Spitting Cobra Quotes

Boys next door were supposed to be fresh-faced with fair skin, butterscotch-blond hair they brushed out of clear blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles. They were also supposed to be friendly. We’d moved in a week ago and this kid had avoided us like we were a family of spitting cobras on crack.

Most haters are like the cobras they spits evil and deadly venom , but don’t let the Viper’s bite poison you, kill them slowly with the living fire of your success.

I flew straight out of heaven, a mad bird full of secrets. I came into being as I came into being. I grew as I grew. I changed as I change. My mind is fire, my soul fire. The cobra wakes and spits fire in my eyes. I rise through ochre smoke into black air enclosed in a shower of stars. I am what I have made. I am the seed of every god, beautiful as evening, hard as light. I am the last four days of yesterday, four screams from the edges of earth—beauty, terror, truth, madness—the phoenix on his pyre.

The sky is a dark bowl, the stars die and fall. The celestial bows quiver, the bones of the earthgods shake and planets come to a halt when they sight the king in all his power, the god who feeds on his father and eats his mother. The king is such a tower of wisdom even his mother can't discern his name. His glory is in the sky, his strength lies in the horizon like that of his father the sungod Atum who conceived him. Atum conceived the king, but the dead king has greater dominion. His vital spirits surround him, his qualities lie below his feet, he is cloaked in gods and cobras coil on his forehead. His guiding snakes decorate his brow and peer into souls, ready to spit fire against his enemies. The king's head is on his torso. He is the bull of the sky who charges and vanquishes all. He lives on the stuff of the gods, he feeds on their limbs and entrails, even when they have bloated their bodies with magic at Nesisi, the island of fire. He cooks the leftover gods into a bone soup. Their souls belong to him and their shadows as well. In his pyramid among those who live on the earth of Egypt, the dead king ascends and appears forever and forever.

The Spitting Cobra can spit its venom up to 6feet (1.8m) with perfect aim!

Hetheridge, who’d rarely been required to work with female officers, had heard all the stories. To hear Commander Deaver tell it, one moment they were all sweetness and light, and the next they rose like cobras, spitting venom about “fairness” and “reciprocity” and accusing every man in sight of sexual harassment.

Bà Ngoại was usually in the kitchen cooking and taking menthol hits of green Eagle oil from her front pajama pocket. She wasn’t exactly the freshly baked cookies and milk kind of grandma. When I got a runny nose, she would scratch my back skin off with the edge of a quarter, leaving pink lines all over my body. And if I got really sick, she would scoop out some black liquid from a five-gallon glass jar she had at the top of the pantry that housed a giant dead black cobra. Tracing the smoke from a burning-hot incense stick up and down my back, she would spit the black mystery juice all over me as I lay face-down on an old ragged towel. After that, I much preferred taking a teaspoon of thick cough syrup, even if it made me gag.