A Quote by Maria V. Snyder

I did what any good rat would do. I bit down on the guard's hand until I tasted blood. — © Maria V. Snyder
I did what any good rat would do. I bit down on the guard's hand until I tasted blood.
When I heard the idea of a Slayer wine, I tasted the wines they suggested for us. To be honest, I was a bit skeptical at first before I tasted it, but once I tried it, I thought, 'You know what? This is actually really good. A really fruity and round type of flavor for a red wine.' It's very flavorful and tasted awesome!
I've sat looking down into a volcano that could blow at any moment; I've helped catch a shark and several rattlesnakes; I let a tarantula walk across my hand, and I ate rat soup.
And is it not true that in like manner a leader of the people who, getting control of a docile mob, does not withhold his hand from the shedding of tribal blood, but by the customary unjust accusations brings a citizen into court and assassinates him, blotting out a human life, and with unhallowed tongue and lips that have tasted kindred blood, banishes and slays and hints at the abolition of debts and the partition of lands.
I played one year of competitive basketball, actually. I don't remember what grade I was in, maybe middle school or something. I was the point guard - I was the smallest one always. I did my best; I thought I did pretty good. I was always a little bit better at soccer, so I had to make the decision.
If any mention was made of homicide, madness, adultery, and intolerable tortures, we would let the church-bells ring louder, the church-organ swell its peal and drown the hideous sound. The sugar they raised was excellent: nobody tasted blood in it.
When I moved to New York to act I was no good at working restaurants - hosting, waiting, bussing, dishwashing - I wasn't good at any aspect. But I did have a guitar. So I would sing 'Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard,' but you would only hear the chorus because the train comes by every 30 seconds.
The person I used to watch growing up was Tony Bland. I just loved the way he played. He was a big guard, and I watched him a lot. He scored, he shared, he did a little bit of everything. I wanted to be a point guard, though it didn't work out that way.
When I moved to New York to act I was no good at working restaurants - hosting, waiting, bussing, dishwashing - I wasnt good at any aspect. But I did have a guitar. So I would sing Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard, but you would only hear the chorus because the train comes by every 30 seconds.
I don't like to have a strategy going into a fight. If he has a good right hand or a good kick or good submissions then I'll try to avoid that, but I like to be in a fight and I like to go into the fight. Even in jiu-jitsu I didn't think of pulling this guy into guard or take him down because I like to go into the fight and see what happens.
A rat called Possible New Strain was sitting under a spaghetti strainer held down with a pile of journalism textbooks, saying rude things in rat-speak.
I will dive on the floor for a loose ball. That's how I'm trained. I can guard a guard if I want to. That's just that price. I'm not gonna sit here and let you score on me. That's in my blood.
French wines may be said but to pickle meat in the stomach, but this is the wine that digests, and doth not only breed good blood, but it nutrifieth also, being a glutinous substantial liquor; of this wine, if of any other, may be verified that merry induction: That good wine makes good blood, good blood causeth good humors, good humors cause good thoughts, good thoughts bring forth good works, good works carry a man to heaven, ergo, good wine carrieth a man to heaven.
I tasted - careless - then - I did not know the Wine Came once a World - Did you? Oh, had you told me so - This Thirst would blister - easier - now
It used to be every single time you got the rebound, you handed it to the point guard, or you outlet it to the point guard, or everyone cleared, and you waited until the point guard brought the ball up the floor.
A rat is neither good nor evil. It does what a rat has to do.
The rat turned his glowing eyes on him, and Gregor was shocked by what he saw there. The intelligence, the deadliness, and, most surprisingly, the pain. This rat was not like Fangor and Shed. He was much more complicated and much more dangerous. For the first time in the Underland, Gregor felt completely out of his league. If he fought this rat, he wouldn't stand a change. He would lose. He would be dead.
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