Quotes About Spiders

There are lies you tell with your lips and lies you don't need your lips for. And once people start telling lies, then they become like spiders who weave their web about themselves. They become stuck-caught by the lies all about them. And then they can't get out of the web, no matter how hard they try.

Not a fan of spiders. I saw the movie 'Arachnophobia' which was single-handedly rated in the top three worst choices of my life.

Here's an interesting thing about L.A. - it's overrun with black widow spiders. I could find you one on the street in 10 minutes.

I've been writing about my boyhood, when I was a little kid back on my grandfather's farm where we didn't know about black widow spiders or all that stuff. But writing about that is so easy.

I suspect that the real attraction was a large library of fine books, which was left to dust and spiders since Uncle March died.

The scraggly spiders of her words crept around my brain

THE TINY SPIDERS that lived in the higher branches of the downed tree (which now meant the branches that lay on the other side of the crushed fence that separated front yard from back) were bright red. At the end of the day, even the careful children had the marks of them, bloody starbursts on their palms. And the smell of the green wood, the tender leaves

It was the best place to be, thought Wilbur, this warm delicious cellar, with the garrulous geese, the changing seasons, the heat of the sun, the passage of swallows, the nearness of rats, the sameness of sheep, the love of spiders, the smell of manure, and the glory of everything.

In the candlelight, she looks of another world, her face all freckles, and in the center of the freckles those two eyes hang unmoving like the egg cases of spiders. They do not track him, but they do not unnerve him, either; they seem almost to see into a separate, deeper place, a world that consists only of music.

I don't like creepy-crawly stuff. Girls can pick up a spider and just chuck it out of the window. No way, I'm not doing that. I actually scream.

Barking spiders!

Men are under as strong a compulsion to invent an ethical setting for their behavior as spiders are to weave themselves webs.

I like to think how easily Nature will absorb London as she absorbed the mastodon, setting her spiders to spin the winding-sheet and her worms to fill in the grave, and her grass to cover it pitifully up, adding flowers - as an unknown hand added them to the grave of Nero.

Luck was with me. I saw no spiders. Luck was against me. I saw no specters.

I'm petrified of spiders. I hate them. I sleep with a glass of water beside my bed every night. I woke up once to take a sip of water and almost swallowed a dead one floating in the glass.

When in doubt, when flat on your back, you can look at the ceiling. Who knows what you may see, up there? Funeral wreaths and angels, constellations of dust, stellar or otherwise, the puzzles left by spiders. There's always something to occupy the inquiring mind.

Just do your duty in silence. When in doubt, when flat on your back, you can look at the ceiling. Who knows what you may see, up there? Funeral wreaths and angels, constellations of dust, stellar or otherwise, the puzzles of spiders. There's always something to occupy the inquiring mind.

The most challenging scene for me was the spider scene, because I don't like spiders in real life. Even rubber ones I get really scared of.

love Italy — I love my Florence. I love that 'hole of a place,' as Father Prout called it lately — with all its dust, its cobwebs, its spiders even, I love it, and with somewhat of the kind of blind, stupid, respectable, obstinate love which people feel when they talk of 'beloved native lands.' I feel this for Italy, by mistake for England. Florence is my chimney-corner, where I can sulk and be happy.

Descartes's worldview makes us spiders at the center of an enormous web not of our making. Or in his other famous formulation, we are the ghosts in the machine: souls in a world machine that operates inexorably and impersonally according to the laws of geometry and mechanics, while we operate the levers and spin the dials.

I grew up reading thrillers, science fiction, fantasy - you name it - and one day I asked myself if there was a reason why a fear of spiders was so common. Was there something buried deep in our evolutionary history that made being scared of spiders a survival instinct?

I allow the spiders the run of the house. I figure that any predator that hopes to make a living on whatever small creatures might blunder into a four-inch square bit of space in the corner of the bathroom where the tub meets the floor, needs every bit of my support. ... I tolerate the webs, only occasionally sweeping away the very dirtiest of them after the spider itself has scrambled to safety.

It was no mean trick doing the wiring with those mittens on. But I managed it and crawled out, batting spiders into the shadows. I could hear a thud as they hit the floor joists, then a scuttling sound, then, worst of all, the silence of spiders.

Puffs of dust-scented air wafted around my ankles. The narrow wooden steps disappeared into yawning darkness, and even when I turned on the light, it wasn't particularly inviting. I hate basements—spiders and water bugs and the possibility of creepy, supernatural things lurking.