Curiosity Killed The Cat Quotes

Ignorance killed the cat; curiosity was framed!

Curiosity killed the cat,” Fesgao remarked, his dark eyes unreadable. Aly rolled her eyes. Why did everyone say that to her? “People always forget the rest of the saying,” she complained. “‘And satisfaction brought it back.

If curiosity killed the cat, it was satisfaction that brought it back.

Curiosity killed the cat, and satisfaction brought it back.

Curiosity killed the cat, but for a while I was a suspect.

Curiosity is the very basis of education and if you tell me that curiosity killed the cat, I say only the cat died nobly.

They say God never gives us more than we can handle, but sometimes I think God has overestimated what I can take.

Knowledge is Power. Ignorance is Bliss. But curiosity—even if it had killed the cat—is king.

Not enough info makes for a lot of dead cats." "Dead cats?" "You know, 'Curiosity killed the cat.' And I have enough curiosity to start a feline genocide." "Feline genocide?" "Yeah. If you don't explain Apollo, the cat kingdom will crumble. Cats all over the world will suddenly plop down in unmoving masses of fur, their food will dry up in smelly chunks of fish, and when people call, 'Here, kitty kitty kitty,' no cats will come running; they'll just-" Walter suddenly stopped. "What's wrong?" Ashley asked. Walter stared straight ahead. "I just realized . . . if all those things happened, no one would notice the difference." ~Walter~

And didn't they say that, although curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought the beast back?

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it saved my ass.

Curiosity never killed this cat’ — that’s what I’d like as my epitaph

They say curiosity killed the cat but I am unconcerned. I am smarter, though slightly less evil, than any cat.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it was the sausage-maker who disposed of the body.

Well, we have a saying where we come from," said Louise. "Curiosity killed the cat." "And satisfaction brought him back," Been added.

Dikaios smacked Elam with his tail. "His curiosity wouldn't kill a sick kitten, much less a cat.

Curiosity killed the cat, you know, but satisfaction brought him back snap-ass happy.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but paranoia was what tied it up in a sack and buried it in wet concrete.

Curiosity did not kill the cat all by itself.

Of course curiosity killed the cat, and even if satisfaction supposedly brought it back, there's still that little problem with the man on the radio telling me more and more about some useless information.

Perfume companies ought to bottle the smell of crisp bacon. Forget pheromones. I’ll bet a woman with a little spot of bacon grease behind her ears would attract every male within a five-mile radius.

Haven't you ever heard curiosity killed the cat?''Keeley asked as she pulled onto Laura's street. ''Good thing I'm a dog then huh?''Talon answered dryly.

Human curiosity. Such a very interesting thing. Think of what we owe to it throughout history. It is said to be usually associated with the cat. Curiosity killed the cat. But I should say really that the Greeks were the inventors of curiosity.

Curiosity might have killed the cat, but little girls usually fared much better.

Curiosity killed the cat. But satisfaction revived her.

Being young is easy, you know, but it takes guts to be old.

I'm too fascinated to hide indoors or stay cooped up in our yard. Curiosity killed the cat, I know, but I try to land on my feet.

It may be that the strongest instinct of the human race, stronger than sex or hunger, is curiosity: the absolute need to know. It can and often does motivate a lifetime, it kills more than cats, and the prospect of satisfying it can be the most exciting of emotions.

The Latin word for sausage was botulus, from which English gets two words. One of them is the lovely botuliform, which means sausage-shaped and is a more useful word than you might think. The other word is botulism. Sausages may taste lovely, but it's usually best not to ask what's actually in them. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it was a sausage-maker who disposed of the body.

It has been said that nature does not know extinction. In effect, it knows only change: nothing ever truly disappears, for there is always something—some part, some particle, some formidable semblance—left behind. You can boil water into vapor, but it hasn’t disappeared. Curiosity killed the cat, but condensation brought it back.

Create hell and people will be impatient to get there, just out of curiosity

Remember, curiosity killed the cat." She was wrong of course. Curiosity could never kill this cat. But yes, a pair of beautiful brown eyes could.

I told him, 'You can start in the middle and kiss your way thirty-six inches to the right, and then you can go back to the middle and kiss your way thirty-six inches to the left. You can just kiss my big ass.

In some parts of the city, curiosity didn't just kill the cat, it threw it in the river with lead weights tied to its feet.

Cats are unpredictable as they don't know what they're going to do next until they make it happen through nosiness, invention, acrobatics, and sheer force of will.

She had found them lodgings in The Shades, an ancient part of the city whose inhabitants were largely nocturnal and never inquired about one another’s business because curiosity not only killed the cat but threw it in the river with weights tied to its feet.

Sausages may taste lovely, but it’s usually best not to ask what’s actually in them. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it was a sausage-maker who disposed of the body.

Curiosity did not kill the cat, but cultivated the kittens.

Any time you see a cat, the day automatically becomes 10% better.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but that doesn’t mean cats shouldn’t be curious.

I'm a sucker for curiosity's whims. Does that make me a cat person?

Curiosity killed the cat and the snooping seventeen-year-old girl.

Curiosity killed the cat.” He smiled over the rim of the glass. “Satisfaction brought it back.” She snuck her hand into his lap, her own smile quite lascivious. “Let’s get to work on that, shall we?

Curiosity did NOT kill the cat; conventionality did.

That in and of itself was scandalous, for any well brought up young woman was taught first and foremost that curiosity not only killed the cat, had she been a female feline, she had it coming.

Whatever are you making, Pa?” Laura asked, and he answered, “Wait and see.” He heated the tip of the poker red-hot in the stove, and carefully he burned black every alternate little square. “Curiosity killed a cat, Pa,” Laura said. “You look pretty healthy,” said Pa.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it was a sausage-maker who disposed of the body.

Curiosity might have killed some cats,but not this one. He's too tough. Blacksad. Intro by Steranko.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but ignorance will kill the fool.

Curiosity killed the cat. Trust me," he said, drawing out each word, "you don't want to find out what it could do to the pig.

A truly curious person is curious to know why curiosity killed the cat.

Ten minutes later, I chance a second look. They say curiosity killed the cat. I wonder what that cat was looking at, and was it as interesting as this?

(1) Curiosity killed the cat. (2) The World's Largest Ball of Twine is a curiosity. (3) Therefore the World's Largest Ball of Twine killed the cat.

They say curiosity killed the cat but I have rather always found it interesting

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

We are told — Curiosity killed the cat. The name of that cat was Ignorance.

I'm just curious." "Curiosity killed the cat." "Nonsense. I have never seen a cat killed by curiosity. Motorcars mostly.

Curiosity, after all, was what had driven mankind out from his isolated, unimportant world and across the gulf between the stars. It had also, he thoughtfully reminded himself, killed the figurative cat.

Curiosity killed the cat, but not before teaching her that honey bees are not sweet, tweeting birds are slow to react, mice can serve as both toys and food, big dogs like to snuggle, falling isn’t flying, cream drips from lazy cows, water should be avoided at all costs, baths don’t require getting wet, kindness and cruelty often fall from the same hand, and engines remain comfortably warm long after the motor dies.

Now I take care of animals. I go to their homes while their owners are away and feed them and groom them and play with them. They don't ask a lot of questions or expect much from me, and I don't have to interact with people any more than I choose to. At least most of the time.

Well, cats live as long as dogs,” he said, “mostly, anyway.” This was a lie, and he knew it. Cats lived violent lives and often died bloody deaths, always just below the usual range of human sight. Here was Church, dozing in the sun (or appearing to), Church who slept peacefully on his daughter’s bed every night, Church who had been so cute as a kitten, all tangled up in a ball of string. And yet Louis had seen him stalk a bird with a broken wing, his green eyes sparkling with curiosity and—yes, Louis would have sworn it—cold delight. He rarely killed what he stalked, but there had been one notable exception—a large rat, probably caught in the alley between their apartment house and the next. Church had really put the blocks to that baby. It had been so bloody and gore-flecked that Rachel, then in her sixth month with Gage, had had to run into the bathroom and vomit. Violent lives, violent deaths. A dog got them and ripped them open instead of just chasing them like the bumbling, easily fooled dogs in the TV cartoons, or another tom got them, or a poisoned bait, or a passing car. Cats were the gangsters of the animal world, living outside the law and often dying there. There were a great many of them who never grew old by the fire.

curiosity not only killed the cat but threw it in the river with weights tied to its feet.

Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I guess. Or because I’m the cat curiosity is scheduled to kill in approximately six hours.

Before curiosity kills it, the cat learns more of the world than a hundred uninquisitive dogs.

I sigh. He’s a curious one. You know what they say about curiosity. It killed the cat and everyone else. Wait, that’s me.

Though the curiosity was begging to kill the cat, Linus ignored it.

Fear of curiosity kills the cat ... slowly.

Why all this sudden interest in your father?” Mom asked. “Just curious.” “Well, you know what they say about curiosity,” Mom said. “It killed the cat.” “Nope,” Mom said. “It’s the sign of a powerful brain.” I smiled. “Who says that?” “Science.

I always see to the dogs first and leave the cats and the occasional birds and rabbits and hamsters for later. It isn't that I play favorites, it's just that dogs are needier than other pets. Leave a dog alone for very long and it'll start going a little nuts. Cats, on the other hand, try to give you the impression that they didn't even notice you were gone. "Oh, were you out?" they'll say, "I didn't notice." Then they'll raise their tails to show you their little puckered anuses and walk away.

I may not read tea leaves or palms, my lady, but it is easy enough to read faces. Yours is a questioning face, always looking for answers, always seeking the truth, for yourself and for others.” I smiled at her. “I think that is a very polite way of saying I am curious as a cat. And we all know what happened to the cat—curiosity killed her.” Rosalie took the last slice of cake onto her plate. “Yes, but you forget the most important thing about the little cat,” she said, giving me a wise nod. “She had eight lives left to live.

They had been in Ankh-Morpork for three days and Granny was beginning to enjoy herself, much to her surprise. She had found them lodgings in The Shades, an ancient part of the city whose inhabitants were largely nocturnal and never enquired about one another's business because curiosity not only killed the cat but threw it in the river with weights tied to its feet. The lodgings were on the top floor next to the well-guarded premises of a respectable dealer in stolen property because, as Granny had heard, good fences make good neighbours.

THE SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR BOULDER was born and raised in Twolegplace. He first encountered cats from the forest when Yellowpaw and Raggedpelt visited Twolegplace looking for Raggedpelt’s father. Even then, Boulder was full of curiosity about the mysterious wild cats. Later, he took part in a skirmish with ShadowClan cats after one of their patrols caught Twolegplace cats stealing prey. The ShadowClan warriors were victorious, and Boulder had nothing but admiration for the way they had fought: in particular, the fact that the Clan cats could have killed their rivals, but chose not to. He was intrigued by this warrior code that brought with it honor, dignity, and fiercely honed battle skills. With another Twolegplace rogue named Red, Boulder went to ShadowClan and asked Cedarstar to accept him as a warrior—and Cedarstar agreed.

Ballad" Oh dream, why do you do me this way? Again, with the digging, again with the digging up. Once more with the shovels. Once more, the shovels full of dirt. The vault lid. The prying. The damp boards. Mother beside me. Like she’s an old hat at this. Like all she’s got left is curiosity. Like curiosity didn’t kill the red cat. Such a sweet, gentle cat it was. Here we go again, dream. Mother, wearing her take-out-the-garbage coat. I haven’t seen that coat in years. The coat she wore to pick me up from school early. She appeared at the back of the classroom, early. Go with your mother, teacher said. Diane, you are excused. I was a little girl. Already a famous actress. I looked at the other kids. I acted lucky. Though everyone knows what an early pick-up means. An early pick-up, dream. What’s wrong, I asked my mother. It is early spring. Bright sunlight. The usual birds. Air, teetering between bearable and unbearable. Cold, but not cold enough to shiver. Still, dream, I shiver. You know, my mother said. Her long garbage coat flying. There was a wind, that day. A wind like a scurrying grandmother, dusting. Look inside yourself, my mother said. You know why I have come for you. And still I acted lucky. Lucky to be out. Lucky to be out in the cold world with my mother. I’m innocent, I wanted to say. A little white girl, trying out her innocence. A white lamb, born into a cold field. Frozen almost solid. Brought into the house. Warmed all night with hair dryers. Death? I said. Smiling. Lucky. We’re barely to the parking lot. Barely to the car ride home. But the classroom already feels like the distant past. Long ago, my classmates pitying me. Arriving at this car full of uncles. Were they wearing suits? Death such a formal occasion. My sister, angry-crying next to me. Me, encountering a fragment of evil in myself. Evilly wanting my mother to say it. What? I asked, smiling. My lamb on full display at the fair. He’s dead! my sister said. Hit me in the gut with her flute. Her flute case. Her rental flute. He’s dead! Our father. Our father, who we were not supposed to know had been dying. He’s dead! The flute gleaming in its red case. Here, my mother said at home. She’d poured us each a small glass of Pepsi We normally couldn’t afford Pepsi. Lucky, I acted. He’s no longer suffering, my mother said. Here, she said. Drink this. The little bubbles flew. They bit my tongue. My evil persisted. What is death? I asked. And now, dream, once more you bring me my answer. Dig, my mother says. Pry, she says. I don’t want to see, dream. The lid so damp it crumbles under my hands. The casket just a drawerful of bones. A drawerful. Just bones and teeth. That one tooth he had. Crooked like mine.

I'm glad to hear you got what you came for," he drawled slowly, trying to capture Brenna's undivided attention, "but actually it's a little hard to believe. You're still empty-handed." He motioned at her hands and the small satchel she carried. "Whatever you came for must be in there? Am I right?" Her eyes narrowed. "Mr. Rose, did anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?" He let go a laugh that spooked a flock of common yellowthroats from a fir tree along the road. They swooped into the sky and Brenna's lips curled up as she watched them fly away. She was softening... "Yes, they have, Mrs. Lane," he said. "They most surely have. But I've also been told that satisfaction brought it back. What about you?

Remind me again why I followed you out here?” Answer: Because curiosity killed the cat, Scarlett. You followed a good-looking stranger out into the dark and look where it got you – on the front porch, in the bitter cold. “Don’t beat yourself up about it – any one of those girls would have followed me out here, too.” Oh brother, he’s modest too? “And why do you suppose that is?” His broad shoulders shrug and damn, he must be freezing his ass off. “Captain of the baseball team. Handsome as fuck. Funny as hell.” “I don’t…wow. I don’t even know how to respond to that.” He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “It’s a lot to take in all at once.

You know how they say you are what you eat? And you know how they say curiosity killed the cat? Well, I eat a lot of pussy…

Curiosity, as the saying goes, killed the cat. And it has frequently proved lethal to nonfelines as well. And

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back.

curiosity killed the cat.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it also made her life more interesting. The simple fact is, something always kills the cat. It was actually quite wise of her to choose something stimulating to perform that invaluable service.

Curiosity killed some cats, but only after giving them a wonderful life.

They say curiosity killed the cat, but that was only the tenth time. During his other nine lives, the cat relished in the boons of his curiosity.

Oh, now you are resorting to extortion to satisfy your curiosity, are you? Have you not heard that ‘curiosity killed the cat’? Very apropos, do you not think?

We often conflate wonder with curiosity. Yes, both provide helpful antidotes to apathy, but in different ways. Wonder is personal in a way curiosity is not. You can be curious dispassionately. You can question dispassionately. You cannot wonder dispassionately. Curiosity is restive, always threatening to chase the next shiny object that pops into view. Not wonder. Wonder lingers. Wonder is curiosity reclined, feet up, drink in hand. Wonder never chased a shiny object. Wonder never killed a cat.

Curiosity has never killed anyone." "Pretty sure curiosity is a leading cause of death among cats.

Curiosity can not kill the cat.

Curiosity killed the cat, you know.” “But satisfaction brought it back.” I take a sip of my wine. “Everyone always forgets the second line of that adage.

What’s the old saying? Ah, I remember now. ‘Curiosity flayed the cat alive, ripped it apart limb from limb, and listened to it scream before it killed it.’ That’s the one.

Maybe curiosity did kill your cat. But it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on the neighbor's rottweiler just the same.

Curiosity killed the cat”. I had been one of those annoying children who constantly asked why after being told anything. It seemed that even as an adult I couldn’t let things go. I had to dig deeper. I had to find out why.

curiosity did not kill the cat

You know what they say about curiosity and cats. May not kill ya, but it’ll get ya inta a heap a trouble around here, too. Though trouble seems ta find you even when you ain’t lookin’ for it.

My headstone is apt to read “Cleary Neil. Curiosity kills another cat.

Curiosity killed the cat, she thought, turning over the phrase in her mind, a phrase from the old times, before the Ring, before the sky broke and war came to the world. "Satisfaction brought it back," she whispered. She had to know.

Curiosity might of killed the cat, but the cat has nine lives.

Curiosity killed the cat and satisfaction brought him back

curiosity. In August of 79 A.D., while commanding a fleet in the Bay of Naples, the Roman statesman and author witnessed a volcano erupting nearby and went ahsore to get a closer look. Bad move:he landed barely two miles from Pompeii, the eruption was that of Vesuvius, and within forty-eight hours the poisonous gases it spewed into the atmosphere had killed him'.

When sex was something godlike, Lust was the profane curiosity that killed many a straying cat. Now, having removed mystery, Lust is less a long-standing, overpowering yearning, more a sudden craving of the appetite. Less quest, more impulse buy.

I probably should have been running but I was transfixed out of curiosity. I was just hoping it wouldn't be the death of me. After all, I wasn't a cat and I only had one life, so if curiosity killed me... I was screwed.

More question. You know that curiosity killed the cat?