Best 97 quotes in «shit quotes» category

Many women describe the feeling of having a baby come out of their vagina as taking the biggest shit of their lives. This isn’t really a metaphor. The anal cavity and vaginal canal lean on each other; they, too, are the sex which is not one. Constipation is one of pregnancy’s principal features: the growing baby literally deforms and squeezes the lower intestines, changing the shape, flow, and plausibility of one’s feces. In late pregnancy, I was amazed to find that my shit, when it would finally emerge, had been deformed into Christmas tree ornament — type balls. Then, all through my labor, I could not shit at all, as it was keenly clear to me that letting go of the shit would mean the total disintegration of my perineum, anus, and vagina, all at once. I also knew that if, or when, I could let go of the shit, the baby would probably come out. But to do so would mean falling forever, going to pieces.

Many skills, as every successful entrepreneur knows, cannot be taught in school. They require doing. Sometimes a life of doing. And where money-making is concerned, nothing compresses the time frame needed to leap from my-shit-just-sits-there-until-it-rains poverty to which-of-my-toilets-shall-I-use affluence like an apprenticeship with someone who already has the angles all figured out.

Men: "I was wrong. I'm sorry" Women: (Shit! What else can I fight with him about?)

Most people would rather eat inside a windowless room in which they have just defecated than eat inside one in which someone else has just farted, even if the room does not have a toilet.

Off, pff keep this fucking shit stuff for you, I don't give shit about them.

¡Ojalá que a Rosaura la boca se le hiciera chicharrón! Y que nunca hubiera dejado escapar esas repugnantes, malolientes, incoherentes, pestilentes, indecentes y repelentes palabras. Más valía que se las hubiera tragado y guardado en el fondo de sus entrañas hasta que se le pudrieran y agusanaran. Y ojalá que ella viviera lo suficiente como para impedir que su hermana llevara a cabo tan nefastas intenciones.

One of the few times in a man's life when he is not full of shit!! The morning of a colonoscopy. Enough said!

Paco is walking out of the bathroom and I rush past him. "You might want to wait before you--" Paco's voice fades as I close the door, locking myself in. Wiping my eyes, I gaze into the mirror. I'm a complete mess. My mascara is dripping and . . . oh, it's no use. I slide down and sit on the cold tile floor. Now I realize what Paco was about to tell me. The place stinks; it really reeks . . . almost to the point where I want to throw up. I put my hand over my nose, trying to ignore the offending smell. *** After locking the door behind him, he crouches beside me and takes me in his arms, pulling me close. Then he sniffs a few times. "Holy shit. Was Paco in here?" I nod. He smoothes my hair and mutters something in Spanish. *** She, too, sniffs a bunch of times. "Was Paco in here?" Alex and I nod. "What the fuck does that guy eat that it comes out his other end smelling so rotten? Dammit," she says, wadding up tissue and putting it over her nose.

Plans change, Iktomi said. Got a plan that doesn’t require explosives. Are you confident in that? Mangas asked. I’m a god, Iktomi replied. I’m always confident. I’m a human, Mangas thought, and we know shit happens.

Resistance is always lying and always full of shit.

Shit on me. Cold wet balls for more than thirty blocks. This is really going to suck major ass.

Shit,” I yell at the stars, and shake my fist at… the moon, I guess, for lack of a better target.

Shit on your whole mortifying, imaginary, and symbolic theater!

Sometimes I’m irrational, I know I am, but even irrational thought feels very, very real when you’re in the middle of shit.

The terrifying fear of a crash had triggered the fight-or-flight response in the child, making him burn a mule, but only he knew about it—thanks to his tight and reliable underpants.

Trust me I know this shit, Don't fuck with me!

We all have shit on our shoes. We've just got to realize it so we don't track it into the house.

Nothing reminds one of how shitty inequality is more often than the fact that there are companies who make and people who use 1-ply toilet papers.

One of the motivation behind why you age faster is on account of you stress over SHIT that doesn't concern you.

Out of all the piles of dirt, garbage, and shit we have been handed, we can grow a patch of daisies.

People always talked about the good clean smell of fresh sweat. They had to make excuses for it. They never talked about the good clean smell of fresh shit. There was nothing really as glorious as a good beer shit - I mean after drinking twenty or twenty-five beers the night before. The odor of a beer shit like that spread all around and stayed for a good hour-and-a-half. It made you realize that you were really alive.

Popatrz jeno. Kościół, karczma, bordel, a w środku między nimi kupa gówna. Oto parabola ludzkiego żywota.

Seropusly, why do flies line up in the sky every time someone lies? Hovering over they long to take the shit out from where It belongs so They compete to eat it alive.

She was sitting there in silence when I interrupted her glooming halo but she couldn’t feel my existence though. She didn’t cry, she didn’t scream, she didn’t even blame one single person for the shit they put her through. “I didn’t deserve this ...’ she said while chocking her trembling voice. And I stood there wondering how such few words could be full of so much darkness, disappointment, and brokenness that they ached me to the core...

Shit is the tofu of cursing and can be molded to whichever condition the speaker desires. Hot as shit. Windy as shit. I myself was confounded as shit...

Sim sighed. "like Ross always said: Wish in one hand,shit in the other,and see which hand fills up first.

Some people are so positive, that when they slip in dog poop, they pirouette

Sometimes I act like I have my shit together more than I do. Sometimes I act like I don’t have my shit together as much as I do. I’m done acting. I’d rather just be okay with however together my shit is at the time, and still do my best to show up, as I am.

Spontaneously, without any theological training, I, a child, grasped the incompatibility of God and shit and thus came to question the basic thesis of Christian anthropology, namely that man was created in God's image. Either/or: either man was created in God's image - and has intestines! - or God lacks intestines and man is not like him. The ancient Gnostics felt as I did at the age of five. In the second century, the Great Gnostic master Valentinus resolved the damnable dilemma by claiming that Jesus "ate and drank, but did not defecate." Shit is a more onerous theological problem than is evil. Since God gave man freedom, we can, if need be, accept the idea that He is not responsible for man's crimes. The responsibility for shit, however, rests entirely with Him, the creator of man.

That's shit and it hasn't anything doing with what I am searching for....

The basic formula of life... SURVIVE. EAT. SHIT. FUCK. BUY A HOUSE and DIE. It's all been scripted. But there's no need to see the second act. You already know how the play ends, don't you?

There are four kinds of people to avoid in the world: the assholes, the asswipes, the ass-kissers, and those that just will shit all over you.

The shield wall reeks of shit, and all a man wants is to be home, to be anywhere but on this field that prepares for battle, but none of us will turn and run or else we will be despised for ever. We pretend we want to be there, and when the wall at last advances, step by step, and the heart is thumping fast as a bird’s wing beating, the world seems unreal.

The world is going to shit on a silver platter. At this rate, we’ll be lucky if we can survive the week.

They say it came from Africa, carried in the screams of the enslaved; that it was the death bane of the Tainos, uttered just as one world perished and another began; that it was a demon drawn into Creation through the nightmare door that was cracked open in the Antilles. Fukú americanus, or more colloquially, fukú - generally a curse or doom of some kind; specifically the Curse and the Doom of the New World. No matter what its name or provenance, it is believed that the arrival of Europeans on Hispaniola unleashed fukú on the world, and we've all been in the shit ever since.

This dudes nuttier than squirrel shit." -Ty Henderson

Voy a escribir una mierda", habría de repetirse el escritor antes de empezar a escribir. Las críticas entonces pasarán de largo. En todo caso, el libro constituirá un logro si, en efecto, es una mierda. Y si alguien lo califica así, mejor aún. Los elogios también seguirán su derrotero, inocuos. Pues consciente de que se ha escrito una mierda, no habrá escritor que se los crea.

Who shit in your Rice Crispies?

Yeah, episodic doesn't work. Your coolest character needs something big and meaningful to do. Otherwise, well, it's just narrative shit.

You ain't born for this shit, get your ass together and make things happen for you.

You and I both know that love is for children,'' he said. ''We're adults. Compatibility is for adults.'' ''Compatibility is for my Bluetooth and my car,'' Teresa replied. ''Only they get along just fine, and my car never makes my bluetooth feel like shit.

You have less honour than a piece of shit.

You piece of shit... don't argue with me... with main argument of the whole thing "faith".

You prank me … You fuck with me … You screw me up … Now is my time, get ready for the extra shit.

You're a shit cake with cum for whipped cream and dynamite for candles.

Your shit is for you, my shit is for me - Understand?

You will not say how you are haunted by the faces of the men you killed, how in their last gasp of life they sought your pity and you had none. You will not speak of the boys who died screaming for their mothers while you twisted a blade in their guts and snarled your scorn into their ears. You will not confess that you wake in the night, covered in sweat, heart hammering, shrinking from the memories. You will not talk of that, because that is the horror, and the horror is held in the heart’s hoard, a secret, and to admit it is to admit fear, and we are warriors. We do not fear. We strut. We go to battle like heroes. We stink of shit.

A dung beetle couple in love constantly proves that you still can be in love living on shit.

50 Zen, read shit.... BECOME MASTER!

We’re better together than we are apart. The American Dream has us looking out for ourselves even at the expense of our neighbors. That shit ain’t true, man.