The Pig, if I am not mistaken, Supplies us sausage, ham, and Bacon. Let others say his heart is big, I think it stupid of the Pig.
My mother, Southern to the bone, once told me, “All Southern literature can be summed up in these words: ‘On the night the hogs ate Willie, Mama died when she heard what Daddy did to Sister.’” She raised me up to be a Southern writer, but it wasn’t easy.
As a jewel of gold in a swine’s snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion.
I have often had the impression that, to penguins, man is just another penguin -- different, less predictable, occasionally violent, but tolerable company when he sits still and minds his own business.
They are extraordinarily like children, these little people of the Antarctic world, either like children, or like old men, full of their own importance and late for dinner, in their black tail-coats and white shirt-fronts — and rather portly withal.
The feet of the rats scribble on the doorsills; the hieroglyphs of the rat footprints chatter the pedigrees of the rats
The city mouse eats bread and cheese;— The garden mouse eats what he can; We will not grudge him seeds and stocks, Poor little timid furry man.
You know, I saw the movie "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," and I didn't see any tigers or dragons. Then I realized, it's because they're crouching and hidden.
Love to eat them mousies. Mousies what I love to eat. Bite they little heads off. Nibble on they tiny feet.
One of the simple but genuine pleasures in life is getting up in the morning and hurrying to a mousetrap you set the night before.
The mouse that hath but one hole is quickly taken.
Two mice fell into a bowl of cream. The second mouse fought until he churned the cream into butter and walked out... Amen.
The best laid schemes o’ mice and men Gang aft agley; An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy!
... fate is not an eagle, it creeps like a rat.
I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.
Mary had a little lamb Its fleece was white as snow And everywhere that Mary went The lamb was sure to go.
Time is a horse that runs in the heart, a horse Without a rider on a road at night. The mind sits listening and hears it pass.
Take most people, they're crazy about cars...and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that's even newer. I don't even like old cars. I mean they don't even interest me. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God's sake.
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