[the Sumatran rat monkey bites Mum, and she crushes it with the heel of her stiletto] Zoo Keeper: Holy shit! Mum: Look at this! It bit me. I've been savaged! And my dress!
Melvin Udall: As long as you keep your work zipped up around me, I don't give a rat-crap what or where you shove your show. Are we done being neighbors for now?
Rizzo the Rat: [falls down a chimney ignoring Gonzo] Hey! I'm stuck! Get me out of here! Gonzo: I knew you weren't suited for literature.
Harlequin Demon: [singing] Won't they be impressed, I am a ge-ni-us! See how I transform this old rat inTO a most deLIGHTful hat!
Remy: [the others have him sniffing their food for poison] Clean... clean... cleanerific... cleanerino... close to godliness... [rat looks confused] Remy: Which means clean. You know, cleanliness is close to... Never mind. Move on.
Stanley Kowalski: You know what luck is? Luck is believing you're lucky, that's all... To hold a front position in this rat-race, you've got to believe you are lucky
I've sat looking down into a volcano that could blow at any moment; I've helped catch a shark and several rattlesnakes; I let a tarantula walk across my hand, and I ate rat soup.
When I was in New York it was like a maze, a rat maze, going from one little box to another little box and passing through passageways to get from one safe haven to another.
The rat stops gnawing in the wood, the dungeon walls withdraw, the weight is lifted your pulse steadies and the sun has found your heart, the day was not bad, the season has not been bad, there is sense and even promise in going on.
Oh, I forgot to mention it: My brother is the kind of man whom women stalk. In cooperative packs.
How to preside over your own internal disorder? Finding the "I" that can represent the pack of you is the first challenge of the memoirist.
The way I wrestle five-year-olds makes me think if I were ever attacked by a pack of midgets, I’d be OK.
You can tell it's a poem because it's swimming in a little gel pack of white space. That shows it's a poem.
This was me before I knew about anything hard, when my whole life was packed lunches and art projects and spelling quizzes.
Kaitlyn froze and then said in a low tone, "That'd better be your gun." "Why yes, I always pack my gun where it'll blow my balls off."[Landon]
I guess," says Deagle, finally, "I'll just have a pack of Marlboro Lights. That's what I used to smoke when I was human.
We fundamentalists are a pack of mood-loving showoffs. I'm sure the Minor Prophets would have found subject for correction.
No matter what happens, you will always be Pack. Because you have that loyalty and restraint. Not human, not whatever, but Kate. Unique and different, but not separate.
Don’t pack up your camera until you’ve left the location.
You start to die the moment you are born. The whole of life is cutting through the pack with death. So take it easy.
The entire partying lifestyle was superficial in my experience, and most of my friendships were as deep as a shot glass and as short-lived as a pack of cigarettes.
