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“He wipes tears off my face and then snot. He uses his hands. He loves me that much.”
― Nina LaCour, Hold Still

“...the putrid carnal waste dump my skin and hair had become. An irate woman beating me with her placenta would have been more welcome than the copious amount of...snot gluing my fingers together.”
― Cecy Robson, Sealed with a Curse

“You can’t cry about everything in life, Princess. You’d get a nasty headache. Also, snot. Massive amounts of snot.”
― Christie Valentine Powell, The Spectra Uprooted

“His successor was a tall, lanky youth, who with his pallid complexion and huge red hands had the air of a simpleton. He was punctual at least, arriving at six o'clock on the dot, but his uncleanliness was revolting: he was dressed in kitchen rags stiff with grease and dirt, his cheeks were smeared with flour and soot, and from his unwiped nose two rivulets of green snot streamed around his mouth.”
― Joris-Karl Huysmans, Downstream

“Snot puppies.”
― Jazz Feylynn

“Of course I had a handkerchief. It lay, clean as a whistle, in my pocket where it had been for a week. For I had the knack of extracting from my nostrils, with the nail of my forefinger, the snuffling substances that impeded my breathing, and the use of a handkerchief seemed to me a piece of parental superstition.”
― Marcel Pagnol, My Father's Glory and My Mother's Castle: Memories of Childhood