The fangs of a bear, and the tusks of a wild boar, do not bite worse and make deeper gashes than a goose-quill sometimes; no, not even the badger himself, who is said to be so tenacious of his bite that he will not give over his hold till he feels his teeth meet and the bones crack.
When you had the fangs in, you wanted to be a little bit careful that you didn't actually pierce the jugular, kind of like my experience shaving Alan Rickman, which by the way neither of us want to do again, especially Alan.
I have one funny story - because we knew we don't have fangs. But I remember I told Billy (Tangradi) "Dude, where's your fangs?", and he was flipping out because then he would have to run back to the hair and make-up trailer, they would be like "You don't have fangs." and then he'd run back and I'm like, "Dude, where's your fangs," It was great. A little easy.
I have only ever read one book in my life, and that is White Fang. It's so frightfully good I've never bothered to read another.
Not all the monsters have fangs.
If at the cross every sin was covered, Satan's mouth is shut. He has no weapon. He can gum you but his fangs are gone.
Like pregnant women lose their teeth feeding the stranger, junkies lose their yellow fangs feeding the monkey.
Your fingernails are a joke, you've got no fangs, you can't see at night, your pink hides are ridiculous, your reflexes are nil, and you don't even have tails! Of course people aren't content! ... Now if tigers weren't content, that would be something to wonder about.
Endurance, after all, is the only reason we even exist. We think of ourselves as nature's deadliest animals, but the truth is, a naked human is the biggest wimp in the wild. We have no fangs, no claws, no strength, and no speed.
Whips and chains, handcuffs, smack a little body up with my belt. Scream, help play my game, dracula man, I'll get my fangs.
I had these fangs because I had jaundice when I was a kid and I was put on so many antibiotics that my teeth rotted. They had to cut them out. So I never had milk teeth. That was tough, you know, being in school having photos taken while I was pretending I had teeth. It was hideous.
Liu Fang is a truly gifted, world-famous player of the pipa and the guzheng, classical Chinese stringed instruments.
There are some things, but not too many, toward which the countryman knows he must be properly respectful if he would avoid pain, sickness and injury. Nature is neither punitive nor solicitous, but she has thorns and fangs as wells as bowers and grassy banks.
The Goddess is not separate from the world – She IS the world, and all things in it: moon, sun, earth, star, stone, seed, flowing river, wind, wave, leaf and branch, bud and blossom, fang and claw, woman and man.
These slender little people (Homo Habilis), the size of modern 12 year olds, were devoid of fangs and claws and almost certainly slower on foot than the four legged animals around them. They could have succeeded in their new way of life only by relying on tools and sophisticated cooperative behavior
I was not a lovable child, and I'd grown into a deeply unlovable adult. Draw a picture of my soul, and it'd be a scribble with fangs.
I mean there are a bunch of people who I’ve heard worship Adolf Hitler who don’t like me because I don’t think Jews have 14 inch fangs and drink blood and sneak around in bushes.
Writer George Orwell confessed he found something "deeply appealing" about Adolf Hitler. Where Martha Dodd was struck by Hitler's "weak, soft face," Orwell discerned "a pathetic dog-like face, the face of a man suffering under intolerable wrongs." All this is a reminder that psychopaths have been known to possess engaging qualities, and that Hitler was no less repellent for not sporting fangs.
I am walking over hot coals suspended over a deep pit at the bottom of which are a large number of vipers baring their fangs.
Everybody knows how lazy he is. One day the neighbors saw Fang mow the lawn and I got three Get Well cards.
I am going to be on 'True Blood.' It was really exciting. I had a great time shooting it. I spent the last nine months shooting this season and it was very secretive, very sexy, a lot of blood and fangs.
Fang’s hand gently smoothed my hair off my neck. My breath froze in my chest, and every sense seemed hyperalert. His hand stroked my hair again, so softly, and then trailed across my neck and shoulder and down my back, making me shiver. I looked up. “What the heck are you doing?” “Helping you change your mind,” he whispered, and then he leaned over, tilted my chin up, and kissed me.
We will destroy you,” the Flyboys droned. “You have no escape.” That was the most imaginative, threatening thing the whitecoats had programmed these ’droids to say? “Talk about lame,” Fang muttered.
There was something I needed to say. “Sorry. About before.” Fang shot a sideways glance at me, his eyes dark and inscrutable, as always. He looked back out at the water. I didn’t expect any more acknowledgment than that. Fang never- “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he said quietly. “When I saw you, and all that blood . . .” He threw a small rock as hard as he could down the beach. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t do it again,” he said. I swallowed hard. “I won’t.” Something changed right then, but I didn’t know what.
Whoa. Fangs. She had fangs. She leaned in, prodded them a little. Eating with those puppies was going to take some getting used to, she thought. On impulse, she brought up her hands, turned her fingers into claws. Hissed. Cool.
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