Ernest Hemingway Quotes
Quotes to Explore
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Even in the beginning, when we knew there was a legal argument about how much our song sounds like his song, as one songwriter to another, I wasn't sure that Cat Stevens would take that as bad.
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I'm the first to admit that the resolution of a hand feeling the belly doesn't compare with the resolution of a CAT scan scanning the belly, but only my hand can say that it hurts at this spot and not at this spot. Only my hand can say that.
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My couch is made of cat's hair. The cushions have been obscured, and it's made of salt-and-pepper fur. I can't have visitors. I can't ask people to sit on that couch because they become implicated in the furriness of it, and they're walking around, and it's not fair to people.
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The cops picked me up for attempted murder. I can still see the detectives, licking their chops. Thought they had me. Two weeks later, the cat came out of a coma and told the truth. I was innocent.
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I feel alive, fit and active. I have no plans for retirement. My only concession to getting a little older is that I like to have a cat-nap in the afternoon. After that, I can push on through anything.
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The cat with gloves catches no mice.
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A cat only has itself.
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One small cat changes coming home to an empty house to coming home.
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I can only assume that your editorial writer tripped over the First Amendment and thought it was the office cat.
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People actually perceived me with being this cat from the Bronx because I'm one of a handful of folks that was actually acting in 'Wild Style'.
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There are more ways of skinning a cat than rubbing its fur the wrong way.
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There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage.
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If you want to freak your cat out, stare at your cat. If you want to reassure your cat, stare at your cat, then very deliberately and very slowly blink. Like that. The cat will also deliberately, slowly blink back at you, and I almost guarantee that she will start to purr. That's a feline reassurance.
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I have a cat and a dog. They don't really get along, but I think they get along when no one is looking.
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The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over the harbor and city on silent haunches, and then moves on.
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When the day's hustle and bustle is done, Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
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He wore the unmistakable look of a man about to be present at a row between women, and only a wet cat in a strange backyard bears itself with less jauntiness than a man faced by such a prospect.
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Hang sorrow! care'll kill a cat.
