Slit Quotes

The End of World War One
Out of the scraped surface of the land
men began to emerge, like puppies
from the slit of their dam. Up from the trenches
they came out upon the pitted, raw earth
wobbling as if new-born.
They could not believe they would be allowed to live,
the orders had come down: no more killing.
They approached the enemy, holding out chocolate
and cigarettes. They shook hands, exchanged
souvenirs
mess-kits, neckerchiefs.
Some even embraced, while in London
total strangers copulated
in doorways and on the pavement, in the ecstasy
of being reprieved. Nine months later,
like men emerging from the trenches, first the head,
then the body, there were lifted, newborn, from these mothers,
the soldiers of World War Two. ~ Sharon Olds

He had a gray face. As his sullen eyes, sunken into the shallow holes formed from years of suffering stared at me, from behind the dark lenses, I could feel myself being penetrated. Not in my pussy - though it was wet, stirred by the violent tension - I was being penetrated by his gaze. The gray faced one was fucking me with his mind, and the feeling of abject violation was grotesque. Despite my arousal, I could not deal with the unwanted intrusion on my personhood. I smiled, and gently led him by hand into the kitchen. The wallpaper was floral, in varying shades of orange and light brown. I gently guided one of his hands, to the moist slit between my legs, and I could feel his glee as it slid inside. And at that moment, I hit the switch. His other hand was completely shredded to bits of bone and flesh by the garbage disposal, spurting blood like a broken pipeline, an unstoppable wave of red. He died with 2 fingers inside me. ~ Klusterfvk, Bamafuk

Stopping just short of her mouth, he rasped, "Are you still engaged to Blakeborough?"
Her gorgeous eyes narrowed. "My engagement didn't stop you last night."
"It would now."
A coy smile broke over her lips, and she tightened her grip on his neck. "Then I suppose it's a good thing I am not."
With a growl of triumph, he kissed her once more. She was here. She was his. Nothing else mattered.
Still kissing her, he jerked both sets of curtains closed. Then he tugged her onto his lap and began to tear at the fastenings of her pelisse-dress. He wanted to touch her, taste her…be inside her. He could think of naught else.
"I take it that you mean to seduce me," she murmured between kisses.
"Yes." Seduce her and marry her. And then seduce her again, as often as he could.
"Well then, carry on."
So he did. He unfastened her clothes just enough to bare her breasts, then seized one in his mouth. God, she was perfect. His perfect jewel.
She buried her hands in his hair to pull her into him, sighing and moaning as if she would die if he didn't make love to her. Which was exactly how he felt.
Working his hand up beneath her skirts and into the slit in her drawers, he found her so wet and hot that he nearly came right there. He slipped a finger inside her silky sweetness, and she gasped, then began to tug at his trouser buttons.
"You're all I want, Jane." As he stroked her, he used his other hand to brush hers away so he could unfaste ~ Sabrina Jeffries

Language is a poor thing. You fill your lungs with wind and shake a little slit in your throat, and make mouths, and that shakes the air; and the air shakes a pair of little drums in my head - a very complicated arrangement, with lots of bones behind - and my brain seizes your meaning in the rough. What a roundabout way, and what a waste of time. ~ George Du Maurier

Your mom shoulda told you she was just the diseased old slit all the local hobos used as a cum dumpster when they drank away their money and couldn't afford new porno mags. ~ Matthew Rosenberg

When they killed him, Mother wouldn't hold her peace, so they slit her throat. I was stupid then, being only nine, and I fought to save them both. But the thorns held me tight. I've learned to appreciate thorns since. The thorns taught me the game. They let me understand what all those grim and serious men who've fought the Hundred War have yet to learn. You can only win the game when you understand that it IS a game. Let a man play chess, and tell him that every pawn is his friend. Let him think both bishops holy. Let him remember happy days in the shadows of his castles. Let him love his queen. Watch him loose them all. ~ Mark Lawrence

Piglet opened the letter box and climbed in. Then, having untied himself, he began to squeeze into the slit, through which in the old days when front doors were front doors, many an unexpected letter than WOL had written to himself, had come slipping. ~ A.A. Milne

Days after setting off the bomb, the duo murdered a young MIT police officer during their attempted escape, and two years earlier Tamerlan and another Muslim immigrant slit the throats of three Jewish men on the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attack - which I believe was also the work of immigrants. CNN headline after the attack: "Boston Bombing Shouldn't Derail Immigration Reform."32 Leaving aside the wanton slaughter, Dzhokhar and Tamerlan were tremendous assets to America. They were on welfare and getting mostly Fs in school. Good work, U.S. immigration service! ~ Ann Coulter

Sugar leans her chin against the knuckles of the hand that holds the pen. Glistening on the page between her silk-shrouded elbows lies an unfinished sentence. The heroine of her novel has just slashed the throat of a man. The problem is how, precisely, the blood will flow. Flow is too gentle a word; spill implies carelessness; spurt is out of the question because she has used the word already, in another context, a few lines earlier. Pour out implies that the man has some control over the matter, which he most emphatically doesn't; leak is too feeble for the savagery of the injury she has inflicted upon him. Sugar closes her eyes and watches, in the lurid theatre of her mind, the blood issue from the slit neck. When Mrs Castaway's warning bell sounds, she jerks in surprise.
Hastily, she scrutinises her bedroom. Everything is neat and tidy. All her papers are hidden away, except for this single sheet on her writing-desk.
Spew, she writes, having finally been given, by tardy Providence, the needful word. ~ Michel Faber

I don't think you should be allowed to eat in a restaurant if you haven't waited tables at least once. It's so irritating when I see people being rude to waiters, like, it makes me want to slit their throats! Like, really? You're really this inconsiderate? ~ Lizzy Caplan

She tore through the wrapping and took out a blue velvet box. She glanced back at me as though unable to believe her eyes. After pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she lifted the lid. Two rolls of cushioned velvet sat inside. The slit that those cushions made should have held a ring, but it didn't.
Sucked to be her.
She gaped at me. "What is this?" she asked, appalled.
"It's a simple yes/no question," I said, trying to keep a straight face. I lay back, crossing my arms behind my head. "When I get an answer, you get the rest of your gift. ~ Darynda Jones

When the girl at the squat got her throat slit, and Jacob got marked, Nix had been in Portland a little under a year. He had just bought a SpongeBob sleeping bag from Goodwill and had started to feel something like safe. But then, a roll or two of dust every other week helped with that. ~ Tara Bray Smith

The front door shut, leaving Alec sitting in the half-lit garden, alone. He closed his eyes for a moment, the image of a face hovering behind his lids. Not Jace's face, for a change. The eyes set in the face were green, slit-pupiled. Cat eyes. ~ Cassandra Clare

Fine," he said after a long stare down with his leader. "But if they do jump you and slit your throat, we'll get along just fine without ya." "Thanks for the kind words, hermano. ~ James Dashner

The Kiernan kid was there when it happened, near the back of the barn. He'd been hanging out earlier with a younger version of Simon and this electrical engineer we recruited. Kiernan helped them set up the lighting so that I'd look all ethereal and otherworldly.
I saw Kiernan's face after those people slit their throats to show their devotion to Cyrus. The boy's mouth hung open and he just stared at the bodies, as huge tears rolled down his cheeks. Seeing him there, seeing someone else looking the way I felt - I think that's the only reason I was able to hold it together until I got out of there. ~ Rysa Walker

I looked silently at her lips. All women are lips, all lips. Some are pink and firmly round: a ring, a tender guardrail from the whole world. And then there are these ones: a second ago they weren't here, and just now - like a knife-slit - they are here, still dripping sweet blood. ~ Yevgeny Zamyatin

How do you say, 'Bring me steak and eggs or I'll slit your throat' in Italian? ~ Regina Doman

When this is over," she said, tucking the watch into a fold of her cloak. "I want to be the one to slit his throat. ~ V.E Schwab

Make no mistake, the woman had a heart. She had a bigger one that people would think. There was a lot in it, stored up, high in miles of hidden shelving. Remember that she was the woman with the instrument strapped to her body in the long, moon-slit night. ~ Markus Zusak

Once at a record store in San Francisco, over a thousand kids showed up. They pushed forward and broke a window. A big piece of glass fell on top of this girl. And the girl's throat was slit. She just got slit. And I remember there was blood everywhere. Oh God, so much blood. And she grabbed her throat and was bleeding and everyone just ignored her. Why? Because I was there and they wanted to grab at me and get my autograph. I wonder whatever happened to that girl. ~ Michael Jackson

Every day is important; each day make us. Even the nothing ones especially those, given how they slit up, slowly burying other, seemingly more momentous, moments beneath their weight. I see that now. ~ Adrian Barnes

You can't slit the throat of everyone whose character it would improve. ~ Al Swearengen

Tighten the reins? I'll do my damnedest to make her as assertive as possible. Lysette should be terrified of me, yet she somehow has the courage to face me as an equal. I don't deserve such a gift. God knows I won't be fool enough to throw that away. I would slit my throat before asking that she pander to the rules of our quaint little society. ~ Lisa Kleypas

I might've worried she'd slit my throat in my sleep. Now that I know she probably will, I find I'm not as concerned. ~ K.F. Breene

This [health care reform] cannot pass. What we have to do today is make a covenant, to slit our wrists, be blood brothers on this thing. This will not pass. ~ Michele Bachmann

Alan Ladd was a marvelous person in his simplicity. In so many ways we were kindred spirits. We both were professionally conceived through Hollywood's search for box office and the types to insure the box office. And we were both little people. Alan wasn't as short as most people believe. It was true that in certain films Alan would climb a small platform or the girl worked in a slit trench. We had no such problems together. ~ Veronica Lake

He ran a finger along her moist slit. "When I come home to you after a week of dealing with fucking Legion," he said, his voice raspy and low, slowing his finger to circle her clit. "You should not be wearing any clothes. At all. ~ Zoey Ellis

No matter how you disguise this trite bullshit, it's my life, Jeff. Penned in an awkward manner. It's things I didn't want to see in black-and-white print. You're lucky after three hundred years that I've mellowed. In my human days, I'd have slit your throat, pulled your tongue through the opening, and left you tied to a tree for the wolves to eat. (Rafael) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

Then I break a glass and I slit my very innermost thigh so that I can pretend that I'm menstru
well, unavailable. ~ Emilie Autumn

Sniffer of carrion, premature gravedigger, seeker of the nest of evil in the bosom of a good word, you, who sleep at our vigil and fast for our feast, you with your dislocated reason, have cutely foretold, a jophet in your own absence, by blind poring upon your many scalds and burns and blisters, impetiginous sore and pustules, by the auspices of that raven cloud, your shade, and by the auguries of rooks in parlament, death with every disaster, the dynamatisation of colleagues, the reducing of records to ashes, the levelling of all customs by blazes, the return of a lot of sweetempered gunpowdered didst unto dudst but it never stphruck your mudhead's obtundity (O hell, here comes our funeral! O pest, I'll miss the post!) that the more carrots you chop, the more turnips you slit, the more murphies you peel, the more onions you cry over, the more bullbeef you butch, the more mutton you crackerhack, the more potherbs you pound, the fiercer the fire and the longer your spoon and the harder you gruel with more grease to your elbow the merrier fumes your new Irish stew. ~ James Joyce

I'll slit his damned throat!" "No, you will not." "Don't you dare think to tell me what to do, you blasted son of a - " "Your mouth cries for a good bar of soap, madam. Please refrain from such tawdry language, as I do not like it." "I don't give a bloody damn what you do or don't like, you cad!" Refusing to be goaded, he dropped the cloth into the bowl of water and leaned forward, his eyes hard, intent, determined. "I said, enough. ~ Danelle Harmon

I was bored stiff while reading this. I got so bored I wanted to slit my wrists to see how my flatmate would react. ~ Zaki

Zombies?" There was definite interest in that word. "Are you a brother in arms? Do you also kill those brain sucking monsters?" I realized I was talking to someone who probably killed people every day, well not every day because that's excessive. The deli man didn't put enough rare roast beef on his sandwich and so he slit his throat with the dagger he had hidden up his sleeve. I giggled at the thought. Again ~ L.A. Fiore

'21' was the place, and you went down, and they opened the door. They had a little slit they'd look through, and then you'd murmur the password or whatever it was you had, showed a little ticket, and if they remembered who you were, you went in. ~ Brooke Astor

With relish, Kevin explained the boy's claim to fame: An elderly couple in an adjacent apartment had complained about how loudly he played his CDs of the Monkees at three in the morning. The next weekend, the couple's daughter discovered her parents in their bed, slit from crotch to throat. "That's appalling," I said. "I can't believe anyone still listens to the Monkees. ~ Lionel Shriver

Singing songs that make you slit your wrists ~ Gerard Way

That space. It begins in the middle of my forehead and ends in the middle of my groin. It is, variously, as wide as my body, as narrow as a slit in a fortress wall. On days when thought flows freely or better yet clarifies with effort, it expands gloriously. On days when anxiety and self-pity crowd in, it shrinks, how fast it shrinks! When the space is wide and I occupy it fully, I taste the air, feel the light. I breathe evenly and slowly. I am peaceful and excited, beyond influence or threat. Nothing can touch me. I'm safe. I'm free. I'm thinking. When I lose the battle to think, the boundaries narrow, the air is polluted, the light clouds over. All is vapor and fog, and I have trouble breathing. ~ Vivian Gornick

The unnamed man's nose flared in insult as he thought to himself while the pig named Corbin prattled on. He disgusts me with his gluttonous sweat and fearful stink. He is like a swine, plumped up for the slaughter, but none I would like to eat. He sits across the table from me wheedling, desiring, wanting more and more and more. He wants assurances of safety, he wants money, he want, he wants, he wants... I am close, but not quite ready, to lean across and slit his jowls with a second smile, stand up and leave. But that is not my job...not yet. ~ Clifton Hill

Laser technology has fulfilled our people's ancient dream of a blade so fine that the person it cuts remains standing and alive until he moves and cleaves. Until we move, none of us can be sure that we have not already been cut in half, or in many pieces, by a blade of light. It is safest to assume that our throats have already been slit, that the slightest alteration in our postures will cause the painless severance of our heads. ~ Ben Lerner

He went slowly, running his tongue up and down the full length of her slit. Teasing, tasting. Enjoying the hitch of her quickening breath. Feeling the little tremors in her thighs. Savoring the perfect softness of her most intimate places.
And then, when she began to arch against his mouth, he slid upward and touched his tongue to the place he knew she needed it most.
She cried out a little. Her hips bucked.
He reached under her petticoats, cupping the twin globes of her arse in his hands to hold her still.
So... very... still...
As he worried that sensitive bud with the gentlest flicks of his tongue.
Soon her hips were rolling in an instinctive rhythm. Moving with him, against him. If he withdrew his tongue, she chased it. ~ Tessa Dare

Problem with the big philosophers is they cared about ideas more than people. Hegel would probably have stepped over a guy trying to slit his wrists outside a bar - to get to all the people he could sit and bullshit with inside. Did you know half of philosophy was first put into words by people shot in the ass? ~ Carol Plum-Ucci

It calms me to think of blue as the color of death. I have long imagined death's approch as the swell of a wave - a towering wall of blue. You will drown, the world tells me, has always told me. You will descend into a blue underworld, blue with hungry ghosts, Krishna blue, the blue faces of the ones you loved. They all drowned, too. To take a breath of water: does the thought panic or excite you? If you are in love with red then you slit or shoot. If you are in love with blue you fill your pouch with stones good for sucking and head down to the river. Any river will do. ~ Maggie Nelson

I have lived those lines and I know that if I had not been apprehended I would have slit some white throats. ~ Eldridge Cleaver

She's no ordinary ghost, that seems certain," he says. "I know. Something's made her stronger." "The way she died?" he asks. "I'm not sure. From what I've heard, she was just murdered like so many others. Throat slit. But now she's haunting her old house, killing whoever steps inside, like some goddamn spider. ~ Kendare Blake

Kaye: You know what the sun looks like? Janet: No, What? Kaye: Like he slit his wrists in a bathtub and the blood is all over the water. Janet: That's gross, Kaye. Kaye: And the moon is just watching. She's just watching him die. She must have driven him to it. ~ Holly Black

I do love rocks, as a matter of fact." A coquettish smile crept into her voice. "I find them utterly fascinating. I'm forever taking them in hand. Exploring their every ridge and contour." She skimmed a petal-soft fingertip over the head of his cock, tracing the flared ridge of the crown and the dewy slit of the tip. Then her touch teased down his length, all the way to the root. "Some of them have very interesting veins. ~ Tessa Dare

my lips, I bend down and swipe my tongue over the little slit at his tip. He teased me before, and now it's time for some payback. I'm going to worship every inch of Jamie Canning's cock. I'm going to torment him with my tongue until he can't remember a time when my mouth wasn't on his dick bringing him pleasure. I'm going to - Jamie comes the second I wrap my lips around him. Yup, he fucking comes, and I don't know whether to laugh or groan as he starts to shake with release. In the end I do neither - I suck him all the way down to the base, drawing a strangled cry from his lips as I swallow the salty drops that shoot down my throat. ~ Sarina Bowen

All women are lips, nothing but lips. Some pink, firmly round---a ring, a tender protection against the whole world. But these: a second ago they did not exist, and now--a knife slit--and the sweet blood will drip down. ~ Yevgeny Zamyatin

Every morning I sit at the kitchen table over a tall glass of water swallowing pills. (So my hands won't shake.) (So my heart won't race.) (So my face won't thaw.) (So my blood won't mold.) (So the voices won't scream.) (So I don't reach for knives.) (So I keep out of the oven.) (So I eat every morsel.) (So the wine goes bitter.) (So I remember the laundry.) (So I remember to call.) (So I remember the name of each pill.) (So I remember the name of each sickness.) (So I keep my hands inside my hands.) (So the city won't rattle.) (So I don't weep on the bus.) (So I don't wander the guardrail.) (So the flashbacks go quiet.) (So the insomnia sleeps.) (So I don't jump at car horns.) (So I don't jump at cat-calls.) (So I don't jump a bridge.) (So I don't twitch.) (So I don't riot.) (So I don't slit a strange man's throat.) ~ Jeanann Verlee

Her shoulders shuddered. I realized she had begun to cry. The tears ran down her face, trickling in with the blood over the bruises. "My sister was brought to this country as a slave,"she said. "She spent the final months of her life being treated like a piece of meat until finally a rich man paid to see a girl get her throat slit. The indignity of such a thing is beyond imagination."She drew in a watery breath. "Unless I took care of it personally, I knew that I would never feel like her honor had been avenged. ~ Joe Schreiber

And no one moans: there is no anguish. Only our nocturnal silence when we crawl on all fours toward the fires that someone has lit for us at a mysterious hour and with incomprehensible finality. We're guided by fate, though we've left nothing to chance. A writer must resemble a censor, our elders told us, and we've followed that marvelous thought to its penultimate consequence. A writer must resemble a newspaper columnist. A writer must resemble a dwarf and MUST survive. If we didn't have to read too, our work would be a point suspended in nothingness, a mandala pared down to a minimum of meaning, our silence, our certainty of standing with one foot dangling on the far side of death. Fantasies. Fantasies. In some lost fold of the past, we wanted to be lions and we're no more than castrated cats. Castrated cats wedded to cats with slit throats. ~ Roberto Bolano

Politicians lie with almost every breath they mustered, and didn't hesitate to slit each other's throats for gain. They were whores willing to sell their vote to the highest bidder. The second was ineffectiveness. Politicians did not represent the people who elected them. They might have held onto the delusion that they served the public, but the only thing they represented was big business ~ Richard Stephenson

Well, excuse the hell out of me for trying to help. I heard a crash and thought someone was hurt. You could've fallen. On a pair of Scissors. Slit your jugular. How was I to know? Next time you're in need of life saving action, don't come to me…'Dan, help me, I've broken my spleen,' because you know what I'm going to say? 'Sorry about the spleen, dude, I have to stay in the back room for all of eternity. ~ Leah Rae Miller

Once upon a time I would've found her complete lack of interest in killing one's own troops cause for alarm. I might've worried she'd slit my throat in my sleep. Now that I know she probably will, I find I'm not as concerned." "I wouldn't slit your throat in your sleep, Sanders. I would do it when you were awake. Think of the sport it would be." Shanti's voice was colored with humor. Sanders snorted. ~ K.F. Breene

Oprah is rich; Bill Gates is wealthy. If Bill Gates woke up tomorrow with Oprah's money, he'd jump out of a ... window and slit his throat on the way down saying, 'I can't even put gas in my plane!' ~ Chris Rock

Those innocent eyes slit my soul up like a razor ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

You were never to say you weren't "fine, thank you - and yourself?" You were supposed to be Heidi. You were supposed to lug goat milk up the hills and not think twice. Heidi did not complain. Heidi did not do things like stand in front of the new IBM photocopier saying, "If this fucking Xerox machine breaks on me one more time, I'm going to slit my wrists. ~ Lorrie Moore

And after I told my six-year-old, grandma died in the accident, after tears and questions she suggested, maybe now is a good time to explain what the man has to do with babies. So i chose one perfect lily from that vase and with the tip of a paring knife slit open the pistil to trace the passage pollen makes to the egg cell- the eggs i then slipped out and dotted on her fingertips, their greenish-white translucent as the air in this blizzard that cannot cool the unbearable heart. ~ Kimiko Hahn

Poetry is a plan for a slit in the face of a bronze fountain goat and the path of fresh drinking water. ~ Carl Sandburg

No, he had to remember she was an assassin with the blessing of a pretty face and sharp wits. She washed her hands with blood, and was just as likely to slit his throat as offer him a kind word. ~ Sarah J. Maas

The newcomer struck him as an enterprising sort of man. The kind that would slit your throat for a box of tissues in your bag while you slept. ~ Ilona Andrews

When I was 9 or 10 years old, my dad took me over to a neighboring farm to help get stuff for the meal. The farmer, Vic, told me to look at all the turkeys and pick one out. I saw a cute one with a silly walk and cried, 'Him!' Before my pointing finger had even dropped to my side, Vic had grabbed the turkey by the neck and slit [the animal's] throat. Blood and feathers went flying. I had sentenced that turkey to death! Up until then, I didn't know where meat came from - and I've been a vegetarian ever since. ~ Sarah Silverman

Twenty aspirin, a little slit alongside the veins of the arm, maybe even a bad half hour standing on a roof: We've all had those. And somewhat more dangerous things, like putting a gun in your mouth. But you put it there, you taste it, it's cold and greasy, your finger is on the trigger, and you find that a whole world lies between this moment and the moment you've been planning, when you'll pull the trigger. That world defeats you. You put the gun back in the drawer. You'll have to find another way. ~ Susanna Kaysen

Kate looked like the last strand of her patience was about to snap. She took in a breath, pumping her hands into fists.

"Aaron. Go upstairs. Gather your things, or so help me, I'll–"

"What?" Aaron challenged. "You'll do what? Yell at me? Raise your hand again?" His green eyes slit with rage. "Go ahead. Maybe this time you'll actually hit me. ~ S.F. Mazhar

In darkness, in any light after dusk, you can slit a vein and the blood is black. ~ Michael Ondaatje

In Europe, when tobacco was first introduced, it was immediately banned. In Turkey, if you got caught with tobacco, you had your nose slit. China and Russia imposed the death penalty for possession of tobacco. ~ Andrew Weil

Huxley: "Tell me something Bryce, do you know the difference between a Jersey, a Guernsey, a Holstein, and an Ayershire?"
Bryce: "No."
Huxley: "Seabags Brown does."
Bryce: "I don't see what that has to do..."
Huxley: "What do you know about Gaelic history?"
Bryce: "Not much."
Huxley: "Then why don't you sit down one day with Gunner McQuade. He is an expert. Speaks the language, too."
Bryce: "I don't..."
Huxley: " What do you know about astronomy?"
Bryce: "A little."
Huxley: "Discuss it with Wellman, he held a fellowship."
Bryce: "This is most puzzling."
Huxley: "What about Homer, ever read Homer?"
Bryce: "Of course I've read Homer."
Huxley: "In the original Greek?"
Bryce: "No"
Huxley: "Then chat with Pfc. Hodgkiss. Loves to read the ancient Greek."
Bryce: "Would you kindly get to the point?"
Huxley: "The point is this, Bryce. What makes you think you are so goddam superior? Who gave you the bright idea that you had a corner on the world's knowledge? There are privates in this battalion who can piss more brains down a slit trench then you'll ever have. You're the most pretentious, egotistical individual I've ever encountered. Your superiority complex reeks. I've seen the way you treat men, like a big strutting peacock. Why, you've had them do everything but wipe your ass. ~ Leon Uris

The whale house has not changed much. It still stands under the silk cotton tree, its windows shuttered and closed. When she pushes open the door, they don't see her. They are up under the window where the light is green and dim. Aidan is between Ivy's spread, honey legs. Ivy sees her first and makes a strangled cry, trying to push Aidan off and cover her breasts. Aidan climbs to his knees and turns to the door. Behind him, she catches a glimpse of Ivy, the pubic hair waxed to a tiny strip above the neat pink slit, the centre moist and slick. Aidan's face is shocked, moon-like in the dim light, his pants around his knees. Chuck ~ Sharon Millar

Living grows 'round us like a skin
to shut away the desolation
for if we clearly mark the furthest deep
we should be dead long years before the grave

But turning around within
the homely shell of worry, discontent
and narrow joy
we grow and flourish
and rarely see the outside dark
that would confound our eyes

Some break the shell
I think that there are those
who push their fingers through the brittle walls
and make a hole
and through that cruel slit
stare out across the cinders of the world
with naked eyes
They look both in and out
knowing themselves
and too much else beside ~ Molly Drake

The narrow slit through which the scientist, if he wants to be successful, must view nature constructs, if this goes on for a long time, his entire character; and, more often than not, he ends up becoming what the German language so appropriately calls a Fachidiot (professional idiot). ~ Erwin Chargaff

He attacked me, so I had to slit his throat with a steak knife. But not before I splashed Worcestershire sauce all over it. ~ Jarod Kintz

Daniel was quite pleased with her breathless and flustered state when she straightened, and was satisfied that he'd just established that two could play at her torture game. Unfortunately, in the next moment that contentment gave way to shock when Suzette proved that she was better at it than he was, by using the basket as cover as she dropped one hand down, slit it beneath her bottom and squeezed him through his trousers.
It was then Daniel acknowledged that the wench was going to drive him mad until he got her wed...and probably for the rest of his life. But as she squeezed him again, he admitted that his ride to bedlam would be an enjoyable one. ~ Lynsay Sands

He has a light, fumbling brutality, which several times makes me think that this time it'll cost me my sanity. In our dawning, mutual intimacy, I induce him to open the little slit in the head of his penis so I can put my clitoris inside and fuck him. ~ Peter Hoeg

Under the ground seep the toxins of the population that lives above. If you have to, you will eat roots and earthworms. It is always night. Candles burn in lanterns made from tin cans. When it is nighttime up above, you can crawl out, but only for a little while. You feel ashamed of your matted hair, your torn clothes, the dirt on your face. Who would want to speak to you? They are all shiny and pretty. They have parents and house with gardens. What do you have? The earth. Whole handfuls of it. The lizard people with their slit eyes and scaly skin. Your loneliness. Your longing. ~ Francesca Lia Block

The path's been set ,
The way has been pointed out to me,
I need strength to walk, and make the first step,
I need the light to see, and wisdom to discern,
I need Evil and God,
The path's been set for me to follow,
The way has been pointed out to me,
I need courage, and hope,
Time to unleash the beast, and set the dragon free,
Time to rise and defy Death,
Time to defeat Satan, and destroy God,
Time for war and violence, time to love and kill,
Time to tame the demons of the mind,
Time to cut the angel's wings
Time to show your fangs and claws to the Devil,
I need courage, I need hope,
I need strength to slit the devil's throat
Give me Satan, Give me God,
Give me death, give me life,
The path is been set for me to follow ~ Quetzal

And it be well for a knowlessman that he should not be here, for he would be taken from this place and his gaskin slit, his moules shown to the four winds, his welchet torn asunder with many hooks and his figgin placed upon a spike (...) ~ Terry Pratchett

I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it. ~ Gillian Flynn

In Mexico City they somehow wandered into an exhibition of paintings by the beautiful Spanish exile Remedios Varo: in the central painting of a triptych, titled "Bordando el Manto Terrestre," were a number of frail girls with heart-shaped faces, huge eyes, spun-gold hair, prisoners in the top room of a circular tower, embroidering a kind of tapestry which spilled out the slit windows and into a void, seeking hopelessly to fill the void: for all the other buildings and creatures, all the waves, ships and forests of the earth were contained in the tapestry, and the tapestry was the world. Oedipa, perverse, had stood in front of the painting and cried. No one had noticed; she wore dark green bubble shades. For a moment she'd wondered if the seal around her sockets were tight enough to allow the tears simply to go on and fill up the entire lens space and never dry. She could carry the sadness of the moment with her that way forever, see the world refracted through those tears, those specific tears, as if indices as yet unfound varied in important ways from cry to cry. She had looked down at her feet and known, then, because of a painting, that what she stood on had only been woven together a couple thousand miles away in her own tower, was only by accident known as Mexico, and so Pierce had take her away from nothing, there'd been no escape. What did she so desire escape from? Such a captive maiden, having plenty of time to think, soon realizes that her tower, its height and arch ~ Thomas Pynchon

Throughout my life I have seen, without one exception, narrow-shouldered men performing innumerable idiotic acts, brustalising their fellows, and corrupted souls by every means. They call the motive for their actions: fame. Seeing these exhibitions I've longed to laugh, with the rest, but that strange imitation was impossible. Taking a penknife with a sharp-edged blade, I slit the flesh at the points joining the lips. For an instant I believed my aim was achieved. I saw in a mirror the mouth ruined at my own will! An error! Besides, the blood gushing freely from the two wounds prevented my distinguishing whether this really was the grin of others. But after some moments of comparison I saw quite clearly that my smile did not resemble that of humans: the fact is, I was not laughing. ~ Comte De Lautreamont

Well, I thought, climbing slowly out of the slit trench, the shells will catch us above ground now. But if you have to go, you have to go. F Company's in trouble, and we have to help them. We're in reserve, so we have to go. And if we're shelled, we're shelled. There is absolutely nothing we can do about it. ~ David Kenyon Webster

That you try to flatter me when I have a blade at your neck makes me want to slit your throat and spare the world your ignorance. ~ Kalynn Bayron

It was a hideous ancient thing that stood on tiger feet in the middle of the floor. Like a showpiece. And he did enjoy showing it. He would bring his friends upstairs to the master bathroom so that they could admire the monstrosity while he told them the whole long boring story of how he'd gotten it at an estate sale in Hollywood. Some bimbo actress from the silent-screen days had supposedly slit her wrists while she was in the thing. 'Cashed in her chips,' Harold liked to say. 'In this very tub. ~ Richard Laymon

Fish sighed and reached for the hotel phone. 'How do you say, "Bring me steak and eggs or I'll slit your throat" in Italian?' he asked. ~ Regina Doman

Among more recent innovators was the Russian-born Vladimir Nabokov, whose novel Bend Sinister is trophied with delightful oddities like kwazinka ('a slit between the folding parts of a screen') and shchekotiki (which is 'half-tingle, half-tickle').6 ~ Henry Hitchings

It's one thing to go into a fight knowing you'll probably lose. Quite another to be told that to win, you must offer up your throat to be slit. ~ Darren Shan

History, the winnowing wind, never halts. We see the chaff rise, forget the waiting grain, seed of the future, fallen to the threshing floor. We never learn, but live on, slit-narrow, as if our living were a pencil line traced upon paper, behaving as trapped denizens of a flat world hemmed in by the bigoted horizon of our own making. Yet the meaning of living is a pushing back, a pulling down of the great walls and domes of fear and ignorance, is relinquishing the nest for the sky, ignorance for understanding. The look back is also a look forward. ~ Han Suyin

My eyes slit. "Des," I warn. He removes my hand from his chest. "Is that supposed to be a threatening tone?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. He clucks his tongue and brings my hand up to his mouth. "Because if it is," he continues, "then you've got to work on your intimidation game," he continues. "I mean, you gave it a decent try, but I'm more turned on than anything else." Des ~ Laura Thalassa

Mr. Blank's old friend is acting up again, and because our hero is no longer wearing the cotton trousers and underpants and is quite naked under the pajama bottoms, there is no barrier to prevent Mr. Bigshot from bounding out through the slit and poking his head into the light of day. ~ Paul Auster

Dear Maribor, you're heavy," Hadrian growled as he untied the rope.

"No, I'm not. You're wounded." Royce moved his hand and felt the blood-soaked clothes. "God, we're bleeding like a slit throat."

"You're bleeding more than me," Hadrian said.

"Oh, does that make you feel better?"

"Actually it does. ~ Michael J. Sullivan

The ostriches were like messengers who had learned their vital message by heart, but whose vocal chords had been slit by the enemy, so that when they finally reached their goal, all they could do was move their mouths. ~ Milan Kundera

Like a tent she had an open slit and she was sick of men trying to build lamps inside her. If a lamp was to be built, no one could see the naked wick. ~ Erin Emily Ann Vance

Friend of yours?" Priss asked.
He turned on her so fast, she jumped back a foot.
"You don't look happy," Priss noted. What an understatement. "It was just a question. Don't implode or anything, okay?"
He fumed quietly, and even in his rage, he looked self-possessed. "Under no circumstances will you provoke that woman. Do you understand me?"
Intrigued by the warning, Priss tried to see around him to wherever the woman had gone. He didn't allow it.
His big, hard hand clasped her face, none too gently. "She will slit your throat and smile while doing it. And no one here will stop her. Do you understand me?"
"Uh . . ." It wasn't easy to speak with the way he smooshed her cheeks, but she felt compelled to point out, "You stopped her."
"This time." He leaned down, close enough to kiss her, but his eyes said he had far from affectionate gestures on his mind. "I won't always be around."
"Duly noted. Now you can stop abusing my face." He released her and she worked her jaw. "Jerk. I bruise easy."
His eye did that interesting twitching thing again before he grabbed her elbow and hustled her forward. ~ Lori Foster

I surveyed the others, who had all stopped in their tracks. So what was the plan, boys? You were all going to get a fuck in? The very definition of sloppy seconds - hell, sloppy thirds and fourths and fifths. Than what? Slit my throat? Leave me for dead? Let some school janitor find me stuffed in a dumpster? You would deny my children their mother for one night of cheap thrills? ~ J.R. Rain

Then maybe I'll sneak into Buckingham Palace and slit his chicken throat one night. ~ Charlie Higson

I think, in many ways, certain people sought me out maybe because they liked my body language or they liked the way I wore a slit skirt, the way I cross my legs or carry my purse. It's quite inspiring to play the seduction card. ~ Carine Roitfeld

If I had it my way I'd slit your throat with the knife that you left in my back. ~ Oli Sykes

He does not start guiltily, as he should, but frowns in annoyance. "Who are you?"
I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. "Vengeance," I say softly. ~ R.L. LaFevers

Red birds are real. The reason we don't see them is because we don't want to. Because if we see them, we'll remember. When someone dies in a raid or a shooting or when someone's throat is slit, their last drop of blood transforms into a tiny red bird and flies away. And then reappears when we are trying hard to forget them, when we think we have forgotten them, when we think we have learned to live without them, when we utter those stupid words that we have 'moved on'."
Red birds ~ Muhammed Hanif

Once Smith had you, he would most likely have tried to negotiate for the lamp."
Everything inside her warmed gently. "You'd give up the lamp if you thought my life depended on it?"
"Without a second thought."
"Oh, Griffin, I'm truly touched. I know how important the lamp is to you."
"And then I'd slit the bastard's throat."
She groaned and rested her forehead on her knees. "Two birds with one lamp. Who says a crime lord can't be a romantic at heart? ~ Amanda Quick

Christ, Stephanie, he raped and tortured her and then he slit her throat. If this wasn't horrific enough, he used a knife on her to write your name in her arm. Cynthia thinks he did it while she was still alive. It's how we know this murder is linked to you. He wrote your fucking name on her." – Jase Devlin. ~ Nina D'Angelo