Biting The Hand That Feeds You Quotes

A man shouldn't bite the hand that feeds him, even if another holds out a golden spoon to him as reward after his betrayal. ~ A.J. Darkholme

Loss invites reflection and reformulating and a change of strategies. Loss hurts and bleeds and aches. Loss is always ready to call out your name in the night. Loss follows you home and taunts you at the breakfast table, follows you to work in the morning. You have to make accommodations and broker deals to soften the rabbit punches that loss brings to your daily life. You have to take the word "loser" and add it to your resume and walk around with it on your name tag as it hand-feeds you your own shit in dosages too large for even great beasts to swallow. The word "loser" follows you, bird-dogs you, sniffs you out of whatever fields you hide in because you have to face things clearly and you cannot turn away from what is true. ~ Pat Conroy

Emperor, right." she retacked the curtain "That's weird to say, after eighteen years of listening to celebrity gossip feeds go on and on about 'Earth's favorite prince'". She claimed one of the lumpy sofa cushions, curling her legs beneath her. "I had a picture of him taped to my wall when I was fifteen. Grand-mere cut it off a cereal box."
Wolf scowled.
"Of course, half the girls in the world probably had that same picture from that same cereal box."
Wolf scrunched his shoulders against his neck, and Scarlet grinned, teasing. "Oh, no. You're not going to have to fight him for pack dominance now are you? Come here."
She beckoned him with a wave of her hand and he was at her side in half a second, the glower softening as he pulled her against his chest. ~ Marissa Meyer

She straightens, and runs her finger over her lips, gazing down at me. "Did you feel that?"
The spark, the electricity. The desire that feeds on itself, relishing the relief of contact but always wanting more.
"Yes."
She takes my hand and places it over her breast – where her heartbeat throbs wildly in her chest. "And do you feel this?"
My own chest pounds with the same rhythm.
"Yes."
"Some people go their whole lives without feeling that. ~ Emma Chase

Don't bite the hand that feeds you; especially if you're dining alone. ~ Kevin Ansbro

I've always been the breadwinner and men don't like that. They turn on you. They bite the hand that feeds them. Eventually, too, they become very jealous of the love one has with an audience. ~ Shirley Bassey

Ideals and opportunities and social theorizing are just fine, but if you must understand only one thing, it is this: a warm hand and words whispered into the ear are what we want. Paths that can be seen and followed and walked upon are what we most need.
...And in the end, the thing that feeds us, no matter how tenuous, is what we will reach for. ~ Sonja Livingston

don't bite the hand that feeds you, they said. but, what if they are chewing mine off? ~ Shareca Cole.

When you kill a beast, say to him in your heart:
~By the same power that slays you, I too am slain, and I too shall be consumed.
~For the law that delivers you into my hand shall deliver me into a mightier hand.
~Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven. ~ Kahlil Gibran

That night, after we'd had our tea, Kevin and I went bird-watching. Not the usual sort, plodding round the fields with great binoculars round your neck (though I did take my work binoculars). No, we go up in the big trees in the wood, where the birds live. Right to the tops we go, where the branches sway and swing like a comfy bed, and you can look along the green billows of the tree-tops. In spring, we take the eggs out of the nests, handling them gentle, like, and putting them back afterwards of course. An' getting away quickly, so the hen-bird can come back and sit on them again. That's a wonder of life to me; to hold a speckled egg in the palm of your hand, and think what a marvellous thing it's going to become, a bird that flies and feeds and takes its chance with the cats, and breeds its own young and dies back into the dust in the end. Why does anyone need those crazy Christian dreams of Heaven, wi' angels playin' their harps on fleecy clouds, when they can have a wood at sunset, when you can look down from a low branch and see young rabbits playing, or even young foxes tumbling over and over and squeaking when they nip each other with their sharp little teeth? ~ Robert Westall

Only one kind of species of animals bites the hand that feeds them - mankind. ~ Fakeer Ishavardas

The grass is always greener on the hand that feeds. ~ Anders Nilsen

People who bite the hand that feeds them usually lick the boot that kicks them. ~ Eric Hoffer

I owe a debt to you," his low voice hissed at Shion's ear. "Four years ago, you saved my life. I'm paying back that debt. That's all."

"Then you've paid enough. Too much, even." Shion gripped Nezumi's wrist to pry it away from his collar. But Nezumi's taut muscles showed no signs of relaxing.

"Let go."

"Make me, little boy."

"I'll bite your nose off." Shion clicked his teeth. There was a split second of hesitation. Shion didn't miss it. He slid a hand around the back of Nezumi's neck. "Biting noses off is my specialty."

"Huh? Wait a second, that's dirty―"

"I forgot to mention, over these past four years, I've also learned how to fight. ~ Atsuko Asano

We mark the days by chores that need to be done, the way farm families have always done. Al feeds the hens and horses and pigs, splits wood in the fall, slaughters a pig when the weather turns cold, cuts ice in the winter. I collect eggs from the laying hens and Al drives me into town to sell them. He times the planting so that by the Fourth of July we'll have new peas and by September there's a whole field of corn. Gulls lunge for a feast, ravaging the crop, so Al kills a few and hangs them from poles as warning. During haying season in midsummer, I see him from the dining room window in his visored cap, scything the hay by hand with six hired men walking abreast, forking the newly mown hay onto the hayrack. They haul the hay to the barn, where a block-and-tackle hoist lifts it into the mow. ~ Christina Baker Kline

I wanna bite the hand that feeds me. I wanna bite that hand so badly. I want to make them wish they'd never seen me. ~ Elvis Costello

Pray , Mr Tomlinson, be seated. He took his chair over against her. I stood behind hers, that I might give him agreed-upon signals should there be occasions for them.
A thus-A wink of the left eye was to signify, Push that point, captain.
A wink of the right, and a nod was to indicate approbation of what he said.
My forefinger held up, and biting my lip, Get off of that as fast as possible.
A right forward nod, and a frown-Swear to it Captain.
My whole spread hand, To take care not to say too much on that particuliar subject. ~ Samuel Richardson

We do not quite forgive a giver. The hand that feeds us is in some danger of being bitten. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

I think," Berta remarked with a proud little smile when she was seated alone in the drawing room beside Elizabeth, "he's having second thoughts about proposing, milday."
"I think he was silently contemplating the easiest way to murder me at dinner," Elizabeth said, chuckling. She was about to say more when the butler interrupted them to announce that Lord Marchman wished to have a private word with Lady Cameron in his study.
Elizabeth prepared for another battle of wits-or witlessness, she thought with an inner smile-and dutifully followed the butler down a dark hall furnished in brown and into a very large study where the earl was seated in a maroon chair at a desk on her right.
"You wished to see-" she began as she stepped into his study, but something on the wall beside her brushed against her hair. Elizabeth turned her head, expecting to see a portrait hanging there, and instead found herself eye-to-fang with an enormous bear's head. The little scream that tore from her was very real this time, although it owed to shock, not to fear.
"It's quite dead," the earl said in a voice of weary resignation, watching her back away from his most prized hunting trophy with her hand over her mouth.
Elizabeth recovered instantly, her gaze sweeping over the wall of hunting trophies, then she turned around.
"You may take your hand away from your mouth," he stated. Elizabeth fixed him with another accusing glare, biting her lip to hide her smile. She would ha ~ Judith McNaught

My mom believed that you make your own luck. Over the stove she had hung these old, maroon painted letters that spell out, "MANIFEST." The idea being if you thought and dreamed about the way you wanted your life to be
if you just envisioned it long enough, it would come into being.
But as hard as I had manifested Astrid Heyman with her hand in mine, her blue eyes gazing into mine, her lips whispering something wild and funny and outrageous in my ear, she had remained totally unaware of my existence. Truly, to even dream of dreaming about Astrid, for a guy like me, in my relatively low position on the social ladder of Cheyenne Mountain High, was idiotic. And with her a senior and me a junior? Forget it.
Astrid was just lit up with beauty: shining blonde ringlets, June sky blue eyes, slightly furrowed brow, always biting back a smile, champion diver on the swim team. Olympic level.
Hell, Astrid was Olympic level in every possible way. ~ Emmy Laybourne

Sundance is the only hand that feeds for women directors. ~ Allison Anders

Noblest of all dogs is the hot-dog; it feeds the hand that bites it. ~ Laurence J. Peter

Rach-Uh, my mom says they'll help me blend in better. She says the color would just draw attention to me."
Emma snorts. "Oh, she's definitely right. Blue eyes make you look so much more average. In fact, I almost didn't notice you standing there."
"That hurts my feelings, Emma." He grins.
She giggles.
He says, "I'd consider forgiving you-if you come with me to the beach."
She sighs. "I can't go with you, Galen."
He runs a hand through his hair. "Honestly, Emma, I don't know how much more rejection I can take," he blurts out. In fact, he doesn't remember ever being rejected, except by Emma. Of course, that could be due to the fact that he's a Royal. Or maybe it's because he doesn't spend a lot of time with his kind anyway, let alone the females. Actually, he doesn't spend a lot of time with anyone except Rachel. And Rachel would give him her beating heart if he asked for it.
"I'm sorry. It's not about you this time. Well, actually, it kind of is. My mom...well, she thinks we're dating." Her cheeks-and those lips-deepen to red.
"Dating?" What is dating again? He tries to remember what Rachel told him...She said it's easy to remember because it's almost the same as...what is the rhyme for it? And then he remembers. "It's easy to remember, because dating rhymes with mating, and they're almost the same," she'd said. He blinks at Emma. "You're mom thinks we're ma-Uh, dating?"
She nods biting her lip.
For reasons he can't explain, t ~ Anna Banks

Our focus is to continue to pioneer branded entertainment online and consider opportunities as they come. We're smart enough to know that we can't bite the hand that feeds us and neglect our Internet presence. ~ Rhett McLaughlin

The way Conway Morris goes about biting the hand that once fed him would make a shoal of piranha seem decorous. ~ Simon Conway Morris

Oh shit, I wouldn't use that towel if I were you," Gavin mumbles.
I ignore him scrubbing every inch of my face, hoping that maybe I can rub away the memory of the words my mother spoke to me.
"Seriously dude, give me that thing," Gavin says, Interrupting my thoughts. I pull the towel away and glare at his reflection in the mirror. He's standing behind me with a look of disgust on his face and his hand out. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I just found out that my mom was a slut and has no idea who my dad is and all you're worried about is your precious towel?" I ramble, my voice getting that hysterical squeak to it. "What's wrong? Is this one of Charlotte's 'good' towels, reserved for guests or some shit? Fuck, are you pussy whipped."
Gavin shakes his head at me and tries reaching over my shoulder to take the towel. I snatch it away and turn to face him. "What is your fucking deal? It's a Goddamn towel!" I yell. "Yeah, it's a jizz towel, dude."
I look at him in confusion, glancing down at the towel and back up at him when what he said finally sinks in. He's biting his lip and I can't tell if he's trying not to laugh or if he's trying to think of a way to run out of here as fast as he can. "Hey, what are you guys doing in the bathroom?" Charlotte asks, suddenly appearing in the doorway. "Oh, my God! Did you just use that towel, Tyler?" I quickly throw the towel away from me like it's on fire and it lands in the toilet. "Dammit, don't throw it in the toilet ~ Tara Sivec

She dreamed she was back in that cell, fighting off the guard - Halmond - pulling back the knife to stab him. Only in the dream, he wrested it from her fingers and slammed it into her gut, and she gasped, her eyes closing and then opening to see, not Halmond holding the blade, but Gavril.
Moria shot upright, screaming, still feeling the agony of the blade buried in her gut, and then she saw Gavril, right there, his hands on her shoulders, saying her name. She fought wildly, half asleep, seeing Gavril's face in both dream and reality, his cold and empty expression as he plunged the blade in deeper, and then the other Gavril, his eyes wide with alarm, her name on his lips, his hand over her mouth to stifle her cries.
"It's all right," he said. "It's me. I'm here."
She kicked and clawed, biting his hand and struggling with everything she had while he fought to restrain her, muttering, "Not the right thing to say, apparently. ~ Kelley Armstrong

Any immigrants found guilty of serious crime – rape, murder, violent gang membership – should be sent straight back to their country of origin.
That ought to act as a deterrent. If they choose to bite the hand that feeds them, then they can fuck off. We don't need people like that in this country. ~ Karl Wiggins

The dragon's blood had changed him, he realized. Not in a magical way, like in one of Shem Horsegroom's old stones - he couldn't understand the speech of animals, or see a hundred leagues. Well, that was not quite true. When the snow had stopped for a moment today, the white valleys of the Waste had leaped into clarity, seeming as near as the folds ma blanket, but stretching all the way to the dark blur of faraway Aldheorte Forest. For a moment, standing quiet as a statue despite the wind biting his neck and face, he had felt as though he did possess magical vision. As in the days when he climbed Green Angel Tower to see all Erkynland spread below him like a carpet, he had felt as if he could reach out a hand and so change the world
But moments like that were not what the dragon had brought him. Pondering as he waited for his damp gloves to dry, he looked to Binabik and Sisqi, saw the way they touched even when they did not touch, the long conversations that passed between the two of them in the shortest of glances. Simon realized that he felt and saw things differently than he had before Urmsheim. People and events seemed more clearly connected, each part of a much larger puzzle - just as Binabik and Sisqi were. They cared deeply for each other, but at the same time their world of two interlocked with many other worlds; with Simon's own, with their people's, with Prince Josua's, and Geloe's... It was really quite startling, Simon thought, how everything was part of some ~ Tad Williams

He kissed her soundly, stealing her breath, before saying, "Tell me what you want, my lovely."
"I-" She stopped, too many words coming at once. 'I want you to touch me. I want you to love me. I want you to show me the life that I have been missing.' She shook her head, uncertain.
He smiled, pressing firmly with his hand against her, watching the wave of pleasure course through her. "Incredible," he whispered against the side of her neck. "So responsive. Go on..."
"I want-" She sighed as he set his lips to the hardened peak of one breast again. "I want... I want you," she said, and, in that moment, the words, so utterly simple in the face of the roiling emotions that coursed through her, seemed enough.
He moved his fingers firmly, deftly against her, and she gasped. "Do you want me here, Empress?"
She closed her eyes in embarrassment, biting her lower lip.
"Are you aching for me here?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"Poor, sweet love. ~ Sarah MacLean

Ninja chicken isn't he?" You grinned at me, rolling your sleeves up."We'll see about that."
You reached into the cage. Instantly Dick was onto your hand, clawing at you, biting chunks with his beak.
"Godamn rooster! ~ Lucy Christopher

What does the radicalism of radical writers nowadays amount to? Most of it is hand-me-down bohemianism, sentimental populism, D. H. Lawrence-and-water, or imitation Sartre. For American writers radicalism is a question of honor. They must be radicals for the sake of their dignity. They see it as their function, and a noble function, to say Nay, and to bite not only the hand that feeds them (and feeds them with comic abundance, I might add) but almost any other hand held out to them. Their radicalism, however, is contentless. A genuine radicalism, which truly challenges authority, we need desperately. But a radicalism of posture is easy and banal. Radical criticism requires knowledge, not posture, not slogans, not rant. People who maintain their dignity as artists, in a small way, by being mischievous on television, simply delight the networks and the public. True radicalism requires homework - thought. Of the cleans, on the other hand, there isn't much to say. They seem faded. ~ Saul Bellow

Churches, like all the rest of our major institutions, are rooted in capitalism. For a church to attack capitalism is to 'bite the hand that feeds it. ~ Georgia Harkness

That's the trouble with directors. Always biting the hand that lays the golden egg. ~ Samuel Goldwyn

Aiden didn't say anything. He reached out a hand to trace a nail biting into his flesh.
"Christ's pain should always be my pain. I should never forget. I never want to. I want to keep reaching out to other people in pain." He sighed. "It doesn't always work that way. I fail more than I succeed."
"Why try?"
"Because I can't afford to. Look at Him." He stretched out his hands as if beseeching the picture. "He wouldn't give up. ~ Camy Tang

The principle is this: We must not allow anything into our life that feeds our point of weakness. A soldier doesn't dance through a mind field any more than we should play with a hand grenade. When the enemy's entry points are boarded up, it frees us to hear clearly the voice of our Commander. ~ Eric Ludy

A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dew falls everywhere. ~ William Shakespeare

Tomorrow we bite
The hand that feeds us today
Either way, we'll eat ~ Chris Dahlen

You're going to make your lip bleed, biting it like that," he said.
"I'm feeling ... kind of nervous."
"I can see that. Would it help if I held your hand?"
I shook my head vigorously.
No, it would make things worse, you idiot! Quite apart from the fact that I'm at a total loss to understand the way you're treating me now, anyway! Not to mention our relationship in general. What's more, Mr. Whitman is looking at us like some kind of know-it-all squirrel!
I almost groaned aloud. Would I feel any better if I told him any of what I was thinking? I thought about doing just that for a moment, but I didn't. ~ Kerstin Gier

America


Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth.
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate,
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand. ~ Claude McKay

Our assaults on the ecosystem are so powerful, so numerous, so finely interconnected, that although the damage they do is clear, it is very difficult to discover how it was done. By which weapon? In whose hand? Are we driving the ecosphere to destruction simply by our growing numbers? By our greedy accumulation of wealth? Or are the machines which we have built to gain this wealth-the magnificent technology that now feeds us out of neat packages, that clothes us in man-made fibers, that surrounds us with new chemical creations-at fault? ~ Barry Commoner

Oh thrice fools are we who like new-born princes weeping in the cradle know not that there is a kingdom before them then let our Lord's sweet hand square us and hammer us and strike off the knots of pride self-love and world-worship and infidelity that He may make us stones and pillars in His Father's house. ~ Samuel Rutherford

To live with yourself you had to cut off the hand that offended, cut, slice, peel, scrape, and tear away at yourself till all you were left with were your stripped-down bones. Your bones gave you away; you could not hide your bones, nor could you avoid staring at them. All you wanted was for others to be stripped down like you ... ~ Andre Aciman

It matters, Emma." He grabs my hand and pulls me to him again. "Tell me right now. Do you care for me?"
"If you can't tell that I'm stupid in love with you, Galen, then you aren't a very good ambassador for the hum-"
His mouth covers mine, cutting me off. This kiss isn't gentle like the first one. It's definitely not sweet. It's rough, demanding, searching. And disorienting. There's not a part of me that isn't melting against Galen, not a part that isn't combusting with his fevered touch.
I accidentally moan into his lips. He takes it for his cue to life me off my feet, to pull me up to his height for more leverage. I take his groan for my cue to kiss him harder.
He ignores his cell phone ringing in his pocket. I ignore the rest of the universe. Even when headlights approach, I'm willing to overlook their intrusion and keep kissing. But, prince that he is Galen is a little more refined than me at this moment. He gently pries his lips from mine and sets me down. His smile is both intoxicated and intoxicating. "We still need to talk. ~ Anna Banks

No, Dan."

"And you want me to go."

I looked into his eyes. "No. I don't."

He moved closer, encouraged, and put his hand on my shoulder. "Then what do you want, Elle?"

"I want you not to have to settle," I told him.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"I know that's what you'll be doing. Because if you want more from me, you're not going to get it."

He said nothing for a long time. "When I readThe Little Prince, I thought you must be the rose. You with your four thorns, convincing me you're able to defend yourself. But now I know you hate roses. So you must be the fox instead.

So maybe what you really want is for me to tame you."

From a lot of men, that speech would have made me laugh, or roll my eyes. Then again, a lot of men wouldn't have

read Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's classic story ofThe Little Prince, or bothered to try and understand it.

I reached for his hand and held it between both of mine. "The fox tells the Little Prince he is a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. Just like the flower was like a hundred thousand other flowers."

Dan tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with the hand I wasn't holding. "But the fox asked the prince to tame him.

To make it so they'd need each other and be unique to each other. And he did it."

"And then the prince went away, Dan, and left the fox bereft." I looked down at my hands ~ Megan Hart

True knowledge is that which establishes harmony and synthesis between ience on the one hand and spirituality and ethics on the other. ~ Sai Baba

We've come because we need to track down the original location of the Fall," Daniel said, "the place where Lucifer and the host of Heaven will appear. We have to stop him."
Dee looked strangely undeterred from her tea service, continuing to divvy up the cucumber sandwiches. The angels waited for her to respond. A log in the fire splintered, cracked, and tumbled from the grate.
"And all because a boy loved a girl," she said at last. "Quite disturbing. Really brings out the worst in all the old enemies, doesn't it? Scale coming unhinged, Elders killing innocents. So much unpleasantness. As if all you fallen angels didn't have enough to bother with. I say, you must be awfully tired." She have Luce a reassuring smile and gestured again for them to sit down.
Roland pulled out the chair at the head of the table for Dee and sat down in the seat to her left. "Maybe you can help us." He motioned for the others to join him. Annabelle and Arriane sat beside him, and Luce and Daniel sat across the table. Luce slid her hand over Daniel's, twining her fingers around his.
Dee passed the cups of tea around the table. After a clattering of china and spoons stirring sugar into tea, Luce cleared her throat. "We're going to stop Lucifer, Dee."
"I should hope so."
Daniel grasped Luce's fingers. "Right now we're searching for three objects that tell the early history of the fallen. When brought together, they should reveal the original location of the Fall."
Dee ~ Lauren Kate

She hesitated for a moment longer, then tentatively placed her fingers in his. Her hand was hot and dry and so fragile-seeming that James cradled it gingerly. The next moment, she squeezed so hard his eyes widened.
Fragile lady be damned. He squeezed back spitefully. Vicious minx. ~ Y.S. Lee