Frog Birthday Quotes

You gave me a dead frog for my birthday! To remind you we all die and end up rotting underground eaten by maggots so we should enjoy our birthdays while we have them. I found it thoughtful.

I’m like a tree frog when it comes to birthdays. Basically, my thoughts on birthdays can be summed up in two words: tree and frog.

You gave me a dead frog for my birthday!” “To remind you we all die and end up rotting underground eaten by maggots so we should enjoy our birthdays while we have them. I found it thoughtful.

It was still raw and cold, but every now and then there would be a day, or an hour, or a moment, when the sun came out, and there was something different in the air: a sort of glimpsed fragrance, like when the kitchen door is opened for a second while the birthday cake is being baked. It was a smell of promise. The little brook bellowed hoarsely; there was a swelling at the joints of the twigs, and the first skunk cabbages appeared, brown cowls beside the brook. And at night, tinkling, jingling, gurgling, with high silvery notes, came the voices of the peepers. The dark was spangled with their voices.

Do you know I ate frog legs once?” Jonah asks. Uh-oh. “You what?” screams a horrified Frederic. “It’s true!” Jonah says, clearly not catching the stop talking look I’m shooting him. “We went to a French restaurant for our dad’s birthday and he ordered an appetizer of frog legs. Remember, Abby? We tried them! Both of us did!” “It was before I knew you,” I tell Frederic apologetically. “They tasted like chicken!” Jonah exclaims. He’s right. They did taste like chicken. “I think I’m going to throw up,” Frederic moans.

Alric looked at Reuben. “Is he telling the truth? I can have him ripped apart by dogs, you know. I love dogs. We use them to hunt, but they aren’t allowed to actually take down or eat their quarry. Always thought that was a shame, you know? I think they would appreciate the opportunity. It could be fun too. We could just let these fools run and bet on how far they can get before the dogs catch them.” “I bet Horace doesn’t make it to the gate,” Mauvin said; then all heads turned to Reuben. Ellison looked at him, too, his face frozen in a tense, wide-eyed stare. “I wasn’t aware of any threat from Squire Ellison, Your Highness,” Reuben replied. “Are you sure?” Alric pressed, and flicked a small yellow leaf off Ellison’s shoulder. “We don’t have to use the dogs.” He smiled and tilted his head toward the Pickerings. “They’d love to teach them a lesson, you know. In a way they’re a lot like hunting dogs—they never get the chance to kill anyone either. Ever since they reached their tenth birthday, no one has been stupid enough to challenge them.” “I was, Your Highness,” Reuben said. That got a laugh from the Pickerings and the prince, although Reuben didn’t know why. “Yes, you did, didn’t you?” “That’s why you’re our friend,” Mauvin explained. “He didn’t know who we were,” Fanen pointed out. “He had no idea about the skill of a Pickering blade.” “It wouldn’t have mattered,” Reuben said. His blood was still up from the fight, and his mouth ran away with him. “If I thought you were there to harm the princess, I would still have fought you.” A moment of silence followed this and Reuben watched as Alric smiled; then he glanced at Mauvin and they laughed again. “Tell me, Hilfred, how are you at catching frogs?