Best 26 quotes in «crabs quotes» category

As the sea-crab swimmeth always against the stream, so doth wit always against wisdom.

Being from Baltimore, I'm a crab cake snob, and I'm very particular on where I eat my crab cakes.

A work of art is an act of love. Critics are crab lice.

But I love to feel events overlapping each other, crawling over one another like wet crabs in a basket

Michelle [ Pfeiffer] was perfect as Miss Baltimore Crabs.

I got body lice in Germany! I'd tell you they were crabs, but I wasn't getting laid.

I've always wanted to be a giant space crab.

My favorite Dominican dish to indulge in is anything with crab.

People have a crab mentality, man. They're walking sideways.

New England oysters are better than Chesapeake. But Chesapeake blue crabs are unbeatable.

Religion must always be a crab fruit; it cannot be grafted, and keep its wild beauty.

You cannot make a crab walk straight.

There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are going, when they seem going they come: diplomats, women, and crabs.

There is an animal inside me, clutching fast to my heart, a huge crab.

We spent a lot of time on the beach when I was young so I'd also take pictures of seaweed and crabs.

O.K. I'm running out of appetite. Let this swirl- a bit like Crab Nebula- do for now.

The highest treason a crab can commit is to make a leap for the rim of the bucket.

You are very fortunate to be assigned to duty at Fortress Monroe on Chesapeake Bay; it is just the season for soft shelled crabs, and hog fish have just come in, and they are the most delicious panfish you ever ate.

You cannot teach a crab to walk straight.

Fish in another man's pond and you will catch crabs.

You can keep a bunch of crabs in a shallow container, and none of them will escape. Because as soon as one of 'em tries to climb out, the others pull him back in." -Hardy

Doc was collecting marine animals in the Great Tide Pool on the tip of the Peninsula. It is a fabulous place: when the tide is in, a wave-churned basin, creamy with foam, whipped by the combers that roll in from the whistling buoy on the reef. But when the tide goes out the little water world becomes quiet and lovely. The sea is very clear and the bottom becomes fantastic with hurrying, fighting, feeding, breeding animals. Crabs rush from frond to frond of the waving algae. Starfish squat over mussels and limpets, attach their million little suckers and then slowly lift with incredible power until the prey is broken from the rock. And then the starfish stomach comes out and envelops its food. Orange and speckled and fluted nudibranchs slide gracefully over the rocks, their skirts waving like the dresses of Spanish dancers. And black eels poke their heads out of crevices and wait for prey. The snapping shrimps with their trigger claws pop loudly. The lovely, colored world is glassed over. Hermit crabs like frantic children scamper on the bottom sand. And now one, finding an empty snail shell he likes better than his own, creeps out, exposing his soft body to the enemy for a moment, and then pops into the new shell. A wave breaks over the barrier, and churns the glassy water for a moment and mixes bubbles into the pool, and then it clears and is tranquil and lovely and murderous again. Here a crab tears a leg from his brother. The anemones expand like soft and brilliant flowers, inviting any tired and perplexed animal to lie for a moment in their arms, and when some small crab or little tide-pool Johnnie accepts the green and purple invitation, the petals whip in, the stinging cells shoot tiny narcotic needles into the prey and it grows weak and perhaps sleepy while the searing caustic digestive acids melt its body down. Then the creeping murderer, the octopus, steals out, slowly, softly, moving like a gray mist, pretending now to be a bit of weed, now a rock, now a lump of decaying meat while its evil goat eyes watch coldly. It oozes and flows toward a feeding crab, and as it comes close its yellow eyes burn and its body turns rosy with the pulsing color of anticipation and rage. Then suddenly it runs lightly on the tips of its arms, as ferociously as a charging cat. It leaps savagely on the crab, there is a puff of black fluid, and the struggling mass is obscured in the sepia cloud while the octopus murders the crab. On the exposed rocks out of water, the barnacles bubble behind their closed doors and the limpets dry out. And down to the rocks come the black flies to eat anything they can find. The sharp smell of iodine from the algae, and the lime smell of calcareous bodies and the smell of powerful protean, smell of sperm and ova fill the air. On the exposed rocks the starfish emit semen and eggs from between their rays. The smells of life and richness, of death and digestion, of decay and birth, burden the air. And salt spray blows in from the barrier where the ocean waits for its rising-tide strength to permit it back into the Great Tide Pool again. And on the reef the whistling buoy bellows like a sad and patient bull.

Who's going to rob us? A crackhead crab? A jellyfish junkie?

She reached down and picked a crab out of a bucket. As it came up it turned out that three more were hanging on to it. "A crab necklace?" giggled Juliet. "Oh, that's crabs for you," said Verity, disentangling the ones who had hitched a ride. "thick as planks, the log of them. That's why you can keep them in a bucket wihtout a lid. Any that tries to get out gets pulled back. yes, as thick as planks.

I once had a patient who was convinced that his head was full of sea water and a crab lived inside. When I asked him what happened to his brain he told me that aliens had sucked it out with a drinking straw. "It is better this way," he insisted. "Now there's more room for the crab.

Now, when I'm deciding which ingredients to put together, I like to think about the central element in the dish. What flavors would it want? So I want you to think about crabs. Close your eyes. What comes to mind?" Claire obediently lowered her eyelids, feeling her lashes brush against her skin. She thought of the fine hairs on the sides of a crab's body, the way they moved in the water. She thought of the sharp edges of claws moving their way across the wavy sand bed of the sea, of water so pervasive it was air as well as liquid. "Salt," she said aloud, surprising herself. "Good, now keep going," Lillian prompted. "What might we do to contrast or bring out the flavor?" "Garlic," added Carl, "maybe some red pepper flakes." "And butter," said Chloe, "lots of butter.