ŷ������

“Juliet laughed. “You all are crazy, you know that?��
“Oh, for sure,�� he said with a nod.
“Does it rub off?��
“If you’re lucky.”
― Erin Nicholas, Beauty and the Bayou

“The Widow Russell apparently took her at-home retirement so far as the abstain from receiving guests in the formal parlors: Theo was shown to a pink-papered upstairs room where she sat in an armchair whose chintz upholstery featured roses twining daintily on a white ground. She was head-to-toe in black, of course, and for a moment he had the very odd impression of a spider lurking in a rose bouquet.”
― Cecilia Grant, A Lady Awakened

“Dear little not-so-innocents, beware of
Old Grandmother Spider: rump her endearments ��
She’s not quite as nice as She looks, nor you quite
as tough as you think.”
― W.H. Auden

“Just open your mouth and let the lightning come out. Burn the victim card down to the ground - for you are so much more than that!
You’re a witch. You’re a wizard.
Open your mouth and let the spiders out! Unleash your mind; for sometimes it’s so much better than b e i n g quiet.”
― Sijdah Hussain, Red Sugar, No More

“Open your mouth and let the spiders out!”
― Sijdah Hussain, Red Sugar, No More

“But what about you, Miss Spider?�� asked James. ‘Aren’t you also much loved in the world?��
‘Alas, no,�� Miss Spider answered, sighing long and loud. ‘I am not loved at all. And yet I do nothing but good. All day long I catch flies and mosquitoes in my webs. I am a decent person.��
‘I know you are,�� said James.
‘It is very unfair the way we Spiders are treated,�� Miss Spider went on. ‘Why, only last week your own horrible Aunt Sponge flushed my poor dear father down the plug-hole in the bathtub.��
‘Oh, how awful!�� cried James.
‘I watched the whole thing from a corner up in the ceiling,�� Miss Spider murmured. ‘It was ghastly. We never saw him again.�� A large tear rolled down her cheek and fell with a splash on the floor.”
― Roald Dahl, James and the Giant Peach

“A gardener is like a prophet looking out on a barren land and saying, ‘I see corn on that hill, and beans beneath the grove, and lavender in the field, and over there some roses by the brick wall.�� Don’t you think that’s what a good friend should be like? A truly good friend is one who can look at our bare lives and see the fruit of what will one day come from deep inside us.”
― Craig Froman, Of Secrets, Spiders & and the End of the World

“Nineteen secrets, nineteen stones,
nineteen branches, nineteen bones,
untold wonders in a day
breathing deep under stone and clay.”
― Craig Froman, Of Secrets, Spiders & and the End of the World

“A thousand years ago or more
They opened up the devil’s door
And a cwene of dark and death
Crawled out, and creeping stole our breath
And we’ve been hiding ever-more.”
― Craig Froman, Of Secrets, Spiders & and the End of the World

“Narcissists, however, are similar to a spider that has built a web for its prey to bring itself.”
― Mwanandeke Kindembo, Treatise Upon The Misconceptions of Narcissism

“A spider so fragile, so spindly, so translucent that it runs like a watermark across the paper, just like the tiny blood vessels on your skin. It disturbs nothing, running around in the void, in a very great hurry to live and die. In fact, its tiny size, its microscopic structure is a challenge to the monstrous being that we are. It's fragility can only make us wish to crush it, and that would not even be a crime since our two universes are so entirely separate.”
― Jean Baudrillard, Cool Memories

“Her followers wore loose black tunics and loincloths slashes with white stripes to mimic a spider's many legs; some wore carved talismans, and others fearlessly allowed fat, furry tarantulas to crawl freely over their shoulders.”
― Madeleine Roux, Shadows Rising

“What was building a web but a gustatory expression of hope?”
― Adrian Tchaikovsky, Spiderlight

“Spiderwebs are images of the nonlinear, of the many directions in which something might go, the many sources for it[.]”
― Rebecca Solnit, Men Explain Things to Me

“...a tall, statuesque man with slicked-back hair and reptilian eyes set in a gaunt face. His drooping cheeks sat just above his wormy-looking mustache, and pale, spidery fingers poked out of his black robes...”
― Nick Oliveri, The Conjurer

“Despite the deep pits that lead to oubliettes, the trees that move to make you lose your way, the ice spiders that wrap their prey in frozen gossamer, the mad king, and the curse.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“Stick creatures, enormous and terrible, huge spiders made of brambles and branches. Monstrous things with gaping mouths, their bodies of burned and blackened bark, their teeth of stone and ice. Mortal body parts visibly part of them, as though someone took apart people like they were dolls and glued them back together in awful shapes.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir

“My heart pounding, I somehow knocked the tarantula to the ground and used the broom to brush him down our very long steep driveway. With each brush, the tarantula would jump back up, turn, and start to come towards me. Apparently, tarantulas pursue their prey.

Finally, somehow, I was able to sweep it down to the street.

Pumped up on adrenaline and a desire to protect my children (born and unborn), I started my car and set off to finish the job. Convinced it was him or me, I backed up my car and took aim at the stunned tarantula. I could not take a chance that he would crawl back to my house, my home.

When the deed was done, I pulled forward and looked out my window to see if the creature was still moving. I think I saw him flinch. So I threw the car back in reverse and ran over him again, just to make sure. Really sure.

In hindsight, it is possible I overreacted.”
― Kristen Brakeman, Is That The Shirt You're Wearing?: a memoir in essays

“Sir, you have a many-legged beast crawling up your shoulder.”
― Spock of Vulcan

“First we molt,
then spin a web,
after this we weave,
until our food is dead.
Next dancing a jig,
And waiting for a meal,
Then we wrestle a bit
Til we sit and eat our fill.��
Captain Muntweight”
― Craig Froman, Of Secrets, Spiders & and the End of the World

“That's why their lives are worse than ours; they can't give up and die - they have to go on.”
― Philip K. Dick, We Can Build You

“If you dipped a spider in ink and then let it breakdance on a clean sheet of paper, you'd have a fair approximation of the state of my handwriting. I blame the internet myself. If I had to publish things in my handwriting, the only thing I could make money at would be selling ransom notes.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Ode To A Spider's Web by Stewart Stafford

O to dwell in the skeletal palace,
Of the spider's ceiling cobweb and,
Spy on all as none can spy on you,
An arachnid deity astride the world.

Even with many eyes to see things,
It's blind to those monstrous features,
Nimble, lean legs, as wicked fingers,
Weave a webbed masterpiece home.

Outdone by his garden cousin's web,
With backlit, bejewelled beads of dew,
Undulating in a tepid, animating breeze,
The house spider is a satisfied squatter.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved”
― Stewart Stafford

“The faded lime-colored building was, like so many other residential locations in the area, a snapshot out of time, as if the occupant had simply walked away one day. Blooms of mold seemed strung together by webs lacing the exterior—constellations marked by Mud dauber high-rises and sticky spider holes.”
― Mike Correll, Abandoned Sulphur, Louisiana

“When faced with a spider, I instantly turn into
a fearsome warrior, ready to take on my foe as the female version of Zorro. I enter the combat zone with all the careful observance and skill of the new movies�� Sherlock Holmes. I am ready. I am fearless. And I will be victorious. Once, in a moment of true courage, I took a vacuum cleaner, pulled it to a position above my head, and fired. I was a champion that night. A valiant heroine whose bravery would be sung for many a moon . . . until wondering, hours later . . . IS THAT THING REALLY DEAD?!”
― Gina Marinello-Sweeney, Peter

“So you can handle storm-breathing dragons, knife-wielding kidnappers and terrorist bombs, but not teeny-tiny spiders?”
― A.J. Sky

“The scraggly spiders of her words crept around my brain”
― Ryszard Kapuściński, Busz po polsku

“Ah yes, of course, Spiders. Is it their size? Do you fear the ones you cannot see, dunnot sense until they bite you and you die a horrible, painful death? Or would you prefer a giant, fist-sized one? One that towers above buildings like in an old shit-show production? I quite think you would.
Now personally, one of my least favourite thing about spiders is their fangs. You see, their fangs are a mixture of rat’s fur and small dragon teeth. They manage to be sharp, deadly, and disgustingly hairy. Oh, and the colour of death. It makes me shiver just to think about those pincers closing in on a nice, fleshy, alive part of my body. I do think I’d be forced to amputate or decapitate. Possibly both.��
"Anywhore, their fangs aren’t what get most people. It’s their eyes. Kinda creepy, don’t ya think? We have two, they have��.well, too many ov’em. Would you like to see yourself reflected umpteenth times in a spider’s trippily reflective little eyes? Right before they smile and their fangs grab ya that is. No? I should hope not. You also have the venom and that shifty way they move to consider. Venom can kill anything, no matter how tough or large they are. And the whole eight legs shuffly shifty quicky thing just spooks the shit outta me mate. Death and spiders. They’re pretty much the same thing to some. Some being me, of course. Then again, I’m quite normal.”
― Finn Eccleston, The Community: A Funny and Disturbing Conspiracy Mystery Novel

“Ah yes, of course, Spiders. Is it their size? Do you fear the ones you cannot see, dunnot sense until they bite you and you die a horrible, painful death? Or would you prefer a giant, fist-sized one? One that towers above buildings like in an old shit-show production? I quite think you would.
Now personally, one of my least favourite thing about spiders is their fangs. You see, their fangs are a mixture of rat’s fur and small dragon teeth. They manage to be sharp, deadly, and disgustingly hairy. Oh, and the colour of death. It makes me shiver just to think about those pincers closing in on a nice, fleshy, alive part of my body. I do think I’d be forced to amputate or decapitate. Possibly both.
Anywhore, their fangs aren’t what get most people. It’s their eyes. Kinda creepy, don’t ya think? We have two, they have��.well, too many ov’em. Would you like to see yourself reflected umpteenth times in a spider’s trippily reflective little eyes? Right before they smile and their fangs grab ya that is. No? I should hope not. You also have the venom and that shifty way they move to consider. Venom can kill anything, no matter how tough or large they are. And the whole eight legs shuffly shifty quicky thing just spooks the shit outta me mate. Death and spiders. They’re pretty much the same thing to some. Some being me, of course. Then again, I’m quite normal.”
― Finn Eccleston, The Community: A Funny and Disturbing Conspiracy Mystery Novel

“The Savage," wrote Bernard in his report to Mustapha Mond, "shows surprisingly little astonishment at, or awe of, civilized inventions. This is partly due, no doubt, to the fact that he has heard them talked about by the woman Linda, his m---."

(Mustapha Mond frowned. "Does the fool think I'm too squeamish to see the word written out at full length?")”
― Aldous Huxley, Brave New Work