Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Ruckus. 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 Ruckus Quotes And Sayings by 91 Authors including Herman Melville,Thurston Moore,Eoin Colfer,Ambrose Bierce,Caroline Fyffe for you to enjoy and share.
Cussed fellow-critters! Kick up de damndest row as ever you can; fill your dam bellies 'till dey bust - and den die
Noise has taken the place of punk rock. People who play noise have no real aspirations to being part of the mainstream culture. Punk has been co-opted, and this subterranean noise music and the avant-garde folk scene have replaced it
Blow it Chix. Blow that door off it's damn hinges."
"Yessir. Off it's damn hinges. That's a roger.
REVEILLE, n. A signal to sleeping soldiers to dream of battlefields no more, but get up and have their blue noses counted.
fishhook. It's squiggly like a worm. Something's
The venal herd.
[Lat., Venale pecus.]
Chirp of coward shouted in crowd,
dare to speak but not to be known.
Rise and shine, porcupines!
Squee-squee-squawky-squiggly-squee.-- Eric Arvin
impinged on the normal nightly Holcomb noises - on the keening hysteria of coyotes, the dry scrape of scuttling tumbleweed, the racing, receding wail of locomotive
The squealing little arse-gerbil.
The crowd ... a cacophony of colour
Reepicheep: Unhand the tail. Aslan the Great gave me this tail and no one, repeat, no one, touches the tail. Period, exclamation mark!
Roo-ah-rooo-ahhh.
What's that?
It's the Cute Guy Alarm.
It sounds like a bird.
There was no sound but the murmur of nasty little stinging insects, the occasional crack of a falling branch, and the whispering of the trees discussing religion and the trouble with squirrels. Rincewind
Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
Noise is the most impertinent of all forms of interruption. It is not only an interruption, but also a disruption of thought.
Speed of lightning! Roar of thunder! Fighting all who rob or plunder! Underdog!
In Atlantic City about to get my crunk on. I don't know what that means.
The Box, shuck-face, the Box!
Quick: noise made by a dyslexic duck
All resistance is a rupture with what is. And every rupture begins, for those engaged in it, through a rupture with oneself.
Some nasty bitch of a woman from the coven of moral and ethical standards tried to fry Rache" the pixy said apparently proud of it. "I pixed the Tink-blasted dildo, and Rache's black-arts boyfriend blew her right out the front door. "Bam!
Stirred with passion, laced with fun, spiked with laughter & served with a smile. On the road. No sugar, no milk. Horn OK Please. Buy my books or may the wrath of a thousand locusts infest your underpants *Smack!!*
Lord of the Muck.
My place, your place, slapped face, rat race.
some evil old ruffian of a Dog-stealer
An ancient noise, like a fox bark, makes an attempt at the edges of my brain.
A vile beastly rottenheaded foolbegotten brazenthroated pernicous piggish screaming, tearing, roaring, perplexing, splitmecrackle crashmecriggle insane ass of a woman is practising howling below-stairs with a brute of a singingmaster so horribly, that my head is nearly off.
This muck heaves and palpitates. It is multi-directional and has a mayor.
What does the fox say?
Ring-ding-ding-ding-dingeringeding!
a rowdy little girl who gave way upon the slightest provocation to uncontrollable laughter
Squirrelpaw!" Brambleclaw's
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; and gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
The Piper is coming nearer," he said, "he is nearer than he was that evening I saw him before. His long, shadowy cloak is blowing around him. He pipes - he pipes - and we must follow - Jem and Carl and Jerry and I - round and round the world. Listen - listen - can't you hear his wild music?
elephant's trumpeting
Jesse Dittley kicked in the door. It was a slow-motion kick because his leg was so long - there was a considerable lag between when he began to swing his leg and when his foot actually hit the door. Blue wondered what that was called. A leg roundhouse, or something.
Trus, is a word that has to be earned.
Avaunt, you cullions!
Holy smoke! We lost our last match and there's a storm coming!
Party On!
A flash flood swept away all our gear and we're twenty miles from the trailhead!
Party On!
My femur bone's sticking through my skin and I've gotta cross that river!
Party On!
Creep, clobber, squawk. Repeat.
You're crowding me. I need - room. ...
What I needed were boundaries. I needed willpower. I needed to be caged up, since yet again I was proving I couldn't be trusted in Patch's presence. I should have been bolting for the door, and yet ... I wasn't.
The tumultuous noise resolved itself now into the disorderly mingling of many voices, the gride of many wheels, the creaking of wagons, and the staccato of hoofs.
A sound waiting to be a word.
Rock out like you get paid to disturb the peace
Erudition, like a bloodhound, is a charming thing when held firmly in leash, but it is not so attractive when turned loose upon a defenseless and unerudite public.
Damn it all! What rhymes with rhythm?
With Angela drawn to the hangdog look and Malachy lonely after three months in jail, there was bound to be a knee-trmbler.
A knee-trmbler is the act itself done up against a wall, man and woman up on their toes, straining so hard their knees tremble with the excitement that's in it.
I fight with pizazz. It's a different sound from everyone else. It's the sound of pizazz.
Hello kerplunk, this is my dear friend pitter patter.
Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
The rumble of a subway train,
the rattle of the taxis.
Pigeon she strut on the rooftop
Cockroach he strut on the sink
My baby strut down to Jerusalem
Where blood is the favorite drink
Watch-see, Holy One, my grave-rats will kill-kill all dead-things. We show-tell Fester-rats how to fight. Show-tell why Fester-rats should stay true to Horned One.
Vishous : Oh, shit ... you didn't rose-petal the bed, my lord. Tell me you didn't go like that ?
Rhage : He petaled the bed ? Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! LOLOLOLOLOLO
Squee." 1 (verb): To emit an onomatopoetic girlish swooning sound out of pure fanboy adulation. 2 (noun): the sound itself.
Raucous heavy metal of punk guitars screeching like robots put to the rack ...
Deer Reeder: First may I say, sorry for any werds I spel <>rong>rongrong>. Because I am a fox! So don't rite or spel perfect.
WHAT THE EFF IS GOING ON?" I roar, but I don't say "eff", now do I? Cuz it seems the situashun calls for something a little stronger. "WHAT EFFING PLAN?
You know how much I love you and the girls with all my heart, but being with Ruairi... I never realized there was something missing until I found it.
The Roman form of serenade is to race a motorcycle motor under the girl's window, but mufflers are not common in any situation; the only things as dearly loved as a good noise are breakneck speed and eye-splitting lights, preferably neon - all expressions of well-being, like a huge belly-laugh.
> Roo-ah-rooo-ahhh.
>What's that?
>It's the Cute Guy Alarm.
> It sounds like a bird.
Nincompoops. (Quincy,
Heckle and Jeckle again
There is no noise as powerful as the sound of the marching feet of a determined people.
I'm kicking new flava in ya ear!
Sent as a present from Annam
A red cockatoo.
Coloured like the peach-tree blossom,
Speaking with the speech of men.
And they did to it what is always done
To the learned and eloquent.
They took a cage with stout bars
And shut it up inside.
I am rubber but you are blue. Whatevers you are saying bounces off of me and I do not remember the rest.
First of all, don't mix your hairpins up with mine! You ... Oh! All right, mix your muck with mine. Mix it! Mix your rags with my tatters! Mix it all up ...
I am what you call a hooligan-
Go Red. Fight Red. Bleed Red.
The grackles sing avant the spring
Most spiss oh! Yes, most spissantly.
They sing right puissantly.
I recognized it immediately the first time it happened - the cackle of the crone. It is the sound of a woman who is caught inside the mystery of the universe, in the irony of the angst, in the place ego abhors. Bliss.
internal commotion engines
Is it Rilla-my-Rilla?
Ruffian he had once been, before Christ and Mrs.
Hang on. We're leaving grass for road," Breeze warned.
"Remind me to drive next time," Jinx grumbled. "Slow down!"
"Did you lose your yarn balls, kitten?" Breeze laughed. "This is fun!"
(Jinx is part panther)
Gossip is news running ahead of itself in a red satin dress.
What is noise to the old order is harmony to the new.
scat to rock steady
Skiffle was a name that was attached to what was, in essence, American folk music with a beat.
Opera?" Trelon asked tiredly, "What the hell is opera?" "I'll tell you what it is! It is the screeching of the death birds, that what it is!
Capturing Cara (Dragon Lords of Valdier, #2)
Cruddy Mouthbreather
The thing of courage
As rous'd with rage doth sympathise,
And, with an accent tun'd in self-same key,
Retorts to chiding fortune.
Braying of arrogant brass, whimper of querulous reeds.
A flock of flirting flamingos is pure, passionate, pink pandemonium-a frenetic flamingle-mangle-a discordant discotheque of delirious dancing, flamboyant feathers, and flamingo lingo.
Hurry n: The dispatch of bunglers.
windup train that made a lot of noise. Every time it bumped into something it turned around and went the other way. Fudge liked it a lot. He likes anything that's noisy.
I have a name," I grumped, my stomach pinching me harder.
"Yes, but it has no pizzazz. Ra-a-a-a-chel. Rach-e-e-e-eel," he said, trying it out in different ways. "No one will tremble in terror at that. Oh my God!" he said in a high falsetto. "It's Rachel! Run! Hide!
Something that just came out of me. It was a bit of mischief.
Hang, cur, hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker!
a Quarter Quell. They occur every twenty-five years, marking the anniversary of the districts' defeat with over-the-top celebrations and, for extra fun, some miserable twist for the tributes. I've
So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenced in stronds afar remote.
Meanwhile, in the th<>rong>rorong>ne <>rong>rorong>om, Rhea threw an Oscar-worthy tantrum. She screamed and stomped her feet and called K<>rong>rorong>nos all kinds of unflattering names. "RO-O-CCCKY!" she wailed. "NO-O-O-O-O-O-O!
Mr Speaker, I smell a rat; I see him forming in the air and darkening the sky; but I will nip him in the bud.
We run down the right fork, Manchee at our heels, the night and a dusty road stretching out in front of us, an army and a disaster behind us, me and Viola, running side by side.
Wer rastet, rostet - what rests, rusts.
A shoat squealing under a fence just attracts the fox, when it should be trying to run.
Duchess's knee, while plates and dishes crashed around it
once more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Lizard's slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed guinea-pigs, filled the air, mixed up with the
One who sings with his tongue on fire, gargles in the rat race choir.