Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Culls. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Culls Quotes And Sayings by 89 Authors including Charles Bukowski,Jonathan Swift,Mark Twain,Bathsua Makin,Truman Capote for you to enjoy and share.
Cunt and Kant and a happy home
Walls have tongues, and hedges ears.
A wanton waste of projectiles.
These men of Law and their confederates ... the caterpillars of this Kingdom, who with their uncontrolled exactions and extortions, eat up the free-born people of this Nation.
Our backs hut from gathering them: how hard they were to find among the concealing leaves, the frosted deceiving grass.
When she shouted, the gulls hidden by the dune buckshot the low clouds.
Be circumspect how you offend schollers, for knowe, a serpent tooth bites not so ill, as dooth a schollers angrie quill.
The word trill really REALLY bugs me! Like who made that up???
the Poor Men of Lyons,
the ideas of ravacious herds of feral domesticated housepets and oversized insects not only taking over the abandoned homes of relocated Americans but actually setting up house and keeping them in model repair and impressive equity,
We hunt the White Stag, like Quentin did. We catch it or shoot it or whatever you do with it. We get three wishes. We wish Fillory would last forever and not die. Done. Mischief managed." Eliot
An Irishman needs three things : silence, cunnning, and exile.
Waste cilake," Sioux for "I love you,
Void of all honor, avaricious, rash, The daring tribe compound their boasted trash Tincture of syrup, lotion, drop, or pill; All tempt the sick to trust the lying bill.
What harm cause not those huge draughts or pictures which wanton youth with chalk or coals draw in each passage, wall or stairs of our great houses, whence a cruel contempt of our natural store is bred in them?
Clean of officious fence or hedge, Half-wild and wholly tame, The wise turf cloaks the white cliff-edge As when the Romans came.
By fools, knaves fatten; by bigots, priests are well clothed; every knave finds a gull.
Grundy HATE Nazis! Grundy hate EVERYONE!
Everton are literally a bag of Revells.
Back when I was young, lists seemed like fences on the open range. But secretly, I was pleased to be corralled among other literary thoroughbreds.
A bludgeon of wives (surely that must be the plural assignation)!
Blind wantons like the gulls who scream
And rip the edge off any ideal or dream.
Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the Stooks arise Around; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behavior Of silk-sack clouds! Has wilder, willful-waiver Meal-drift molded ever and melted across skies?
This is Nature's own reservation, and every lover of wildness will rejoice with me that by kindly frost it is so well defended.
Yesterday, we slaughtered them and we will continue to slaughter them.
The wild swan hurries hight and noises loud
With white neck peering to the evening clowd.
The weary rooks to distant woods are gone.
With lengths of tail the magpie winnows on
To neighbouring tree, and leaves the distant crow
While small birds nestle in the edge below.
Let slip the dogs of champions.
Now, as Rilke would say, let's eat us
some effing panther and swan, shall we?
What we call the Irish Brogue is no sooner discovered, than it makes the deliverer, in the last degree, ridiculous and despised; and, from such a mouth, an Englishman expects nothing but bulls, blunders, and follies.
Silenus or Nymphs and
I am not Cugel the Clever for nothing!
Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging low with sullen roar.
Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones Forget not.
Bad herdsmen waste the flocks which thou hast left behind.
Custard is controversial: what makes it a custard, how best to cook it and, crucially, is it to be eaten or put in a pie and thrown?
TORCHES NEW ENGLAND
The venal herd.
[Lat., Venale pecus.]
There will grow from straws a mighty heap.
Hatred, like straw, makes for a lumpy mattress.
Certes, they been lye to hounds, for an hound when he cometh by the roses, or by other bushes, though he may nat pisse, yet wole he heve up his leg and make a countenance to pisse.
Got anything we can cull the herd with?"
Nick stared at Zane for a few seconds. "I never realized how disturbing your accent is until you use cow analogies."
"Yeah okay, say 'car'.
Ahead of the tin was all craning white heads and expectant muttering, behind it was silence and crumbs. Lynne
It's probably the most unpopular policy I'm responsible for. I know it is very unpopular, culling badgers. But I believe it is the right thing to do. You have to make choices as a politician. Sometimes it means doing something you know people don't like.
Now gae your wa'sTho'anes as gude As ever happit flesh and blude, Yet part we maunthe case sae hard is, Amang the writers and the bardies That lang they'll brook the auld I trow, Or neibours cry,'Weel brook the new'.
Heckle and Jeckle again
Stared on the horses of the sea, and heard
The cars of battle and his own name cried;
And fought with the invulnerable tide.
How would you like to have a thousand brilliantly colored cliff swallows keeping house in the eaves of your barn, and gobbling up insects over your farm at the rate of 100,000 per day? There are many Wisconsin farmsteads where such a swallow-show is a distinct possibility.
Wild tongues can't be tamed, they can only be cut out.
Cucumber should be well sliced, dressed with pepper and vinegar, and then thrown out.
I've had my fill of these city guttersnipes
all that scavenging scum! They're the sort of people, who, if the gates of heaven opened to them, all they'd feel would be a draught.
There was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their
Murder! Fascists! Lions! It isn't fair.
While briskly to each patriot lip
Walks eager round the inspiring flip;
Delicious draught, whose pow'rs inherit
The quintessence of public spirit!
Those, that with haste will make a mighty fire,
Begin it with weak straws.
the distant cries of the seagulls
Bloody flaming ashes
Keelhaul the poets in the vestry chairs.
Grey morning dulled the bay. Banks of clouds, Howth just one more bank, rolled to sea, where other Howths grumbled to greet them. Swollen spumeless tide. Heads that bobbed like floating gulls and gulls that floating bobbed like heads. Two heads. At swim, two boys.
the remnants of wars
Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cucc.
Groweth sed, and bloweth med,
And springth the wude nu,
Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook.
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? - Who will watch the watchers?
Towers, or float in lazy circles there like the nations of gulls
No more coals to Newcastle, no more Hoares to Paris.
Heartless though it may seem to some, among the least harmful things to eat are sustainably culled wild animals. In the absence of natural predators, deer populations in parts of Britain have reached such dense numbers that the woodlands they browse fail to regenerate.
What do they do with those ducks, in the winter?
Damn deez doilies!
The summer of the gypsy moths when all the trees in their yard were bare, the leaves chewed by caterpillars. You could hear crunching in the night. You could see silvery cocoon webbing in porch rafter and strung across stop signs.
Now is the time for guts and guile
And from the phlox and mignonette Rich attars drift on every hand; And when star-vestured twilight comes The pale moths weave a saraband. And crickets in the aisles of grass With their clear fifing pierce the hush; And somewhere you many hear anear The passion of the hermit thrush.
You don't direct ostriches, you herd them.
Do you want me to shoot thee, ingles? ... quieres? it is nothing.
Where the hell has the fourth tower gone?!"
As far as heckles go, it was one of the more unusual he'd been subjected to. Lawrence had spent hours finding an alliterative rhyme for 'crumbling crenellations' - and what thanks did he get? An architecturally pedantic heckle.
The Welsh ... I mean, what are they for?
United a herd is an army; divided a herd is fair game.
And blue-lung'd combers lumbered to the kill.
Dogs and cats get put to sleep; hogs and cows get slaughtered.
a misbegotten cockwaffle.
The common herd of "burghers", those cattle, complete with horns, who turn millstones with their bare hands.
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover.
We have to use every tool at our disposal and that's why we're trialing a badger cull. We need healthy wildlife living alongside healthy cattle. Only if we work to eradicate the reservoir of TB in our badgers, will we have the strong and prosperous dairy industry the public wishes to see.
Bosh. I find a rival - but no, I won't flatter myself that Tecumseh Fox would consider himself a rival of Dol Bonner - I find an eminent detective in your apartment, and that alone is enough, without adding that he is concealed in your bedroom while I am discussing my business with you ...
Always give the rabble something to love and something to hate.
The walls were shedding their texture and taking another in the pouncing feathers. Gwyn
Master Custard, you must rise and be hanged
Done to death by slanderous tongue
One of the neighbors found Nasreddin scattering crumbs all around his house. "Why are you doing that?" he asked. "I'm keeping the tigers away," replied Nasreddin. "But there aren't any tigers around here," said the neighbor. "That's right," said Nasreddin. "You see how well it works?
We have to get out of here, Bram. Before they take our bollocks and use them for pincushions.
A flock of gulls flew east, rising and falling, as if they might clean the sky with their wings.
Pussies are like parachutes ~
they work best when wide open.
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare? For this your locks in paper durance bound, For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd around? 100 For this with fillets strain'd your tender head, And bravely bore the double loads of lead?
Zwounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me a coward, by the Lord, I'll stab thee.
What do you call those things at the bottom of rivers? Frogs? Stones? Unsuccessful gangsters?
Slurring is the cursive of speech...
Persecuting bigots may be compared to those burning lenses which Lenhenboeck and others composed from ice; by their chilling apathy they freeze the suppliant; by their fiery zeal they burn the sufferer.
Laistry ... I can't even say that. What would you call them in English?"
Our best yesterdays are now foul piles of crumpled names.
Who spit in your porridge?