Puss In Boots Quotes

Why did I follow her? If you must know, Sir, it was easy. Pound for pound, Puss-in-Boots was the best commander I ever served under.

My nose is Gargantuan! You little Pig-snout, you tiny Monkey-Nostrils, you virtually invisible Pekinese-Puss, don't you realize that a nose like mine is both scepter and orb, a monument to me superiority? A great nose is the banner of a great man, a generous heart, a towering spirit, an expansive soul--such as I unmistakably am, and such as you dare not to dream of being, with your bilious weasel's eyes and no nose to keep them apart! With your face as lacking in all distinction--as lacking, I say, in interest, as lacking in pride, in imagination, in honesty, in lyricism--in a word, as lacking in nose as that other offensively bland expanse at the opposite end of your cringing spine--which I now remove from my sight by stringent application of my boot!

Here you complain about your boring life, yet when a talking cat drops into your lap, you seek to silence it!

You aren’t really praising me, are you? You’re just admiring your own decisions,

I thought all pubescent humans dreamed of becoming heroes with songs sung about them.

I fall to the toilette of my hinder parts, my favourite stance when contemplating the ways of the world.

I despise most people,” Gabrielle announced as she walked down the worn dirt road, the morning sun slicing through the sky.

The difference between good luck and bad luck is what separates successful adventurers from dead ones

What does it say about me that my dearest friend is a cat?” I whisper as I begin to drift. “It says you have the very best taste in companions.

Okay, time to get serious. I let my smile fade slowly and lowered my pitch, as no human woman could have. “I’m not joking this time. If I see it, it’s mine, and you won’t get it back at the end of the school year.” I growled, deep and long, savoring the feel of the vibrations in my throat, as if the sound alone could save me. It wasn’t quite a cat’s growl but it was damn close. And it was his last warning. Miguel dismissed my threat with an easy smile, and my stomach clenched. Oh, yeah, Faythe. You have Puss shaking in his boots, all right.

So may all your wives, if you need them, be rich and pretty; and all your husbands, if you want them, be young and virile; and all your cats as wily, perspicacious and resourceful as: Puss-in-Boots!

Goldilocks: Who told you this? Puss in Boots: I know a siamese who dated a tabby who sells royal secrets in exchange for sardines. Goldilocks: You expect me to believe someone who commits treason for fish?

There are risks associated with loving another, but just as it takes commoners extraordinary courage to live their lives, it takes courage to love another person. I happen to be of the opinion that the risk is worth it.

Puss hopped down from the couch and rummaged in Mark’s closet until he found a black leather belt. This he looped along his shoulder, around his waist, and then clasped together. “I’m off to make war, so that you may have love.

Well, what’s all this now?’ exclaimed Woland. ‘Why have you gilded your whiskers? And what the devil do you need the bow-tie for, when you’re not even wearing trousers?’ ‘A cat is not supposed to wear trousers, Messire,’ the cat replied with great dignity. ‘You’re not going to tell me to wear boots, too, are you? Puss-in-Boots exists only in fairy tales, Messire. But have you ever seen anyone at a ball without a bow-tie? I do not intend to put myself in a ridiculous situation and risk being chucked out! Everyone adorns himself with what he can. You may consider what I’ve said as referring to the

Puss in Boots: Sorry, Goldie. We know you love doing the solo thing, but you've got friends now! Deal with it! Goldilocks: I don't know what to say. Puss in Boots: What's wrong? This cat got your tongue? Goldilocks: He's got my gratitude, too.

She hasn't been back since, and we have a young per diem substitute who had taught shoes in a vocational high school on her last job. Though her license is English, she had been called to the Shoe Department, where she traced the history of shoes from Cinderella and Puss in Boots through Galsworthy and modern advertising. "Best shoe lesson they ever had," she told me cheerfully. "Until a cop came in, dangling handcuffs: 'Lady, that kid I gotta have.'" To her, Calvin Coolidge is Paradise.

Puss wore boots so that he would gain more respect, but everywhere he went people just said, “Omigod, look at that adorable kitty in boots!

She shook her head and swung into the saddle. “Forward,” she declared. “To death and doom—hopefully not ours.

The young man was even more astonished by the cleverness and audacity of his cat.

I'm going to refrain from hitting you for being such a dunce, Your Highness.

Hardly think does not mean you absolutely know.

You mistake trust for inaction

An attitude such as mine can only be taught, not inherited.

Differences are neither bad nor good but something to realize and embrace.

Fine, bring them along if you must. And my name is not puss. I have a very fine, revered name: Roland Archibald Whisperpaws the Fifth.

And you accuse me of having a large ego? There is a phrase about a pot and a kettle that I feel would be quite appropriate here, if only there were a kettle worthy of being compared to the likes of me.

We’re about to attack a fearsome creature who has ruined Carabas and is responsible for the sudden outpouring of cooperation found in the goblins, and the placement of the candy cottage witch, and your foremost concern is that he keeps his drawers on?” Gabrielle hissed. “You haven’t seen a naked ogre, or you wouldn’t be judging me for my worry.

I missed you so much it hurt.” “Did it make you regret loving me?” Gabrielle asked, her voice small. This was, after all, what Steffen had feared when she first met him. Steffen laughed before choking off the sound. “Never,” he said. “It made me realize how much I need you. You are my sense of adventure, my gentleness, and my haven. Without you…I-I can’t put the country before you.” “You can, and we will. Being the king and queen is a calling we must fulfill. It isn’t fair to the people if we make all our decisions based on our personal whims,” Gabrielle said. “I’m starting to think you’re my intelligence, too,” Steffen muttered. Gabrielle laughed. “Well, we knew that already.

love not mattering to you?” “I want to marry you.” “What?” “If you’ll have me. I’m aware I will need to grovel for a few months to make up for it.” “Yes,” Gabrielle agreed. Puss increased his pace a bit, but still affected an air of disinterest. “But,” Steffen sidled up to her. This time Gabrielle didn’t pull back when he caressed her cheek. “I can promise to be devoted to you, to love you not because of your appearance—even though you are the most beautiful woman I have set eyes upon—but because you’re you. I promise to adore you, and treasure you, to buy you new swords and plum rolls until you are sick of them, and to get along with that cat of yours. I’m not the hero you are, but I’ll do everything in my power to support you. And if I’m left behind, I will be every bit as heartbroken as my father, but I will still be grateful that I had you for a time.

speed in which he shifts nearly stops my heart. One moment I’m talking to him, the next a gigantic feline prowls over the long dining room table, batting plates aside and growling as he stalks toward me. Scooting my chair back, properly terrified, I quickly say, “Apparently I was wrong.” The lion still appears as if he’s going to attack. “A lion is impressive, yes, but what about an elephant?” I continue. “Can you change into a beast that large? Surely not.” With a loud crack and flying wood, the table collapses as the lion morphs into a creature so gigantic, there is scarcely room for him. Dishes, settings, and candelabras fly this way and that. The elephant holds a huge foot over me. “Are you impressed yet, Carabas?” “Quite,” I squeak and then clear my throat. “But, now that I think of it, it’s only natural that a large creature such as yourself can change into other large creatures. Not that difficult, really.” Slowly, the ogre-elephant lowers his foot, looking as if he’s about to gore me with his tusks. Standing, hoping to put a little distance between me and the beast, I add, “But to change into something tiny, something insignificant—now that would be a feat.” “Like what, Carabas?” the ogre glares at me with foreign eyes. “A rabbit? A grouse?” I shrug. “Certainly, but what about something as tiny as…a mouse? That would be quite impossible, would it not?” And just like that, the elephant is gone, vanished before my very eyes. I frantically look for him in the broken plates, splintered table, and mess of molten wax on the floor. Before I even spot the rodent the ogre shifted into, Puss leaps into the middle of the mess, pouncing with outstretched paws and a greedy look in his bright green eyes. A tiny gray tail disappears into the cat’s mouth, and that is my very last glimpse of the ogre. I stare at Puss with disbelief. The world slows, and the steady thrum of the grandfather clock in the corner is the only thing that tells me that time hasn’t actually stopped. “It

She just had to be careful and clever and brave. She could be Puss in Boots; she could be Jack the Giant-Killer. She knew all the rules. Her father had taught her when she was just a girl, and her father knew everything about the forest.

What does it say about me that my dearest friend is a cat?” I whisper as I begin to drift. “It says you have the very best taste in companions.” Finally,

Much of the negation poisoning the democratic process has stemmed from a confusion of the personal and the statistical. I may hold down an excellent job, but the failure of the stimulus to meet its targets infuriates me. I may live in peaceful Vienna, Virginia, safe from harm—but a report that several Americans have died violently in Kabul appears like a fatal failure of authority. By dwelling on the plane of gross statistics, I become vulnerable to grandiose personal illusions: that if I compel the government to move in this direction or that, I can save the Constitution, say, or the earth, or stop the war, or end poverty now. Though my personal sphere overflows with potentiality, I join the mutinous public and demand the abolition of the established order. This type of moral and political displacement is nothing new. The best character in the best novel by Dickens, to my taste, is Mrs. Jellyby of Bleak House, who spent long days working to improve “the natives of Borrioboola-Gha, on the left bank of the Niger,” while, in her London home, her small children ran wild and neglected. Dickens termed this “telescopic philanthropy”—the trampling of the personal sphere for the sake of a heroic illusion. Mrs. Jellyby, sitting in quite a nest of waste paper, drank coffee all the evening and dictated at intervals to her eldest daughter. She also held a discussion with Mr. Quale, the subject of which seemed to be—if I understood it—the brotherhood of humanity, and gave utterance to some beautiful sentiments. I was not so attentive an auditor as I might have wished to be, however, for Peepy and the other children came flocking about Ada and me in a corner of the drawing-room to ask for another story; so we sat down among them and told them in whispers “Puss in Boots” and I don’t know what else until Mrs. Jellyby, accidentally remembering them, sent them to bed.3 The revolt of the public has had a telescopic and Jellybyan aspect to it. Though they never descended to details, insurgents assumed that, by symbolic gestures and sheer force of desire, they could refashion the complex systems of democracy and capitalism into a personalized utopia. Instead, unknowingly, they crossed into N. N. Taleb’s wild “Extremistan,” where “we are subjected to the tyranny of the singular, the accidental, the unseen, and the unpredicted.” In that unstable country, “you should always be suspicious of the knowledge you derive from data.”4 I can’t command a complex social system like the United States, but I can control my political expectations of it: I can choose to align them with reality. To seize this alternative, I must redirect the demands I make on the world from the telescopic to the personal, because actionable reality resides in the personal sphere. I can do something about losing my job, for example, but I have no clue what could or should be done about the unemployment rate. I know directly whether a law affects my business for better or worse, but I have no idea of its effect on the gross domestic product. I can assist a friend in need, but I have little influence over the natives of Borrioboola-Gha, on the left bank of the Niger. Control, however tenuous, and satisfaction, however fleeting, can only be found in the personal sphere, not in telescopic numbers reported by government. A

A kiss,” he said. “Kiss!” The idea of it bounced around in her brain and grabbed on to parts of her she didn’t want to acknowledge. He shoveled the bite into his mouth, leaving a pitiable amount in the bowl. One bite to be exact. Her bite. He licked his lips and she stifled a whimper. “Just let me have it.” She tried giving him her best Puss in Boots expression. “I’m the one fearing for my life, here.” He remained unfazed. “Sorry, Cupcake. Kiss for the rest.” He tipped the bowl slightly. “That’s the deal.

Next to her a calico cat puffed away at a hubble-bubble. Puss’s watch cost more than his vest, and his vest cost more than his boots, and his boots cost more than a house. If you stripped him naked and sold off his costume, you’d walk away with enough money to retire—though if you left him alive you wouldn’t have long to enjoy it. The only thing that could rival Puss’s vanity was his sadism.

I once saw a so-called "children's pantomime," the straight story of Puss-in-Boots, with even the metamorphosis of the ogre into a mouse. Had this been mechanically successful it would have either terrified the spectators or else have been just a turn of high-class conjuring. As it was, though done with some ingenuity of lighting, disbelief had not so much to be suspended as hanged, drawn, and quartered.

Trey was resolved that he wasn’t going on that thing. Until she tugged his head down to hers and whined, “Please?” She even pouted her bottom lip. The transformation reminded him of when Puss In Boots from the Shrek movies went from trained killer to helpless kitten. And, just for good measure, she ground against his cock, which was still semihard from having watched her on the rodeo bull. “You’re dangerous.” Wearing a self-satisfied smile, she kissed him smack on the lips. “I knew you’d do me proud.

Lo mas fuerte, legenda vivente,

phone, twisted it out of her hand, and slammed it on the hook. “I cry good, don’t I?” she asked with a grin, and she was out the door.   “Davenport, Davenport,” Daniel moaned. He gripped handfuls of hair on the side of his head as he watched Jennifer finish the broadcast. “ . . . called by some the smartest man in the department, told me personally that he did not believe that Smithe is guilty of the spectacular murders and that he fears the premature arrest could destroy Smithe’s burgeoning career with the welfare department . . .” “Burgeoning career? TV people shouldn’t be allowed to use big words,” Lucas muttered. “So now what?” Daniel asked angrily. “How in the hell could you do this?” “I didn’t know I was,” Lucas said mildly. “I thought we were having a personal conversation.” “I told you that your dick was going to get you in trouble with that woman,” Daniel said. “What the hell am I going to tell Lester? He’s been out there in front of the cameras making his case and you’re talking to this puss behind his back. You cut his legs out from under him. He’ll be after your head.” “Tell him you’re suspending me. What’s bad? Two weeks? Then I’ll appeal to the civil-service board. Even if the board okays the suspension, it’ll be months from now. We should be able to put it off until this thing is settled, one way or another.” “Okay. That might do it.” Daniel nodded and then laughed unpleasantly, shaking his head. “Christ, I’m glad that wasn’t me getting grilled. You better get out of here before Lester arrives or we’ll be busting him for assault.”   At two o’clock in the morning the telephone rang. Lucas looked up from the drawing table where he was working on Everwhen, reached over, and picked it up. “Hello?” “Still mad?” Jennifer asked. “ You bitch. Daniel’s suspending me. I’m giving interviews to everybody except you guys, you can go suck—” “Nasty, nasty—” He slammed the receiver back on the hook. A moment later the phone rang again. He watched it like a cobra, then picked it up, unable to resist. “I’m coming over,” she said, and hung up. Lucas reached for it, to call her, to tell her not to come, but stopped with his hand on the receiver.   Jennifer wore a black leather jacket, jeans, black boots, and driving

A cat is not supposed to wear trousers, Messire," the cat replied with great dignity. "You're not going to tell me to wear boots, too, are you? Puss-in-Boots exists only in fairy tales, Messire. But have you ever seen anyone at a ball without a bow-tie? I do not intend to put myself in a ridiculous situation and risk being chucked out! Everyone adorns himself with what he can. You may consider what I've said as referring to the opera glasses as well, Messire!