Squeaks And Nibbles Quotes

What the hell is wrong with me? And who is Nibbles? ~ John Corwin

high-pitched squeaks could only mean one thing: her brother Roman and his best friend Cash had arrived. ~ Cristin Harber

If one fish nibbles my toes I'm going to lose all testosterone and scream like a little girl in front of you. They won't will they? ~ Anne Eliot

After a while you may find that the nibbles you get are more interesting than your original purpose of fixing the machine. ~ Robert M. Pirsig

The wheel that squeaks gets the oil. ~ Tracey Emin

I love you, hugs & kisses, smoochies galore, licks, nibbles & assorted gropages!! -Aisling said to Drake ~ Katie MacAlister

I wanted to play saxophone, but all I could get were a few squeaks. ~ Stevie Ray Vaughan

Oh, that magical tongue and the things it does to me. He licks and sucks, sucks and nibbles and tongue fucks me like a champion. ~ Ella Dominguez

What's this? That little red-haired girl dropped her pencil ... Gee ... It's got teeth marks all over it ... She nibbles her pencil ... She's human! ~ Charles M. Schulz

Cancer is a kind of possession, too. And like a demon, before it claims you, it nibbles away at who you are, erases the face you have always presented to the world to show the unwanted thing inside. ~ Andrew Pyper

I want a steamy little Jewish Princess with over-worked gums, who squeaks when she cums. I don't want no troll, I just want a Yemenite hole. ~ Frank Zappa

Such pip-squeaks as Nixon and McCarthy are trying to get us so frightened of Communism that we'll be afraid to turn out the lights at night. ~ Helen Gahagan Douglas

The wheel that squeaks the loudest is the one that gets the grease. ~ Josh Billings

But when oxidation nibbles more slowly - more delicately, like a tortoise - at the world around us, without a flame, we call it rust and we sometimes scarcely notice as it goes about its business consuming everything from hairpins to whole civilizations. ~ Alan Bradley

Wise people choose battles carefully, the way a rat nibbles around a trap. What doesn't kill you doesn't always make you stronger. Sometimes, they leave you maimed, scarred and lacklustre. ~ Tolu' Akinyemi

She married him two years ago for love, or so she thought, and he's a good enough man but a devotee of household silence. His idea of marriage is to spray WD-40 on anything that squeaks ... The quiet only subsides when Harland sleeps and his tonsils make up for lost time. ~ Barbara Kingsolver

Some sounds are so exquisite - far more exquisite than anything seen. Daff's purr there on my rug, for instance - and the snap and crackle of the fire - and the squeaks and scrambles of mice that are having a jamboree behind the wainscot. ~ L.M. Montgomery

I was lonely. I felt it deeply and permanently, that this state of being on my own might never disappear. But I welcomed the lonliness, which had everything to do with being anonymous. It's never lonliness that nibbles away at a person's insides, but not having room inside themselves to be comfortably alone. ~ Rachel Sontag

The bear, he says, is many animals in one. Like a lion, he downs mammals much bigger than he; like any ruminant, he pillages crops; he steals grapes and fruit like a monkey; nibbles on berries like a blackbird; plunders anthills and beehives like a woodpecker; digs up tubers and larvae like a pig; and catches fish with the dexterity of an otter. And he eats honey like a man. ~ Paolo Rumiz

It was autumn, the springtime of death. Rain spattered the rotting leaves, and a wild wind wailed. Death was singing in the shower. Death was happy to be alive. The fetus bailed out without a parachute. It landed in the sideline Astroturf, so upsetting the cheerleaders that for the remained of the afternoon their rahs were more like squeaks. ~ Tom Robbins

You are so lying right now - holy shit!"
My voice is cold, harsh - for both our sakes.
"Ellie, I don't feel - "
"Do you like me, Logan?"
I swallow hard. "Not like that, no."
"That's a lie too!" she squeaks, completely delighted. "It's like a superpower! Is this how it feels to be you? ~ Emma Chase

If you didn't have a real good imagination you'd probably think those noises were the sounds of some kid blowing a horn for the first time, but I knew better than that. I could tell those were the squeaks and squawks of one door closing and another one opening. ~ Christopher Paul Curtis

When I get home after being away for work, my wife always stuffs the fridge with loads of what she calls 'nibbles' - all the great things you can eat straight from the fridge, like chunks of cheese, slices of ham, bowls of hummus. ~ Alfred Molina

I am always nervous about doing voice-over work. I'm always clammy and I worry, "What if my voice squeaks? What if I don't deliver it right?" Until you start saying the lines, it's always nerve-wracking, for some reason, and I've never gotten over that. ~ Christopher Mintz-Plasse

In the corridor outside, a trolley squeaks by. The brigadier I knew has left his bombed-out face, leaving me alone with the clock, shelves of handsome books nobody ever reads, and one certainty: that whatever I do with my life, however much power, wealth, experience, knowledge, or beauty I'll accrue, I, too, will end up like this vulnerable old man. When I look at Brigadier Reginald Philby, I'm looking down time's telescope at myself. ~ David Mitchell

When a man looks across a street, sees a pretty girl, and waves at her, that's not a rendezvous, that's a passing acquaintance. When he walks across the street and nibbles on her ear, that's a rendezvous! ~ Wally Schirra

Sleepy head," he whispers, slipping an arm around my waist, "you snore."
"Do not," I say in voice croaky from sleep.
He nibbles my earlobe. "It's cute."
"Middle-aged, overweight men snore. That's not cute."
He strokes my hip. "Everything you do's cute."
I love it when he talks like this. It means he has a softer, sweeter side. I hate it for the exact same reason. ~ Ashley Lynn Willis

In various states of undress, those about her joined in her fondling, lowering their mouths not only to her nipples but to her arms and legs, so that each limb was held captive about the wrist or ankle, and smothered in kisses and gentle nibbles. In this way, perhaps eight of the assembly joined in pleasuring the young lady, taking care to only deliver the sweetest of sensations.

The Gentlemen's Club ~ Emmanuelle De Maupassant

It thunders, howls, roars, hisses, whistles, blusters, hums, growls, rumbles, squeaks, groans, sings, crackles, cracks, rattles, flickers, clicks, snarls, tumbles, whimpers, whines, rustles, murmurs, crashes, clucks, to gurgle, tinkles, blows, snores, claps, to lisp, to cough, it boils, to scream, to weep, to sob, to croak, to stutter, to lisp, to coo, to breathe, to clash, to bleat, to neigh, to grumble, to scrape, to bubble. These words, and others like them, which express sounds are more than mere symbols: they are a kind of hieroglyphics for the ear. ~ Georg C. Lichtenberg

The old marchioness had him tracing down bed hangings and carpets for her. Send that. Be here. To her, all the world was a menial. If she wanted a lobster or a sturgeon, she ordered it up, and if she wanted good taste she ordered it in the same way. The marchioness would run her hand over Florentine silks, making little squeaks of pleasure. "You bought it, Master Cromwell," she would say. "And very beautiful it is. Your next task is to work out how we pay for it. ~ Hilary Mantel

This golden droid has been a friend, 'tis true,/ And yet I wish to still his prating tongue!/ An imp, he calleth me? I'll be reveng'd,/ And merry pranks aplenty I shall play/ Upon this pompous droid C-3PO!/ Yet not in language shall my pranks be done:/ Around both humans and droids I must/ Be seen to make such errant beeps and squeaks/ That they shall think me simple. Truly, though,/ Although with sounds obilque I speak to them, I clearly see how I shall play my part,/ And how a vast rebellion shall succeed/ by wit and wisdom of a simple droid. [R2-D2] ~ Ian Doescher

As filthy as any night was, a New York City morning is always clean. The eyes get washed.
Flowers in white deli buckets are replenished. The population bathes, in marble mausoleums of Upper East Side showers, or in Greenwich Village tubs, or in the sink of a Chinatown one-bedroom crammed with fifteen people. Some bar opens and the first song on the jukebox is Johnny Thunders, while bums pick up cigarette butts to see what's left to smoke. The smell of espresso and hot croissants. The weather vane squeaks in the sun. Pigeons are reborn out of the mouths of blue windows. ~ Jardine Libaire

I squinted through the big window, a portal to another world, trying to get a better view of the primal love scene before us. All I could see was a mass of wriggling fur and finger-like toes until my eyes focused in on one male and two females kissing, ear-tonguing and giving each other enthusiastic oral sex, punctuated with occasional somersaults, smacks and nibbles on fruit and leaves. Sometimes they interacted as a threesome. Other times, two would cavort together, while the third played with herself, alternating between fingering and using a red rubber ball as a kind of sex toy, rubbing and bouncing it vigorously against her large pink vulva. ~ Susan Block

She finds tales everywhere, in grains of sand she picks up from the garden, in puffs of smoke that drift out from the chimneys of the village, in fragments of smooth timber or glass in the jetsam. She will ask them, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?" And they will answer her in voices very like her own, but with new lilts and squeaks and splashes in them that show they are their own. ~ David Almond

You have heard, of course, of those tiny fish in the rivers of Brazil that attack the unwary swimmer by thousands and with swift little nibbles clean him up in a few minutes, leaving only an immaculate skeleton? Well, that's what their organization is. "Do you want a good clean life? Like everybody else?" You say yes, of course. How can one say no? "O.K. You'll be cleaned up. Here's a job, a family, and organized leisure activities." And the little teeth attack the flesh, right down to the bone. But I am unjust. I shouldn't say their organization. It is ours, after all: it's a question of which will clean up the other. ~ Albert Camus

You would have PTSD too if someone took a cattle prod to your dick." Tag's eyes widened. "Holy sit, Ten. I take back everything I've ever said about you. You're a motherfucking hero. You were abo to perform after that? Yeah, she tried to be quiet, but that bed squeaks. Seriously, every man alive should salute you. Can I see it?" "No you can't see it," Faith shot back. "What is wrong with you?"
"Why are we looking at junk? Has Ten finally come out of the closet?" Sean joined his brother. Tag shook his head. "Nah. Part of his torture was a cattle prod to the cock." "Whoa," Sean said. "Can I look?" "Told you. ~ Lexi Blake

I got used to birds: small black birds flying up from behind a building like God had tossed up a handful of currants, birds squalling in the parking lot of the grocery store (drowning the hum of industrial refrigerators), chachalacas -brown robed nuns to the spangled disco dancer peacocks - cackling in the dust of our yard. I got used to the chatters, squeaks, squalls, peeps, calls that sounded like bitter laughter, whistles, flutes, calls that sounded like souls ascending to heaven. I got used to dust and flatness, to sunsets like pink water pouring from the sky, flooding the earth with orange soda. I got used to wind: the hot, cruel wind of afternoon, the merciful magnolia breeze of night. I got used to it. But then I had to go. ~ Kathleen Founds

Back inside, his fire was crackling away. "okay." he actually rubbed his hands together. "Action." In two minutes, he'd pulled cushions and a couple throws from the two sofas and made a sort of nest in front of the fire. Then he grabbed his backpack. "Refreshments."
I half expected to see a bottle of wine or someting similar. Instead, he pulled out a thermos.Followed by a bag of marshmellows, a box of graham crackers, and, absolutely, enough Hershey's chocolate bars to feed a small army.
"S'mores!" I said happily.
"And cocoa.Sit." He waited until I was in the middle of the nest, then disappeared through a doorway. I heard a few squeaks and rattles. When he came back,he was carrying a tray, loaded with mugs,napkins, and real, three-pointed skewers.
"You're kidding," I teased when he handed me one. "You actually own s'mores implements."
"Roast,then laugh. ~ Melissa Jensen

Aren't there going to be any refreshments?" Tharamn interrupted. "I always think better with a little snack to keep me going."
"I'm with you there," said Grishmak. "Bring on the nibbles!"
"There aren't any!" Cressida snapped. "This is all far too important, and besides, once you lot start easting, it'll only turn into a party."
"Can't say I have a problem with that myself," said Tharaman. "What about you, Grishy?"
"None at all. Bit of food and fun helps the boring bits along, in my opinion. Let's call a chamberlain and order some grub."
"No!" Cressida insisted. "We all need to concentrate, and I for one find it difficult to think one you and Tharaman start cracking bones and spitting out gristle."
"I never spit out gristle!" said Tharaman in miffed tones. "A terrible wast of protein. It just needs a little extra chewing, that's all."
Thirrin had watched the exchange in silence, but now she sat forward in her chair. "Actually I wouldn't mind a sandwich myself."
Cressida looked at her thunderously. ~ Stuart Hill

But why did she come back and take her card away?" asked Miss Mackintosh. "I told Florence that Miss Mapp had heard something dreadful about her. And how did she know that Lady Deal was coming here at all? The house was taken in my name."

"That's just what we all long to find out," said Diva eagerly. "She said that somebody in London told her."

"But who?" asked Miss Mackintosh. "Florence only settled to come at lunch time that day, and she told her butler to ring up Susie and say she would be arriving."

Diva's eyes grew round and bright with inductive reasoning.

"I believe we're on the right tack," she said. "Could she have received Lady Deal's butler's message, do you think? What's your number?"

"Tilling 76," said Miss Mackintosh.

Evie gave three ecstatic little squeaks.

"Oh, that's it, that's it!" she said. "Elizabeth Mapp is Tilling 67. So careless of them, but all quite plain. And she did hear it from somebody in London. Quite true, and so dreadfully false and misleading, and so like her. Isn't it, Diva? Well, it does serve her right to be found out."

Miss Mackintosh was evidently a true Tillingite.

"How marvellous!" she said. ~ E.F. Benson

Americans are Americans and everyone else is sorry. Half the time we don't even know what we're sorry about, it just squeaks out of our sorry gaps before we've even clues into the conversation. Well, I'm sorry YOU'RE all so sorry. You have to know when to be sorry. You can't really be sorry for something you don't want to remember, can you? Selective memory, isn't it? Let's be honest, hell, you can't even apologize for the shit you did yesterday never mind fifty years ago. Indian residential schools, Japanese internment camps, hell, and this is just in your neighborhood. But it's all right... everybody's sorry these days. The politicians are sorry, the cops are sorry, the priests are sorry, the logging companies are sorry, mining companies, electric companies, water companies, wife beaters, serial rapists, child molesters, mommy and daddy. Everybody's sorry. Everybody's sorry they got caught sticking it to someone else... that's what they are sorry about... getting caught. They could give a rat's ass about you, or me, or the people they are saying sorry to. Think about it... Don't be a sorry ass, be sorry before you have to say you are sorry. Be sorry for even thinking about, bringing about something sorry-filled. And the next time someone says, "There is one law for everyone." Say, "I'm sorry, you're an idiot." Just kidding, now that was harsh. ~ Marie Clements

One of my favourite stories is about an old woman and her husband – a man mean as Mondays, who scared her with the violence of his temper and the shifting nature of his whims. She was only able to keep him satisfied with her unparalleled cooking, to which he was a complete captive. One day, he bought her a fat liver to cook for him, and she did, using herbs and broth. But the smell of her own artistry overtook her, and a few nibbles became a few bites, and soon the liver was gone. She had no money with which to purchase a second one, and she was terrified of her husband's reaction should he discover that his meal was gone. So she crept to the church next door, where a woman had been recently laid to rest. She approached the shrouded figure, then cut into it with a pair of kitchen shears and stole the liver from her corpse.

That night, the woman's husband dabbed his lips with a napkin and declared the meal the finest he'd ever eaten. When they went to sleep, the old woman heard the front door open, and a thin wail wafted through the rooms. Who has my liver? Whooooo has my liver?

The old woman could hear the voice coming closer and closer to the bedroom. There was a hush as the door swung open. The dead woman posed her query again.

The old woman flung the blanket off her husband.

– He has it! She declared triumphantly.

Then she saw the face of the dead woman, and recognized her own mouth and eyes. She looked down at her abd ~ Carmen Maria Machado

Imagine you live on a planet where the dominant species is far more intellectually sophisticated than human beings but often keeps humans as companion animals. They are called the Gorns. They communicate with each other via a complex combination of telepathy, eye movements & high-pitched squeaks, all completely unintelligible & unlearnable by humans, whose brains are prepared for verbal language acquisition only.

Humans sometimes learn the meaning of individual sounds by repeated association with things of relevance to them. The Gorns & humans bond strongly but there are many Gorn rules that humans must try to assimilate with limited information & usually high stakes. You are one of the lucky humans who lives with the Gorns in their dwelling. Many other humans are chained to small cabanas in the yard or kept in outdoor pens of varying size. They are so socially starved they cannot control their emotions when a Gorn goes near them. The Gorns agree that they could never be House-Humans.

The dwelling you share with your Gorn family is filled with water-filled porcelain bowls.Every time you try to urinate in one,nearby Gorn attack you. You learn to only use the toilet when there are no Gorns present. Sometimes they come home & stuff your head down the toilet for no apparent reason. You hate this & start sucking up to the Gorns when they come home to try & stave this off but they view this as evidence of your guilt. You are also ~ Jean Donaldson

Her hands brushed Shane's, and he let go of the cards and took hold.

And then somehow she was in his lap, and he was kissing her. Hadn't meant to do that but...well. She couldn't exactly be sorry about it, because he tasted amazing, and his lips were so soft and his hands were so strong...

He leaned back, eyes half shut, and he was smiling. Shane didn't smile all that much, and it always left her breathless and tingling. There was a secrecy about it like he only ever smiled at her, and it just felt... perfect. 'Claire, you're being careful right?' He smoothed hair back from her face. 'Seriously. You'd tell me if you got into trouble?'

'No trouble,' She lied, thinking about Monica's not-so veiled threats, and that glimpse of Shane's dad seated across from Oliver in the coffee shop.'No trouble at all.'

'Good.' He kissed her again, then moved down her jawline to her neck, and, wow neck nibbles took her breath away. She closed her eyes and buried her fingers in his warm hair, trying to tell him through every touch how much she liked this, like him, loved...

Her eyes came open, fast.

She did not just think about that.

Shane's warm hands moved up her sides, thumbs grazing the sides of her breasts again, and he traced his fingers across the thin skin of her collarbone...down to where the neck of her T-shirt stopped him. Teasing. Pulling it down an inch, then two.

And then, maddeningly, he let go ~ Rachel Caine

Can you please also give me instructions for dancing?"

"Excuse me?"

"I need instructions for dancing. Like how do I move my body to music in front of other people? Break it down. Step by step."

"Seriously? Dancing isn't one of those things that come with instructions. It's not like putting together Ikea furniture."

"Please help me."

"Well, first of all, this is not the sort of music that will be playing." She motions to the pianist, who is bald and bearded, which I've always found to be a bizarre combination. You would think you would want cranial and mandibular hair consistency.

"No Ravel's Bolero. Got it."

"No classical music, period. They'll probably just play all the crap that's on the radio."

"I amend my original request. I need instructions for dancing to noise."

"You just move your body to the beat. Feel the music." Miney puts her arms up and sways to sounds I do not hear. She closes her eyes, leans on the tips of her toes, and jumps. After approximately ninety seconds, she stops and looks at me. "Your turn."

"I don't think so." Miney doesn't respond. She just waits.

"Fine." I copy her, jump up and down, though I don't actually jump down, which is a misnomer. I let gravity do its job. My sneakers make discordant squeaks along the marble floor.

"No. Stop. You look like you're having a seizure. Think of dancing like having a conversation but ~ Julie Buxbaum

As I turn the corner, I hear Peter calling out, "Wait! Wait! Sir!" He's following a security guard who is approaching a red backpack on the floor.
The security guard bends down and picks it up. "Is this yours?" he demands.
"Uh, yeah--"
"Why did you leave it on the ground?" He unzips the backpack and pulls out a teddy bear.
Peter's eyes dart around. "Can you put that back inside? It's for a promposal for my girlfriend. It's supposed to be a surprise."
The security guard is shaking his head. He mutters to himself and starts looking in the backpack again.
"Sir, please just squeeze the bear."
"I'm not squeezing the bear," the security guard tells him.
Peter reaches out and squeezes the teddy bear and the bear squeaks out, "Will you go to prom with me, Lara Jean?"
I clap my hands to my mouth in delight.
Sternly the security guard says, "You're in New York City, kid. You can't just leave a backpack on the ground for your proposal."
"It's actually called a promposal," Peter corrects, and the security guard gives him a look. "Sorry. Can I just have the bear back?" He spots me then. "Tell him Sleepless in Seattle is your favorite movie, Lara Jean!"
I rush over. "Sir, it's my favorite movie. Please don't kick him out."
The security guard is trying not to smile. "I wasn't going to kick him out," he says to me. To Peter he says, "Just be more aware next time. In New York, we're vigilant. If we see something, we say somethi ~ Jenny Han

To my complete and utter surprise, the writing on his door is gone.
Vanished.
"What happened?" I ask.
It takes him a second before he realizes what I'm asking. "I washed it off," he explains.
"You what?"
"I wasn't going to, but I didn't want the super to give me a hard time. Plus, I thought it might freak out some of my neighbors. You have to admit, death threats on doors can be pretty offensive, generally speaking. Not to mention the sheer fact that it made me look like a total asshole - like some old girlfriend was trying to get even."
"Did you take pictures at least?"
"Actually, no." He cringes. "That probably would've been a good idea."
"But Tray saw the writing, right?"
"Um . . ." He nibbles his lip, clearly reading my angst.
"You told me he was with you last night. You said you called him."
"I tried, but he didn't pick up, and I didn't want you to worry."
"So, you lied?" I snap.
"I didn't want you to worry," he repeats. "Please, don't be upset."
"How can I not be? We're talking about your life here. You can't go erasing evidence off your door. And you can't be lying to me, either. How am I supposed to help you if you don't tell me the truth?"
"Why are you helping me?" he asks, taking a step closer. "I mean, I'm grateful and all, and you know I love spending time with you, be it death-threat missions or pizza and a movie. It's just . . . what do you get out of it? What's this sudden interest in my ~ Laurie Faria Stolarz