Best 97 quotes in «shit quotes» category

I call it my info... you call it my shit... so I am going to save it!

... If I wanna shit I am going to buy it from the shop... what I need now is a friend on which I can count on... you know the drill.

I forget your name," I said. "Most people spew shit from their arse," he retorted, "you manage it with your mouth." "Your mother gave birth through her arse," I said, "and you still reek of her shit.

Carajo!" Paco says, throwing down his lunch. "They think they can buy a U-shaped shell, stuff it, and call it a taco, but those cafeteria workers wouldn't know taco meat from a piece of shit. That's what this tastes like, Alex." "You're makin' me sick, man," I tell him. I stare uncomfortably at the food I brought from home. Thanks to Paco everything looks like mierda now. Disgusted, I shove what's left of my lunch into my brown paper bag. "Want some of it?" Paco says with a grin as he holds out the shitty taco to me. "Bring that one inch closer to me and you'll be sorry," I threaten. "I'm shakin' in my pants." Paco wiggles the offending taco, goading me. He should seriously know better. "If any of that gets on me--" "What'cha gonna do, kick my ass?" Paco sings sarcastically, still shaking the taco. Maybe I should punch him in the face, knocking him out so I won't have to deal with him right now. As I have that thought, I feel something drop on my pants. I look down even though I know what I'll see. Yes, a big blob of wet, gloppy stuff passing as taco meat lands right on the crotch of my faded jeans. "Fuck," Paco says, his face quickly turning from amusement to shock. "Want me to clean it off for you?" "If your fingers get anywhere close to my dick, I'm gonna personally shoot you in the huevos," I growl through clenched teeth. I flick the mystery meat off my crotch. A big, greasy stain lingers. I turn back to Paco. "You got ten minutes to get me a new pair of pants." "How the hell am I s'posed to do that?" "Be creative." "Take mine." Paco stands and brings his fingers to the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning right in the middle of the courtyard. "Maybe I wasn't specific enough," I tell him, wondering how I'm going to act like the cool guy in chem class when it looks like I've peed in my pants. "I meant, get me a new pair of pants that will fit me, pendejo. You're so short you could audition to be one of Santa Claus's elves." "I'm toleratin' your insults because we're like brothers." "Nine minutes and thirty seconds." It doesn't take Paco more than that to start running toward the school parking lot.

I don't know what happened, but I do know this. It's not going anywhere. When you light up it waits for you to come down. You have to confront whatever's bothering you and look it straight in the eye. It's alright to forgive yourself, and it's okay to fight back, because if you don't kick the shit out of it, then it kicks you. It's a dog world, but you can control it, if you want to. A lot of people are going to try to make you feel like shit, but that doesn't mean you are. You are who you decide to be. I hope you're the kind of person that fights, because that's the only way to win.

I don't see anything other than pretensions and low mentality in women who make a man run after a hole that would soon be inhabited by termites and worms.

If it takes us 10 years to get into the shit, it will take us 20 to get out. And the journey starts NOW.

If you hate it... you close it! If you can't do it... you don't do it...! ... Don't try from shit to make gold!

If you look at the evolution of the brain, the logic centers, they were growing at the same time as the creative centers were expanding. And that creates this really potent illusion that you’re not just a bag of chemicals reacting to shit. Which is what you are.

If you’re looking for fast driving there’s a dragway in the southwestern part of the county. It opens next week.” “Do you race there?” he asks. “Yes.” And I plan on spending a lot of time there over the next six weeks. “Isaiah.” Beth attempts to step in between us, but Logan angles himself so that she can’t. “That’s not why I brought him here.” An insane glint strikes the guy’s eyes and all of a sudden, I feel a connection to him. A twitch of his lips shows he might be my kind of crazy. “How fast do the cars there go?” “Some guys hit speeds of 120 mph in an eighth mile.” “No!” Beth stomps her foot. “No. I promised Ryan nothing crazy would happen. Logan, this is not why I brought you here.” “Have you hit those speeds?” He swats his hand at Beth as if she’s a fly, earning my respect. Most guys would be terrified of having their balls ripped off and handed to them for dismissing Beth like that. “Not driving my car, I haven’t,” I answer honestly. But I hope to with Rachel’s car, and with mine, after a few modifications. “Speed can be bought. Just depends on how much you want to spend.” Logan offers his hand. “I’m Logan.” “Isaiah,” I say as we shake. “Shit,” mumbles Beth.

If you start to smell some of the shit, you start smelling all of the shit

If you schlep a shit job everyday, keep and feed a little secret life--whether it's writing, art, running, music, your thoughts. It's yours.

I knew I was in deep shit. I didn’t know how deep—just that I still hadn’t touched bottom.

I'm going to shit in your lungs for this.

In the game of life, I'm playing without an opponent. I can succeed or fail, and the only person who really gives a shit is me

In the village there was a man whose job it was to clear up all the shit from the holes in the ground. He used to collect it in a big copper pan and walk off with it balanced on his head. Proud that he’s got a job. All the kids run behind him and dance in front of him shouting, “Shithead! Shithead!” and laughing those little African laughs. Whenever he gets a chance he puts his hand in the shit pan on his head and flicks shit at them. They all run away laughing, but apparently, he’s quite a good aim, occasionally catching a kid right in the face with shit. This, apparently, is a daily occurrence, and I thought it was quite a good story.

I respect the shit out of you.

It's not the shit we face that defines us, it's how we deal with it.

It wasn't fair, but what is? Life is a crap carnival with shit prizes.

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.

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.

I thought a shit storm was coming, and I had no umbrella.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

Resistance is always lying and always full of shit.

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.

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.

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

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...

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!

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

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.

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.

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

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.