Goose Quotes

“Yes, we'll yell, 'Help, help us, goose girl, and bring the terrifying legion of warrior geese'.”
― Shannon Hale, The Goose Girl

“They would set their course toward it, seeing it grow bigger silently and imperceptibly, a motionless growth--and then, when they were at it, when they were about to bang their noses with a shock against its seeming solid mass, the sun would dim. Wraiths of mist suddenly moving like serpents of the air would coil about them for a second. Grey damp would be around them, and the sun, a copper penny, would fade away. The wings next to their own wings would shade into vacancy, until each bird was a lonely sound in cold annihilation, a presence after uncreation. And there they would hang in chartless nothing, seemingly without speed or left or right or top or bottom, until as suddenly as ever the copper penny glowed and the serpents writhed.”
― T.H. White, The Once and Future King

“Goose bumps are the tangible evidence of vibrational presence. If you have goose bumps, you know that it must be true. Goose bumps are like Truth Detector Machines.”
― Kate McGahan, Jack McAfghan: Return from Rainbow Bridge: A Dog's Afterlife Story of Loss, Love and Renewal

“Each time you see that indelible V-formation, be grateful for the perfect moment to be alive. And should you hear the geese calling, drink it in, knowing you have been touched with the indescribable magnificence of the Canada Geese.”
― Barbara Klide, Along Came Ryan, the Little (Gosling) King, Volume I,

“The said Ivan Dovgochkun, son of Nikifor, when I went to him with a friendly proposition, called me publicly by an epithet insulting and injurious to my honor, namely, a goose, whereas it is known to the whole district of Mirgorod, that I never was named after that disgusting animal, and have no intention of ever being named after it. And the proof of my noble extraction is, that, in the baptismal register to be found in the Church of the Three Bishops, the day of my birth, and likewise the fact of my baptism, are inscribed. But a goose, as is well known to every one who has any knowledge of science, cannot be inscribed in the baptismal register; for a goose is not a man, but a fowl: which, likewise, is sufficiently well known, even to persons who have not been to a seminary. But the evil-minded nobleman, being privy to all these facts, for no other purpose than to offer a deadly insult to my rank and calling, affronted me with the aforesaid foul word.”
― Nicolai Gogol, The Overcoat and Other Works by Nicolai Gogol

“These are touchy times. National sensitivities are on permanent alert and it's getting harder by the moment to say boo to a goose, lest the goose in question belong to the paranoid majority (goosism under threat), the thin-skinned minority (victims of goosophobia), the militant fringe (Goose Sena), the separatists (Goosistan Liberation Front), the increasingly well organised cohorts of society's historical outcasts (the ungoosables, or Scheduled Geese), or the the devout followers of of that ultimate guru duck, the sainted Mother Goose. Why, after all, would any sensible person wish to say boo in the first place? By constantly throwing dirt, such boxers disqualify themselves from serious consideration (they cook their own goose).”
― Graham Greene, The Quiet American

“We begin with an onion soup as smoky and fragrant as autumn leaves, with croutons and grated Gruyère and a sprinkle of paprika over the top. She serves and watches me throughout, waiting, perhaps, for me to produce from thin air an even more perfect confection that will cast her effort into the shade.
Instead I eat, and talk, and smile, and compliment the chef, and the chink of crockery goes through her head, and she feels slightly dazed, not quite herself. Well, pulque is a mysterious brew, and the punch is liberally spiked with it, courtesy of Yours Truly, of course, in honor of the joyful occasion. As comfort, perhaps, she serves more punch, and the scent of the cloves is like being buried alive, and the taste is like chilies spiced with fire, and she wonders, Will it ever end?
The second course is sweet foie gras, sliced on thin toast with quinces and figs. It's the snap that gives this dish its charm, like the snap of correctly tempered chocolate, and the foie gras melts so lingeringly in the mouth, as soft as praline truffle, and it is served with a glass of ice-cold Sauternes that Anouk disdains, but which Rosette sips in a tiny glass no larger than a thimble, and she gives her rare and sunny smile, and signs impatiently for more.
The third course is a salmon baked en papillote and served whole, with a béarnaise sauce. Alice complains she is nearly full, but Nico shares his plate with her, feeding her tidbits and laughing at her minuscule appetite.
Then comes the pièce de résistance: the goose, long roasted in a hot oven so that the fat has melted from the skin, leaving it crisp and almost caramelized, and the flesh so tender it slips off the bones like a silk stocking from a lady's leg. Around it there are chestnuts and roast potatoes, all cooked and crackling in the golden fat.”
― Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow

“A car horn is as effective a communication tool as a goose honking. I want something more articulate that shouts abusive phrases and insults.”
― Jarod Kintz, Don't Even Get Me Started On The Beastie Boys

“Despite Canada Goose presenting her a ring, nobody thinks it gives them any right to stick together having Timmy’s and listen to the call of loons...”
― Lana M. Rochel, Carol of the Wings: Vintage Folk Patchwork Tale

“All birds of feather flock together,” said to himself Canada Goose … that carving figure Hun - a swallow in his chat room barn - was fun.”
― Lana M. Rochel, Carol of the Wings: Vintage Folk Patchwork Tale

“And he said...

...do not overcook your goose otherwise people will sup on your shadow.”
― Anthony T. Hincks

“Mom, can I have a pig?" Avery asked, hopeful.
"No," Mrs. Arable replied firmly.
"Can I have a chicken?" he tried again.
"No."
"Can I have a goose?"
"No."
"Can I have a duck?"
"No."
"Can I get my tongue pierced and dye my hair pink?" Avery asked, trying his luck one last time.
"You can have a duck," Mrs. Arable said with a sigh.”
― GLEN NESBITT, SUS: Short Unpredictable Stories