who you love isn't something you can flip-flop on. And I am thankful I found this out before I married you. Before we started a family. Before it could have begun to mean more than it already did.'' "What? You moved on already?" he asked, tone heavy with skepticism. "Yes." And I had. Not just to another man who had the potential to really mean something to me. But to a version of myself that I had forgotten existed. To live somewhere that everyone cared for me. To be near my mother who I missed dearly. To do a job because I loved it, not because I was looking for adulation. He couldn't factor into any of that. And it was right about then that the door to the bakery opened and out walked Brant, holding his jacket and moving to slip it over my shoulders. "Figured you were cold," he offered, but his eyes also said: and maybe needed an escape. He was right on both.

years, but so far that’s all it’s been—talk. “We could sell it,” Jade said. “Sell what?” Mom asked. “The Weirdland. I mean, if it’s not making enough money, what’s the point? It’s a stupid place to live, anyway. If we sell it, we can live somewhere normal,” Jade answered. “It’s not called the Weirdland,” I reminded her again. “I’ll call it whatever I want to call it!” Jade informed me in her snippy way. Mom spoke up. “We are not selling the Wonderland. It’s your daddy’s life.” Jade kept yapping, “I’m just saying . . .” Mom frowned. “Not another word, Miss.” Miss was code for “if you have good sense, you’ll shut up now.” And Jade did. When we got home, I found Daddy trimming his bonsai trees and plants. He was whistling a tune the way he sometimes does when he’s happily working. The sound of his whistling always makes me smile. Over and over, from the time I was little, I’d tried to learn how, putting my lips together and blowing. But no matter what, I’d only been able to produce the sound of plain old air, and after I’d failed for what felt like the hundredth time, I’d finally given up. “Howdeedoo, Zoe,” he said when he saw me. There were no customers around that I could see and I wondered if any had come in. “Any