King Cobra Quotes

The chronic kicker, even the most violent critic, will frequently soften and be subdued in the presence of a patient, sympathetic listener— a listener who will be silent while the irate fault-finder dilates like a king cobra and spews the poison out of his system.

Never Forget. A country is it's people.- King Nefertari Cobra

Lately, I’ve been feeling betrayed by names: the king cobra isn’t a cobra, the electric eel isn’t an eel, and it turns out my anger was fear all along.

Stalone: "I heard another rumor that you were bitten by a king cobra." Chuck Norris: "Yeah. But after five days of agonizing pain, the cobra died.

There are many dangerous serpents in India-the cobra, the boa, the python, water snakes, vipers, king cobras, and even some that fly.” That didn’t sound good at all. “What do you mean fly?” “Well, technically, they don’t really fly. They just glide to other trees, like the flying squirrel.” I sank lower in my seat and frowned. “What an exceptional variety of poisonous reptiles you have here.

The librarian, whom I had never seen before, presided over the library like a watchdog, one of those poor dogs who are deliberately made vicious by being chained up and given little to eat; ot better, like the old, toothless cobra, pale because of centuries of darkness, who guards the king's treasure in the Jungle Book. Paglietta, poor woman, was little less than a lusus naturae: she was small, without breasts or hips, waxen, wilted, and monstrously myopic; she wore glasses so thick and concave that, looking at her head-on, her eyes, light blue, almost white, seemed very far away, stuck at the back of her cranium. She gave the impression of never having been young, although she was certainly not more than thirty, and of having been born there, in the shadows, in that vague odor of mildew and stale air.

Find a person who is as successful as you'd like to be, ask them what to do, do it and work hard.

She sat there all afternoon in her hot maiden’s bedroom, thinking and dreaming in the dark circle which the splinter spread around her, a darkness which was like the hood of a cobra.

Be still, O little one, for I am Death. Another cobra had said that, in something else by Kipling. The cobras in his stories were heartless but they spoke beautifully, like wicked kings in the Old Testament.

The Matrix sent their agents. They know Tristan and Andrew Tate are the kings of the internet and they are very afraid. Remember Top G predicted this.

it had been like watching Emma Peel, Bruce Lee, and a particularly vicious tornado, all rolled into one and sprinkled with a generous helping of a mongoose killing a king cobra.

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it had been like watching Emma Peel, Bruce Lee, and a particularly vicious tornado, all rolled into one and sprinkled with a generous helping of footage he had once seen on a wildlife program of a mongoose killing a king cobra

The men in King Cobra have already worked through whatever issues they might have had about their sexuality, and they have other problems to deal with, and there’s an actual plot that isn’t about being gay—it’s just a crime drama.

It is an age lurching along the lip of a dark precipice, peeking fearfully into chaos's empty eyes, enrapt, like a giddy rat trying to stare down a hungry cobra. The gods are restless, tossing and turning and wakening in snippets to conspire at mischief. Their bastard offspring, the hundred million spirits of rock and brook and tree, of place and time and emotion, find old constraints are rotting. The Postern of Fate stands ajar. The world faces an age of fear, of conflict, of grand sorcery, of great change, and of greater despair amongst mortal men. And the cliffs of ice creep forward. Great kings walk the earth. They cannot help but collide. Great ideas sweep back and forth aross the face of a habitable world that is shrinking. Those cannot help but fire hatred and fear amongst adherents of dogmas and doctrines under increasing pressure. As always, those who do the world's work most dearly pay the price of the world's pain.

Your diet shouldn’t have a name or be something you can tweet about using the # sign.  If you, in your chronic dieting ways must name it, it should be your first name, followed by an apostrophe s, and the word “Diet.”  So for example, what I eat is referred to as “Matt’s Diet.”  If your name is Jean Claude Van Damme, then what you eat is called “Jean Claude’s Diet,” and probably consists mostly of metal chards and King Cobra filets.  If your name is Shooter McGavin, then you probably eat pieces of shit like Happy Gilmore for breakfast.

The teeming sexuality of King Cobra—and the business of gay masculine desire, the filming and selling and buying of it—is what gives the movie, for some of us, an urgent claim on our attention, a cinematic charge. Gay men as superficial capitalists driven to crime seemed to me, in that moment, a more progressive step in post-gay cinema than yet another anguished-victim scenario. Your white approval of Moonlight was supposed to make you feel virtuous. And while it’s nice to feel virtuous, it’s worth considering whether feeling virtuous and being virtuous are actually the same thing.

Richard was thunderstruck: it had been like watching Emma Peel, Bruce Lee, and a particularly vicious tornado, all rolled into one and sprinkled with a generous helping of footage he had once seen on a wildlife program of a mongoose killing a king cobra. That was how she had moved. That was how she had fought.

I thought, Sir," Jane said to the King Cobra, "that lions and birds, and tigers and little animals are natural enemies." "You are right. But not on the Birthday," said the King Cobra. "Tonight the small are free from the great and the great protect the small. Even I can meet a Goose without any thought2 of dinner.

Never make a wishbone where your backbone ought to be. Sometimes we must leave things as we find them. And we should recognize that a fact is only a fact because all our wishing cannot make it otherwise.

What he’d done was forbidden. It broke the Jinni code. But I had no proof; it was a woman’s word against a king’s. His Gift might be weak compared to a full-blooded Jinni, but I stared at him now the way I would eye a cobra. He was deadly. Unpredictable.

Holly has been a movie buff all her life and has found things to enjoy even in films the critics have roasted (she believes, for example, that Stallone’s Cobra is woefully underestimated), but It’s a Wonderful Life has always made her uneasy. She can relate to George Bailey at the beginning of the film, but by the end he strikes her as someone with a serious bipolar condition who’s arrived at the manic part of his cycle. She has even wondered if, after the movie ends, he creeps out of bed and murders his whole family.

She herself was of the opinion that there would have been no need for a wish consultant if grammar had been taught properly in schools, so that mundanes could be trained to mean exactly what they said. Not wishing to be rude to her guest, however, she kept this opinion to herself.

I work harder than every single person I know, and the only person that is on the same level as me is my brother. If you look at the top social media stars, it's me and him. I think that's our advantage. We're not the prettiest; we're not even the funniest, we're not the wittiest, whatever it is.

He visited the weavers and tailors with his brother, choosing garments with cuffs of feathers and exquisite embroidery, with collars as sharp as the points of his ears, and fabrics as soft as the tuft of his tail- a tail he tucked away, for it showed too much of what he schooled his face to hide. A poisonous flower displays its bright colours, a cobra flares its hood; predators ought not to shrink from extravagance. And that was what he was being polished and punished in to being.

The sky is a dark bowl, the stars die and fall. The celestial bows quiver, the bones of the earthgods shake and planets come to a halt when they sight the king in all his power, the god who feeds on his father and eats his mother. The king is such a tower of wisdom even his mother can't discern his name. His glory is in the sky, his strength lies in the horizon like that of his father the sungod Atum who conceived him. Atum conceived the king, but the dead king has greater dominion. His vital spirits surround him, his qualities lie below his feet, he is cloaked in gods and cobras coil on his forehead. His guiding snakes decorate his brow and peer into souls, ready to spit fire against his enemies. The king's head is on his torso. He is the bull of the sky who charges and vanquishes all. He lives on the stuff of the gods, he feeds on their limbs and entrails, even when they have bloated their bodies with magic at Nesisi, the island of fire. He cooks the leftover gods into a bone soup. Their souls belong to him and their shadows as well. In his pyramid among those who live on the earth of Egypt, the dead king ascends and appears forever and forever.

For decades, Haast has been immunizing himself to elapid (like cobras, kraits and coral snakes) venom by regularly injecting a very dilute cocktail of venoms. The process is called mithridatization after King Mithridates VI of ancient Turkey who was apparently the first to try it.

She paused when her gaze lit on a wall of bookshelves filled with computer games. Above it hung a screen nearly four feet wide with a pair of control sticks mounted beneath it. “All right,” she teased, “now I know what you really do all day.” Some of the darkness faded from his features and the muscles across his shoulders relaxed. “Actually, I do spend part of my day playing games. Right now, I’m giving Inner Dimensions some feedback on a game called King Cobra.” Her eyes lit up. “Can we play it?” He shook his head. “No way. Not today. I promised to show you the country and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He opened the office door and waited for her to walk out. Charity glanced wistfully over her shoulder at the gigantic game board. “Okay, but I’m not letting you off the hook. It isn’t like there’s all that much to do up here. One of these nights, we’ll have to play.” Call’s expression changed and the blue of his eyes seemed to glow. “Yeah,” he said, “one of these nights we’ll definitely have to play.” Charity’s stomach contracted. She didn’t think he was talking about computer games.

The elapids as a group are dangerous animals. They include the most terrifying of all snakes, the king cobra (Ophiophagus hannah). This species fully deserves its regal status. It is easily the biggest of all venomous snakes, reaching a length of 5.5 metres. It is thought to be among the most intelligent of all reptiles. If threatened it rears up almost to the height of a man, spreads its neck into a hood and growls loudly. It is the only snake to make a nest of leaves for its eggs. This it will actively defend against intruders of all kinds, including elephants which it can kill with a bite on their trunk. And its main food is other snakes-pythons, rat snakes and even other lesser cobras.

The most elaborate way of delivering venom has been evolved by yet another family of snakes, the vipers. These include, as well as several different species of viper, such feared creatures as the bushmaster, the fer-de-lance, puff adders and rattlesnakes. The fangs of a king cobra are little more than a centimetre in length. The Gaboon viper (Bitis gabonica), by contrast, which is less than a third of the king cobra’s size, has fangs four times longer. They are so big that if they were fixed in their sockets the snake would be unable to shut its mouth. But they have hinges at their base so that they can fold back and lie, each sheathed in a scabbard of mucous membranes, along the roof of the mouth. Furthermore, a viper can control every element in the movement of its fangs. It can open its mouth until its gape is effectively 180 degrees wide and not even erect its fangs. It can also bite without discharging any venom. And it can bring each fang forwards separately or together. The fangs themselves are shed every six to ten weeks and replaced with new ones that appear alongside the old.

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The Ophiophagus Elaps or King-Cobra is the fiercest and most venomous of all the serpent kind.

Mike stood in the yard. TCT leaned against his ankle, a king cobra dangling from his mouth. "Looks like your kitty got himself a baby garter snake. They're all over the place. He's going to love it here.

My humbleness ranks among the greatest in the world.

From the door, I glance back at the dragon cobra lying dead at the sultan’s feet and wonder what the snake did wrong besides being exactly as the gods intended.

Instead of sniffing that you are dying when you aren’t, look on the bright side—it was a scorpion and not a cobra. And now you know that in Africa, you can’t just pee however and wherever you want and go unpunished. There are sanitary facilities everywhere.

You are—” she straightens “—really thick-headed.” I consider her words and decide she’s right. My skull is rather thick. The cartilage of my cowl is heavy. “I am,” I agree.