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“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.”
Michael Robotham“The grotto itself comprises its own slick universe, and inside this universe spin countless galaxies: here, in the upturned half of a single mussel shell, lives a barnacle and a tiny spindle shell occupied by a still smaller hermit crab. And on the shell of the crab? A yet smaller barnacle. And on that barnacle?”
Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See“I watched her with the crab as she ignored all my admonitions that the poor crab just needed to be set free if he was to have any chance of surviving. And God showed up there on that beach to teach me a lesson. Nothing survives when it's being smothered. Life, real life, requires being free to move about in the great big ocean, not being cradled in little hot hands that will stifle independence and creativity. We can't keep our crabs (or our kids) in a bucket and expect them to go far in life.”
Melanie Shankle, Sparkly Green Earrings: Catching the Light at Every Turn“Now then, Mr. Crab," said the zebra, "here are the people I told you about; and they know more than you do, who live in a pool, and more than I do, who live in a forest. For they have been travelers all over the world, and know every part of it.""There's more of the world than Oz," declared the crab, in a stubborn voice."That is true," said Dorothy; "but I used to live in Kansas, in the United States, and I've been to California and to Australia--and so has Uncle Henry.""For my part," added the Shaggy Man, "I've been to Mexico and Boston and many other foreign countries.""And I," said the Wizard, "have been to Europe and Ireland.""So you see," continued the zebra, addressing the crab, "here are people of real consequence, who know what they are talking about.”
L. Frank Baum, The Emerald City of Oz“O.K. I'm running out of appetite. Let this swirl— a bit like Crab Nebula— do for now.”
Charles Olson“...be as fast as Usain Bolt, the winner is the winner, even if he crawls like a crab, his destiny is unshakable.”
Michael Bassey Johnson“One of the things I’ve learned about vision is people will grab it mentally or, have a crab mentality.”
Onyi Anyado“But I am greedy for life. I do too much of everything all the time. Suddenly one day my heart will fail. The Iron Crab will get me as it got my father. But I am not afraid of The Crab. At least I shall have died from an honourable disease. Perhaps they will put on my tombstone. 'This Man Died from Living Too Much'.”
Ian Fleming, From Russia With Love“Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping. All the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured dog that lives. My mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting. Why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father. No, this left shoe is my father. No, no, this left shoe is my mother. Nay, that cannot be so neither. Yes, it is so, it is so -- it hath the worser sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance on't! There 'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand. This hat is Nan, our maid. I am the dog. No, the dog is himself, and I am the dog -- O, the dog is me, and I am myself. Ay, so, so. Now come I to my father: 'Father, your blessing.' Now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping. Now should I kiss my father -- well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. O, that she could speak now like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her -- why, there 'tis: here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a word!”
William Shakespeare, The Two Gentlemen of Verona