欧宝娱乐

“Hermes smiled. "I knew a boy once ... oh, younger than you by far. A mere baby, really."
Here we go again, George said. Always talking about himself.
Quiet! Martha snapped. Do you want to get set on vibrate?
Hermes ignored them. "One night, when this boy's mother wasn't watching, he sneaked out of their cave and stole some cattle that belonged to Apollo."
"Did he get blasted to tiny pieces?" I asked.
"Hmm ... no. Actually, everything turned out quite well. To make up for his theft, the boy gave Apollo an instrument he'd invented-a lyre. Apollo was so enchanted with the music that he forgot all about being angry."
So what's the moral?"
"The moral?" Hermes asked. "Goodness, you act like it's a fable. It's a true story. Does truth have a moral?"
"Um ..."
"How about this: stealing is not always bad?"
"I don't think my mom would like that moral."
Rats are delicious, suggested George.
What does that have to do with the story? Martha demanded.
Nothing, George said. But I'm hungry.
"I've got it," Hermes said. "Young people don't always do what they're told, but if they can pull it off and do something wonderful, sometimes they escape punishment. How's that?”
― Rick Riordan, The Sea of Monsters

“OK," Josh said evenly, "I've seen men made of mud, I guess I can accept spying rats. Do they talk?" he wondered aloud.
Don't be ridiculous," Flamel snapped, "They're rats."
Josh really didn't think it was a ridiculous suggestion.”
― Michael Scott, The Alchemyst

“Well, hello, Peter,鈥� said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. 鈥淟ong time, no see.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

“Despite all my rage
I am still just a rat in the cage.”
― Billy Corgan

“There is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. The writer who has to go into the streets is a writer who does not know the streets. . . when you leave your typewriter you leave your machine gun and the rats come pouring through.”
― Charles Bukowski, Notes of a Dirty Old Man

“Flattery will get you nowhere. (In response to Wally George calling his band vile and evil.)”
― Nikolas Schreck

“Rats! There goes the bell... oh, how I hate lunch hours! I always have to eat alone because nobody likes me... Peanut butter again... I wish that little red haired girl would come over, and sit with me. Wouldn鈥檛 it be great if she鈥檇 walk over here, and say, 鈥淢ay I eat lunch with you, Charlie Brown?鈥� I鈥檇 give anything to talk with her... she鈥檇 never like me, though... I鈥檓 so blah and so stupid... she鈥檇 never like me... I wonder what would happen if I went over and tried to talk to her! Everyone would probably laugh... she鈥檇 probably be insulted someone as blah as I am tried to talk to her. I hate lunch hour... all it does is make me lonely... during class it doesn鈥檛 matter... I can鈥檛 even eat... Nothing tastes good... Rats! Nobody is ever going to like me... Lunch hour is the loneliest hour of the day!”
― Charles M. Schulz

“Hardly had the light been extinguished, when a peculiar trembling began
to affect the netting under which the three children lay.

It consisted of a multitude of dull scratches which produced a metallic
sound, as if claws and teeth were gnawing at the copper wire. This was
accompanied by all sorts of little piercing cries.

The little five-year-old boy, on hearing this hubbub overhead, and
chilled with terror, jogged his brother's elbow; but the elder brother
had already shut his peepers, as Gavroche had ordered. Then the little
one, who could no longer control his terror, questioned Gavroche, but in
a very low tone, and with bated breath:--

"Sir?"

"Hey?" said Gavroche, who had just closed his eyes.

"What is that?"

"It's the rats," replied Gavroche.

And he laid his head down on the mat again.

The rats, in fact, who swarmed by thousands in the carcass of the
elephant, and who were the living black spots which we have already
mentioned, had been held in awe by the flame of the candle, so long as
it had been lighted; but as soon as the cavern, which was the same
as their city, had returned to darkness, scenting what the good
story-teller Perrault calls "fresh meat," they had hurled themselves in
throngs on Gavroche's tent, had climbed to the top of it, and had begun
to bite the meshes as though seeking to pierce this new-fangled trap.

Still the little one could not sleep.

"Sir?" he began again.

"Hey?" said Gavroche.

"What are rats?"

"They are mice."

This explanation reassured the child a little. He had seen white mice in
the course of his life, and he was not afraid of them. Nevertheless, he
lifted up his voice once more.

"Sir?"

"Hey?" said Gavroche again.

"Why don't you have a cat?"

"I did have one," replied Gavroche, "I brought one here, but they ate
her."

This second explanation undid the work of the first, and the little
fellow began to tremble again.

The dialogue between him and Gavroche began again for the fourth time:--

"Monsieur?"

"Hey?"

"Who was it that was eaten?"

"The cat."

"And who ate the cat?"

"The rats."

"The mice?"

"Yes, the rats."

The child, in consternation, dismayed at the thought of mice which ate
cats, pursued:--

"Sir, would those mice eat us?"

"Wouldn't they just!" ejaculated Gavroche.

The child's terror had reached its climax. But Gavroche added:--

"Don't be afraid. They can't get in. And besides, I'm here! Here, catch
hold of my hand. Hold your tongue and shut your peepers!”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“But there was more to it than that. As the Amazing Maurice said, it was just a story about people and rats. And the difficult part of it was deciding who the people were, and who were the rats.”
― Terry Pratchett, The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents

“And the rats eat my face. So what.”
― Sarah Kane, Cleansed

“Humility is a virtue of the heavenly, not arrogance. Are we the most superior beast on earth? No, not in strength and not in intelligence. It is very arrogant to assume that we are the most intelligent species when we keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again. Both rats and monkeys have been shown to learn from error, yet we have not. More people have died in the name of religion than any other cause on earth. Is massacring God鈥檚 creations really serving God 鈥� or the devil? And what father would want to see his children constantly divided and fighting? What God would allow a single human life to be sacrificed for monetary gain? Again, the Creator or the devil?”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

“I will not join the rat race because I'm not a rat. And I will not blindly follow a specific faith because I'm not a bat. The only race I'll take part in is for humans being humane. It's called the human race, and sadly it's got the least participants.”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

“The rat gave birth. Six little ones...cute baby rats... None of them are like Hitler.”
― Yoshihiro Tatsumi, The Push Man and Other Stories

“If my love must be a rodent, then shall I be anything but a rat?”
― Lynne Jonell, Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat

“You want proof evolution is for real, don鈥檛 waste your time with fossils; just check out the New York City rat. They started out as immigrants, stowaways in some ship鈥檚 cargo hold. Only the survivors got to breed, and they鈥檝e been improving with every new
litter. Smarter, faster, stronger. Getting ready to rule. Manhattan wouldn鈥檛 be the 铿乺st island they took over.”
― Andrew Vachss, Another Life

“The rats we met the size of small dogs and they watched us go by like they'd figured out that what People were for was feeding rats.”
― Sarah Monette, The Virtu

“What sort of gods make rats and plagues and dwarfs?”
― George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons

“I should mention, by the way, that LVR stands for Luminal Velocity Regulator. I suppose it could also stand for Large Venezeulan Rats, but in this case it does not.”
― Cuthbert Soup, Another Whole Nother Story

“There is the title of one book In Underground One Can Meet Only Rats. And I'd re-phrase, In Cosmos One Can Meet Only Mutants, besides, rats are mutants too there, in cosmos, therefore, I'd rather walk on the ground.”
― Lara Biyuts, The Sunless Parlour

“Tokyo, Los Angeles, and Santiago de Chile sit on the ring of fire. Tehran, far away from the ring still suffers the same fate. Earthquake-prone, the city has learned to adapt. The city, stacked with apartments on top of one another, looks like a box of Lego. Tight alleyways, covered with buildings, stretch all the way to the foot of the mountains. The folks in Tehran don鈥檛 want to even imagine what chaos will ensue if a major earthquake strikes. The most frightening phenomenon though isn鈥檛 the rubble and building blocks crumbling down. None of that scares the people. What concerns them is if the mother of all earthquakes pays a visit, the biggest threat will be rats. Tehran鈥檚 underground has a burgeoning 鈥渞atopolis.鈥� To every living human being in the city, there are three rats to match every living soul. And if the city collapses, three rats are enough to ravage through human flesh in a matter of days. So the urban myth goes. Even if bodies can be rescued from the rubble there鈥檒l likely be carcasses left behind.”
― Soroosh Shahrivar, Tajrish

“They exist without permission. They are hated, hunted and persecuted. They live in quiet desperation amongst the filth. And yet they are capable of bringing entire civilisations to their knees.

If you are dirty, insignificant and unloved then rats are the ultimate role model.”
― Banksy, Wall and Piece

“I really was a rat, pale and red-eyed, scrabbling at the walls of my maze with feeble pink tinged claws”
― Leigh Bardugo, Ruin and Rising

“You know what I would love right about now?'

'For there to be no talk of giant, people-eating rats?”
― Jennifer L. Armentrout, From Blood and Ash

“If you somehow believe that you can sort out the 鈥榬at鈥檚 nest' without removing the rats, you鈥檝e denied the need of an exterminator and explained the state of the culture.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“Un rato 茅 unha cousa que se move,
unha cousa que vive nos sobrados
e ten un coraz贸n pequerrechi帽o
e dous ollos de vidro sempre acesos.
Unha cousa que vai furando as tebras,
xurde correndo, pasa, fuxe, l铆scase.
Un rato 茅 unha cousa que est谩 viva
un intre s贸, despois non 茅 nada,
sombra nas sombras mestas dos buratos.
A noite 茅 un burato sen orelas
pra os homes, tristes ratos sin acougo.
Un home 茅 unha cousa que cavila,
cismando sempre, sempre amargurado,
fuxindo de outras cousas que rebulen,
revolvendo papeis,
decote rebulindo,
sempre con presas, atafegado sempre,
cami帽a, chouta, avanta nos buratos,
nos sobrados do mundo,
nas estradas da vida,
nas pedras,
no vento,
nas r煤as,
nos seos das mulleres.
Un rato 茅 unha cousa que se move.
Esc贸itame Walt Disney 驴Onde estabas
que os meus so帽os de pombas non te viron
cando o meu coraz贸n inda era neno
e hab铆a carabeles nos meus ollos?”
― Celso Emilio Ferreiro, O So帽o Sulagado

“Mutilated rats scurried through the hall, darting between and over my Converses. They rushed toward a dead cat, which dragged its eyeball-less face across the laminate floor. Its phlegmy meow was drowned out by the wet squeaks of the dead rats as they swarmed it like a nest of ants. In a gruesome display of savagery, one of the larger rats ran off with the cat鈥檚 tail in its mouth while the others tore the rest of the body apart.”
― AW Rene

“I see people for the first time, I smell them for the first time, I am close to them for the first time. I hear the heavy thumping of human hearts. The sour scent of sweat fills the cellar.

Noisy, shapless, with legs that bend, with stiffly mounted round heads, they emit mumbling, hissing sounds.”
― Andrzej Zaniewski, Rat

“If mankind had remained as the most powerful kind of animal, but not killing one another, even progressing, becoming perhaps, as conscious of fine sounds and of the thoughts of others as we rats are, where would we be? If mankind had survived where would the rats be, where our thinking, our consideration for one another, our songs, our beauties? Could there have been room in the world for both?”
― Naomi Mitchison, A Girl Must Live: Stories and Poems

“And he has a pet rat he knocked all its teeth out feeds it on milk the rat is now very tame and affectionate.”
― William S. Burroughs, Exterminator!

“If your poison is as effective as you say it is, why are there any rats left in Venice at all?
Very simple! Venice doesn't use my poison. The city council always awards contracts to the lowest bidder, so I don't even bother submitting a bid. I'm prepared to make my contribution to humanity, but -- humanity must be willing to make a contribution to me.”
― John Berendt, The City of Falling Angels