Animals

"The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave; The deep damp vault, the darkness, and the worm."

"I opened my eyes—and all the sea was ice-nine. The moist green earth was a blue-white pearl. The sky darkened. Borasisi, the sun, became a sickly yellow ball, tiny and cruel. The sky was filled with worms. The worms were tornadoes."

"The poet makes silk dresses out of worms."

"Out of the tomb, we bring Badroulbadour, Within our bellies, we her chariot."

"She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek."

": Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? : At supper. : At supper! where? Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: a certain convocation of politic worms are e’en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots."

": A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. : What dost thou mean by this? : Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar."

"Here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids."

"They have made worm's meat of me."

"Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs."

"Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?"

"The smallest worm will turn being trodden on."

": "Seize the day." "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." Why does the writer use these lines? : Because he's in a hurry. : No. Ding! Thank you for playing anyway. Because we are food for worms, lads. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die."

"I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of the people."

"And the angels, all pallid, and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, "Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm."

"But see, amid the mimic rout A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the angels sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued."

"They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls."

"One day you're thinking and hauling yourself around, and the next, you're cold fertilizer, worm buffet."

"You have evolved from worm to man, but much within you is still worm."

"The early bird gathers no moss! The rolling stone catches the worm!"

"Man is certainly stark mad; he cannot make a worm, and yet he will be making gods by dozens."

"The butterfly was just a lowly worm in its beginning. The worm didn't live with the moment-to-moment expectation of sprouting wings and taking flight. He lived a useful and productive life, the life of a worm. And he had to die a worm in order to be born as an angel!"

"Over the mirrors meant To glass the opulent The sea-worm crawls—grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent."

"Once you've had worm, it's what you'll yearn!"

"The Body of B. Franklin, Printer, ... Lies here, Food for Worms."

"A Bird, came down the Walk – He did not know I saw – He bit an Angle Worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw."

"As I was led to keep in my study during many months worms in pots filled with earth, I became interested in them, and wished to learn how far they acted consciously, and how much mental power they displayed."

"I would not enter on my list of friends, (Tho' grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm."

"Thou seyst, that right as wormes shende a tree, Right so a wyf destroyeth hir housbonde."

": How many senses do worms have? : They have two: smell and touch. Why? : So, they live without any ability to see or even know about light, right? The notion of light to them is unimaginable. : Yeah. : But we humans, we know that light exists—all around them, right on top of them, they cannot sense it. But with a little mutation, they do. Right? : Correct. : So, Doctor Eye, perhaps some humans, rare humans, have mutated to have another sense—a spirit sense—and can perceive a world that is right on top of us, everywhere, just like the light on these worms."

"The generations of the worm Know not your loads piled on their soil; Their knotted ganglions shall wax firm Till your strong flagstones heave and toil."

"O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm:Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy."

"Hound is hungry, hare is fearful ..."

"I like the hunting of the hare; New sports I hold in scorn. I like to be as my fathers were, In the days ere I was born."

"The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,"

"March has its hares, and May must have its heroine."

"Each outcry of the hunted Hare A fibre from the Brain does tear"

"Old Tiney, the surliest of his kind! Who, nursed with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined, Was still a wild Jack hare."

"And, as an hare whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return—and die at home at last."

"... The foodless wilds Pour forth their brown inhabitants; the hare, Though timorous of heart, and hard beset By death in various forms, dark snares, and dogs, And more unpitying men, the garden seeks, Urged on by fearless want. ..."

"Then list’ning hares forsake the rustling woods, And, starting at the frequent noise, escape To the rough stubble and the rushy fen."

"Betwixt two ridges of ploughed land sat Wat, Whose body, pressed to th’earth, lay close and squat. His nose upon his two fore-feet close lies, Glaring obliquely with his great grey eyes. His head he always sets against the wind; If turn his tail, his hairs blow up behind And make him to get cold, but he, being wise, Doth keep his coat still down, so warm he lies."

"And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles How he outruns the winds, and with what care He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles: The many musits through the which he goes Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, To stop the loud pursuers in their yell, And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer; Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:For there his smell with others being mingled, The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies, As if another chase were in the skies.By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still: Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; And now his grief may be compared well To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way; Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never reliev’d by any."

"As Phœbus would have spoken more, away Penæis stale With fearefull steppes, and left him in the midst of all his tale. And as she ran the meeting windes hir garments backewarde blue, So that hir naked skinne apearde behinde hir as she flue, Hir goodly yellowe golden haire that hangèd loose and slacke, With every puffe of ayre did wave and tosse behinde hir backe. Hir running made hir seeme more fayre, the youthfull God therefore Coulde not abyde to waste his wordes in dalyance any more. But as his love advysèd him he gan to mende his pace, And with the better foote before, the fleeing Nymph to chace. And even as when the greedie Grewnde doth course the sielie Hare, Amiddes the plaine and champion fielde without all covert bare, Both twaine of them doe straine themselves and lay on footemanship, Who may best runne with all his force the tother to outstrip, The t’one for safetie of his lyfe, the tother for his pray, The Grewnde aye prest with open mouth to beare the Hare away, Thrusts forth his snoute and gyrdeth out and at hir loynes doth snatch, As though he would at everie stride betweene his teeth hir latch: Againe in doubt of being caught the Hare aye shrinking slips Upon the sodaine from his Jawes, and from betweene his lips: So farde Apollo and the Mayde: hope made Apollo swift, And feare did make the Mayden fleete devising how to shift."

"How fleeting are all human passions compared with the massive continuity of ducks."

"All along the backwater, Through the rushes tall, Ducks are a-dabbling, Up tails all!Ducks’ tails, drakes’ tails, Yellow feet a-quiver, Yellow bills all out of sight Busy in the river!Slushy green undergrowth Where the roach swim— Here we keep our larder, Cool and full and dim.Everyone for what he likes! We like to be Heads down, tails up, Dabbling free!High in the blue above Swifts whirl and call— We are down a-dabbling Up tails all!"

"And when at Night - Our good Day done – I guard My Master’s Head – ’Tis better than the Eider Duck’s Deep Pillow – to have shared –"

"The wild duck startles like a sudden thought"

"Soft as the wild-duck’s tender young, That float on Avon’s tide;"

"Women ben full of ragerie, Yet swinken not sans secresie. Thilke Moral shall ye understond, From schoole-boy’s Tale of fayre Irelond; Which to the Fennes hath him betake, To filche the grey Ducke fro the Lake. Right then there passen by the way His Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway. Ducke in his trowses hath he hent, Not to be spied of ladies gent. ‘But ho! our Nephew,’ crieth one; ‘Ho!’ quoth another, ‘Cozen John;’ And stoppen, and lough, and callen out— This sely Clerke full low doth lout: They asken that, and talken this, ‘Lo, here is Coz, and here is Miss.’ But, as he glozeth with speeches soote, The Ducke sore tickleth his Erse-roote: Fore-piece and buttons all-to-brest, Forth thrust a white neck and red crest. ‘Te-hee,’ cried ladies; clerkes nought spake; Miss stared, and grey Ducke crieth ‘quaake.’ ‘O Moder, Moder!’ quoth the Daughter, ‘Be thilke same thing Maids longen a’ter? Bette is to pine on coals and chalke, Then trust on Mon whose yerde can talke.’"