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“In fiction, I exercise my nosiness. I am as curious as my cats, and indeed that has led to trouble often enough and used up several of my nine lives. I am an avid listener. I am fascinated by other people's lives, the choices they make and how that works out through time, what they have done and left undone, what they tell me and what they keep secret and silent, what they lie about and what they confess, what they are proud of and what shames them, what they hope for and what they fear. The source of my fiction is the desire to understand people and their choices through time.”
Marge Piercy“You don't have to look for trouble. It will find you. And when that happens"--Luna disappeared, but her voice continued--"keep up that great spirit and make a plan, because nine lives is just a state of mind.”
Chris Kurtz, The Adventures of a South Pole Pig: A novel of snow and courage“A woman hath nine lives like a cat.”
John B. Heywood, The Proverbs of John Heywood. Being the "Proverbes" of That Author Printed 1546“Cats may have nine lives, but pigs . . . don't . . . give . . . up.”
Chris Kurtz, The Adventures of a South Pole Pig: A novel of snow and courage“You scared the life out of me.""Good thing cats have nine lives, then," she teased.”
Carrie Ann Ryan, Prowled Darkness“It has been die providence of nature to give this creature nine lives instead of one.”
Pilpay“Dewey sent him, I thought, when I saw those eyes.”
Vicki Myron, Dewey's Nine Lives: The Legacy of the Small-Town Library Cat Who Inspired Millions“Cascando"why not merely the despaired ofoccasion ofwordshedis it not better abort than be barrenthe hours after you are gone are so leadenthey will always start dragging too soonthe grapples clawing blindly the bed of wantbringing up the bones the old lovessockets filled once with eyes like yoursall always is it better too soon than neverthe black want splashing their facessaying again nine days never floated the lovednor nine monthsnor nine livessaying againif you do not teach me I shall not learnsaying again there is a lasteven of last timeslast times of begginglast times of lovingof knowing not knowing pretendinga last even of last times of sayingif you do not love me I shall not be lovedif I do not love you I shall not lovethe churn of stale words in the heart againlove love love thud of the old plungerpestling the unalterablewhey of wordsterrified againof not lovingof loving and not youof being loved and not by youof knowing not knowing pretendingpretendingI and all the others that will love youif they love youunless they love you”
Samuel Beckett