I think I need everyone to think I'm the greatest, the "Fantastic" Mr. Fox.
Anyway, I think it may very well be all the beautiful differences among us that might just give us the tiniest glimmer of a chance of saving my nephew.
If I had all this to do over again, I'd have never let you down.
He's approximately the size of a pot-bellied dwarf, and his chin would be underwater in the shallow end of any swimming pool on the planet.
Who am I, and how can a fox ever be happy without, forgive the expression, a chicken in its teeth?
This is some of the strongest, finest alcoholic cider money can buy or can be stolen. It burns in your throat, boils in your stomach, and tastes almost exactly like pure, melted gold.
Now there's only one way out. If I hand myself over, let them kill me, stuff me and hang me over their mantelpiece...
She was the town tart in her day. Wild and footloose and pretty as a mink stole.
- This story is too predictable.
- Predictable, really? What happens in the end?
- In the end, we all die. Unless you change.
-I don't want to live in a hole anymore. It makes me feel poor.
-We are poor. But we're happy.
-I don't want to live in a hole anymore. I'm going to do something about it.
-You know, foxes live in holes for a reason.