He who spits up in the air will get it back on his beard.
Related quotes
Who spits against the wind spits in his own face.
But you have to understand, my beard is so nasty. I mean, it's the only beard in the history of Western civilization that makes Bob Dylan's beard look good.
quote by Bill Walton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Defamatory
what you said
was too defamatory
you paid him money
to tell a lie
and he got the money
and told the lie
the lie becomes a snake
with sharp fangs
the fangs contained the venom
and now
it spits back at you
you may not be dead
but i know that you are numb
for more lies
you too has become the snake
that spits the venom
that has grown fangs
now so immune
you manufacture all the lies
in that snake pit
of yours
how can the gods explain
such existence as you?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He who spits in the air will have it fall back on his face.
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who sat on a horse when he reared;
But they said, 'Never mind!
You will fall off behind,
You propitious Old Man with a beard!'
quote by by Edward Lear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Toinette: Look you, Sir; a beard is something in itself; a beard is half the doctor.
line from The Imaginary Invalid, script by Moliere (1673)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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If the scissors are not used daily on the beard, it will not be long before the beard is, by its luxuriant growth, pretending to be the head.
quote by Hakim Jami
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There was an old man with a beard,
Who said: 'It is just as I feared!
Two owls and a hen,
Four larks and a wren
Have all built their nests in my beard.'
by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The King’s Beard
There lived a king with beard so long
And scalp with scarcely hair!
He used a comb and sang a song
And groomed it with great care.
The king was proud of his long beard
That made him look so wise!
The queen, his wife knew he looked weird
And cursed him for its size!
The queen was therefore always sad;
His lip got hid by hair!
But one day, she was rather glad;
She told him, she couldn’t bear!
One day, the king slept while he read
A book that was folklore!
He had a dream asleep in bed;
“His beard had grown some more! ”
A burning candle-stick fell down
And lit the curtain-blind;
His beard had caught the fire sown!
The king was off his mind!
His nose smelt smoke: he woke in fright;
His beard was all aflame!
He shaved the stubs of hair by night
And took on him all blame!
The next day when the people saw
The king, they couldn’t believe
Their eyes and gazed at him with awe!
“Could eyes of dawn deceive? ”
poem by John Celes
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The Barking Weasel
You say, John Irish, Mr. Taylor hath
A painted beard. Quite likely that is true,
And sure 'tis natural you spend your wrath
On what has been least merciful to you.
By Taylor's chin, if I am not mistaken,
You like a rat have recently been shaken.
To wear a beard of artificial hue
May be or this or that, I know not what;
But, faith, 'tis better to be black-and-blue
In beard from dallying with brush and pot
Than to be so in body from the beating
That hardy rogues get when detected cheating.
You're whacked about the mazzard rather more
Of late than any other man in town.
Certes your vulnerable back is sore
And tender, too, your corrigible crown.
In truth your whole periphery discloses
More vivid colors than a bed of posies!
You call it glory! Put your tongue in sheath!
Scars got in battle, even if on the breast,
May be a shameful record if, beneath,
A robber heart a lawless strife attest.
John Sullivan had wounds, and Paddy Ryan
Nay, as to that, even Masten has, and Bryan.
'Tis willingly conceded you've a knack
At holding the attention of the town;
The worse for you when you have on your back
What did not grow there-prithee put it down!
For pride kills thrift, and you lack board and lodging,
Even while the brickbats of renown you're dodging.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Santas Beard
Once a year my friend puts on a red suit
And hangs around with me and my wife
Now I cant help but feeling jealous each time she climbs on his knee
And she stands beneath the mistletoe screaming
For him to stand beneath the mistletoe screaming
Now I cant help but feeling jealous each time she climbs on his knee
Why must she climb on his knee?
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
She kissed him once and whispered in his ear
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
I wish he would go
Hes breaking up my home
She always had this twisted side to her*
But shed never drag my name around town
But lately shes been humming cheating songs
And I dont like that fat guy around
No, I dont like that fat guy around
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
She kissed him once and whispered in his ear
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
I wish he would go
Hes breaking up my home
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
Thrilling christmas, trembling fear
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
I wish he would go
Hes breaking up my home
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Better a Jew without a beard than a beard without a Jew.
There is always a period when a man with a beard shaves it off. This period does not last. He returns headlong to his beard.
quote by Jean Cocteau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Encounter
Stretched
on sun-warm carpet,
gazing out on fenced wilderness, she draws furred legs
to furthest extremity; claws extend and retract
as she clenches her
padded fist.
Then
in an instant she's on all fours,
back arched, whiskered mouth grimaced to
horrible grin as she growls and spits
into the gleaming window.
Looking back,
assured by double-pane,
the bird, all feather and fearless eye,
wonders at this new, strange
creature glaring inside.
poem by Steven Federle
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To God the Father
To the little, pitiful God I make my prayer,
The God with the long grey beard
And flowing robe fastened with a hempen girdle
Who sits nodding and muttering on the all-too-big throne
of Heaven.
What a long, long time, dear God, since you set the
stars in their places,
Girded the earth with the sea, and invented the day and
night.
And longer the time since you looked through the blue
window of Heaven
To see your children at play in a garden....
Now we are all stronger than you and wiser and more
arrogant,
In swift procession we pass you by.
"Who is that marionette nodding and muttering
On the all-too-big throne of Heaven?
Come down from your place, Grey Beard,
We have had enough of your play-acting!"
It is centuries since I believed in you,
But to-day my need of you has come back.
I want no rose-coloured future,
No books of learning, no protestations and denials--
I am sick of this ugly scramble,
I am tired of being pulled about--
O God, I want to sit on your knees
On the all-too-big throne of Heaven,
And fall asleep with my hands tangled in your grey
beard.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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The stone that everybody spits upon will be wet at the last.
He who spits above himself will have it fall on his face.
He who spits towards the sky is spitting on his face.