Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk Quotes

but all of a sudden they’re poets, right, like that’s all it takes — being in love.

When her muzzle grew more white than brown, the chipmunk forgot that she and the squirrel had had nothing to talk about. She forgot the definition of "jazz" as well and came to think of it as every beautiful thing she had ever failed to appreciate: the taste of warm rain; the smell of a baby; the din of a swollen river, rushing past her tree and onward to infinity.

Plenty of animals had pets, but few were more devoted than the mouse, who owned a baby corn snake—“A rescue snake, she’d be quick to inform you. This made it sound like he’d been snatched from the jaws of a raccoon, but what she’d really rescued him from was a life without her love. And what sort of a life would that have been?

Leeches are singing in my asshole.

But songbirds are trash," the chicken said, and the guinea hen laughed, saying, "Well, then, I guess we could all use a little more trash in our lives.

Story-telling is pivotal to our well-being, as are nonethnic jokes and riddles.

Neither of them had ever picked up a pen in their life, but all of a sudden they’re poets, right, like that’s all it takes—being in love.

Nothing irritated her more than these high-and-mighty vegetarians who ate meat sometimes and then decided that it didn’t really count.

Back off, world. It’s time for me to be good to me.

It was the stupidest thing the cat had ever heard of, an AA program in prison.

between the disfigurement and the muzzle, it's nearly impossible to catch what she's saying. Always, though, while tripping and stumbling to the music, she looks out into her audience and tells the story about her mother. Most people laugh and yell for her to lift her skirts, but every so often she'll spot someone weeping and swear they can understand her every word.

The hippo did, and I heard what sounded at first like a rabble, many voices talking over one another. Then I realized that they weren’t talking. “Let me get this straight,” the hippo said when I explained what was going on. “Leeches are singing inside my asshole.

You know how mice are—anything for a little affection.

Broke a nail clean off, and when it grew back it looked like a Brazil nut.

I attribute my wife's language to the fact that she's one-quarter spaniel. She says she's only an eighth, but, come on, the ears say it all. That and her mouth. (The Faithful Setter)

The child opened her beak even wider, and the stork let out a moan. “It really wouldn’t hurt you to take an interest in others,” she said. “I tell you I’m depressed, I tell you I feel cornered and lonely, and your response is ‘Fine. Now feed me,’ which is actually very insensitive of you. All mothers feel unconditional love for their children, but there’s a timer on it, all right. It doesn’t last forever, especially when you’re selfish.” The child closed her beak.

then I must have dropped off. It wasn’t much later that I awoke—the story of my life since my mate passed away. I get tired, wiped out, even, but can’t seem to sleep more than a few hours at a stretch. It’s such a weird time to be awake—noon. Spooky, really. There have been a few occasions when, tired of just standing there and hoping to fall back to sleep, I got up and flew around. The dining options were definitely interesting—lapdogs, ducklings, I even saw an iguana sunning himself on top of a Styrofoam cooler. But there was also a lot of traffic and noise. I never liked the world I saw during the day. Then I started hating the one I saw at night and wondered, What’s left? What changed things, albeit slowly, was learning. It’s like there’s a hole where my life used to be, and I’m filling it with information—about potatoes. About hot water heaters. Anything will do. These leeches, though. For the first time in memory, I was unable to sleep not because I was anxious but because I was excited. To live in a damp crowded asshole and sing—if these guys don’t know the secret to living, I don’t know who does.

Yeah, and piss is just like honey if you’re hungry enough.

Don't get me wrong, I wish them the best. I just don't feel the need to see them again.

As for the ewe, she was still in meditation, her eyes clamped shut, repeating the code of thieves and charlatans and those who are good to themselves the world over. "I have to do what I have to do", she said. "I have to do what I have to do".

It maybe wasn't the best story in the world, but, as the mouse had told him on more than one occasion, it wasn't the worst either.

The squirrel and the chipmunk had been dating for two weeks when they ran out of things to talk about.

the taste of warm rain; the smell of a baby; the din of a swollen river, rushing past her tree and onward to infinity.