Octopus Quotes

“Have you ever heard a blindfolded octopus unwrap a cellophane-covered bathtub?”
― Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

“The way Emily describes it: when I meet someone I love, I become an octopus and wind my tentacles around their heart, tighter and tighter until they can't deny they love me just the same.”
― Christina Lauren, Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating

“In their brief time together Slothrop forms the impression that this octopus is not in good mental health, though where's his basis for comparing?”
― Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow

“This was at dusk, in mid-October. And she left. I lay down on the sofa and fell asleep without turning on the light. I was awakened by the feeling that the octopus was there. Groping in the dark, I barely managed to turn on the light. My pocket watch showed two o’clock in the morning. I was falling ill when I went to bed, and I woke up sick. It suddenly seemed to me that the autumn darkness would push through the glass and pour into the room, and I would drown in it as in ink.”
― Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita

“How many color patterns can your severed arm produce in one second?”
― Wendy Williams, Kraken: The Curious, Exciting, and Slightly Disturbing Science of Squid

“exaggeration is the octopus of the English language”
― Matthew Pearl, The Last Bookaneer

“Everything is octopusied.”
― Wendy Williams, Kraken: The Curious, Exciting, and Slightly Disturbing Science of Squid

“When you visit Gindaco, spend some time watching the cooks make takoyaki before ordering, because it's an amazing free show. The shop has an industrial-sized takoyaki griddle with dozens of hot cast iron wells, each one about an inch and a half in diameter. The cook squirts the grill with plenty of vegetable oil. She dunks a pitcher into a barrel of pancake batter and sloshes it over the grill, then strews the whole area with negi, ginger, and huge, tender octopus chunks. Some of Gindaco's purple tentacles are two inches long. This cooks for a little while, then the cook tops off the grill with more batter until it's nearly full.
Up to this point, the process looks haphazard, but then she whips out the skewers. Using only the same slender bamboo skewers you'd use for making kebabs, she begins slicing through the batter in a grid pattern and forming a ball in each well. Somehow she herds this ocean of batter into a grid of takoyaki in a minute or two.
The takoyaki cost all of 500 yen, and the price includes a wooden serving boat that you can take home and reuse as a bath toy if you haven't gotten too much sauce on it. A Gindaco takoyaki is a brilliant morsel: full of flavor from the negi and ginger, crispy on the outside and juicy within. Takoyaki also stay mouth-searingly hot inside for longer than you can stand to wait, so be careful.”
― Matthew Amster-Burton, Pretty Good Number One: An American Family Eats Tokyo

“IN a heartbeat, the diver is reborn, swallowed into another reality, transformed from a shambling monster into a being of weightless grace. Is this what happens to the spirit at death when it flies up to heaven?”
― Sy Montgomery, The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness

“A Cephalopod Wish by Stewart Stafford

O, to be an Octopus,
Sporting three hearts,
Two that won't break,
To go on and love more.

O, to have its nine brains,
To spread a migraine load,
Fogless coordinates clear,
A tower fire, now contained.

O, to have a boneless form,
A body fitted to life problems,
Not ail from a tumour's grasp,
Flee to safety in inky clouds.

© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved”
― Stewart Stafford

“Can you name me these ingredients?" Chef Amadí points to the different herbs and spices. "I can see that you know," she says. And I do know.
I pick up the large leaf and sniff it. It's smaller than the type we use back home but I'd know that scent anywhere. "That one's bay leaf," I say. "And that seed is cardamom."
She nods and shoots me a wink.
She moves us to a different station and opens a container where several large octopi chill on beds of ice. I've never worked with octopus and I'm fascinated by the vibrant red color of the skin and the slippery feeling of it in my hands. She demonstrates with a knife how to slice through the octopus tentacles that she will marinate for grilling.”
― Elizabeth Acevedo, With the Fire on High

“A light, actually powered by the eel's electricity, flashes across a panel built on top of the tank to show when the eel is hunting or stunning prey....The eel was fast asleep. Then suddenly we saw the voltmeter flash.
"What's going on?" I asked Scott. "I thought the eel was asleep."
"He is asleep," Scott answered. And then we both realized what was happening.
The eel was dreaming.”
― Sy Montgomery, The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness

“..Octopuses appear to enjoy watching Many home aquarists report that their octopuses appear to enjoy watching television with them. They particularly like sports and cartoons, with lots of movement and color....King and her coauthor, Colin Dunlop, even suggest placing the tank in the same room as the TV, so owner and octopus can enjoy programs together.”
― Sy Montgomery, The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness

“In the sea, perhaps, time itself is slowed by the water's weight and viscosity. Even with just my hands in Kali's or Octavia's tank, time proceeds at a different pace. Perhaps, I muse, this is the pace at which the Creator thinks, in this weighty, graceful, liquid manner-like blood flows, not like synapses fire. Above the surface, we move and think like wiggly children, or like teens who twitch away at their computer-phones, multitasking but never focusing. But the ocean forces you to move more slowly, more purposefully, and yet more pliantly. By entering it, you are bathed in a grace and power you don't experience in air. To dive beneath the surface feels like entering the Earth's vast, dreaming subconscious. Submitting to its depth, its currents, its pressure, is both humbling and freeing.”
― Sy Montgomery, The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness

“We rested, people and octopus regarding one another for several more minutes. And then, to my surprise, she floated up again to us. As she rose, we scanned the bottom of the barrel and saw that she had dropped the squid Wilson had fed her. We wished she had eaten, but we learned something new: Hunger was not the reason she had surfaced earlier, and it wasn't what brought her now.

The reason she surfaced was abundantly clear. She had not interacted with us, or tasted our skin, or seen us above her tank for ten full months. She was sick and weak. In less than four weeks, on a Saturday morning in May, Bill would find her, plane, thin, and still, dead at the bottom of her barrel. Yet, despite everything, we knew in that moment that Octavia had not only remembered us and recognized us; she had wanted to touch us again.”
― Sy Montgomery, The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness

“The average lifespan of the common octopus is less than a year. Even the big ones don't live any longer than five, which means that all of them die right after their kids are born. The don't pass a single thing on to the next generation- no memories, no culture. In a way, shouldn't humans feel lucky?”
― Carlie Sorosiak, Wild Blue Wonder

“Like an octopus, we contain several hearts, one to keep, some to walk around outside us”
― Michelle Cuevas

“Evolution built advanced minds not once, but at least twice, gifting them not only to mammals and their kin, but also to cephalopods, and especially to the animal at the apex of ocean intelligence: the octopus. These are animals so unlike us that most aliens we imagine in our fantasies about outer space have more in common with humans. But there is no denying their sentience. I believe the first aliens we encounter will rise to greet us from the sea.”
― Ray Nayler, The Mountain in the Sea

“The mind evolved in the sea. Water made it possible.”
― Peter Godfrey-Smith, Other Minds: The Octopus, The Sea, and The Deep Origins of Consciousness

“Go out the north exit of Nakano Station and into the Sun Mall shopping arcade. After a few steps, you'll see Gindaco, the takoyaki (octopus balls) chain. Turn right into Pretty Good #1 Alley. Walk past the deli that specializes in okowa (steamed sticky rice with tasty bits), a couple of ramen shops, and a fugu restaurant. Go past the pachinko parlor, the grilled eel stand, the camera shops, and the stairs leading to Ginza Renoir coffee shop. If you see the bicycle parking lot in front of Life Supermarket, you're going the right way.
During the two-block walk through a typical neighborhood, you've passed more good food than in most midsized Western cities, even if you don't love octopus balls as much as I do.
Welcome to Tokyo.
Tokyo is unreal. It's the amped-up, neon-spewing cyber-city of literature and film. It's an alley teeming with fragrant grilled chicken shops. It's children playing safely in the street and riding the train across town with no parents in sight. It's a doughnut chain with higher standards of customer service than most high-end restaurants in America. A colossal megacity devoid of crime, grime, and bad food? Sounds more like a utopian novel than an earthly metropolis.”
― Matthew Amster-Burton, Pretty Good Number One: An American Family Eats Tokyo

“Takoyaki are octopus balls- not, thankfully, in the anatomical sense. They're a spherical cake with a chunk of boiled octopus in the center, cooked on a special griddle with hemispherical indentations. If you're familiar with the Danish pancakes called aebleskivers, you know what a takoyaki looks like; the pan is also similar.
Takoyaki are not unknown in the U.S., but I've only ever seen them made fresh at cultural festivals. Iris is a big fan, but I've always been more into the takoyaki aesthetic than the actual food. Takoyaki are always served in a paper or wooden boat and usually topped with mayonnaise, bonito flakes, shredded nori, and takoyaki sauce.”
― Matthew Amster-Burton, Pretty Good Number One: An American Family Eats Tokyo

“Now that you have the menu, tell me what this is."
"Tuna, vanilla brioche crumbs, and a bruléed disk of monkfish liver."
"Ah, monkfish liver! Foie gras of the sea!" Michael Saltz said, lifting his cup in a toast. I refused to join him and just tipped the bite backlit a shot, letting the mouthful take shape all at once.
Michael Saltz squinted at me while I set the cup down. If he disregarded me, then I'd disregard him.
Next, Hugo brought out a single octopus tentacle, roasted to bring out the burgundy speckles in its skin, painted with sweet, sea-infused balsamic squid ink and framed by two quarters of a ruddy pear.
We stayed silent as I ate.
Skate came wading in a chorizo broth, a cap of seaweed poking through the surface like an island paradise.”
― Jessica Tom, Food Whore

“I volunteered to go down to the market to purchase fresh whitebait the day of the queen's arrival. Mr Angelo cooked a couple of capons to serve cold with a veronique sauce and grapes. And at dinner that night, we joined the French chefs, eating at the kitchen tables. I have to admit it: the bouillabaisse was one of the most delicious things I had ever tasted. The rich broth, tasting of both fish and tomato, and with a spicy tang to it, and the little pieces of fish and seafood coming unexpectedly on to the spoon. And the crusty bread to dip into it? Heaven.
"How do you prepare the sauce?" I asked. When I found out they started with twelve cloves of garlic, Mr Angelo shook his head. "The queen wouldn't approve, would she? Nothing that would make her breath smell bad," he said. "You know she's always forbidden garlic."
"How would she know?" Chef Lepin asked. "If garlic is cooked well, it does not come on the breath."
Then he came over to me. "And I saved you a morsel of the octopus," he said. He stuck his fork into what looked like a piece of brown grilled meat and held it up to my mouth, as one feeds a child. The gesture was somehow so intimate that it startled me. I opened my mouth obediently and felt the explosion of flavor- saffron and garlic and a hint of spiciness and flesh so tender it almost melted.”
― Rhys Bowen, Above the Bay of Angels

“An octopus, who holds the record for defense in a football game – ten tackles”
― J.S. Mason, A Dragon, A Pig, and a Rabbi Walk into a Bar...and other Rambunctious Bites

“Noryangjin is a wholesale market where you can choose live fish and seafood from the tanks of different vendors and have them sent up to be prepared in a number of cooking styles at restaurants upstairs. My mother and I were with her two sisters, Nami and Eunmi, and they had picked out pounds of abalone, scallops, sea cucumber, amberjack, octopus, and king crab to eat raw and boiled in spicy soups.
Upstairs, our table filled immediately with banchan dotting around the butane burner for our stew. The first dish to arrive was sannakji---live long-armed octopus. A plate full of gray-and-white tentacles wriggled before me, freshly severed from their head, every suction cup still pulsing.”
― Michelle Zauner, Crying in H Mart

“The affection the aquarists felt for the octopus appeared to be mutual. For the hours that they swam together, though the massive octopus could have easily escaped them, the Dude chose instead to keep his human friends by his side. Only when their tanks ran low on air did the divers reluctantly bid the Dude--"the best giant Pacific octopus in the world," wrote one--goodbye.”
― Sy Montgomery, The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness

“Truly obscure animals, like the axolotl (a type of salamander) or the Wunderpus photogenicus (a type of octopus which, true to its name, is very photogenic), don't have nicknames in common use, although I expect to hear from the Association for Researchers of the Axolotl and the Wunderpus Photogenicus (ARAWP?) any day now informing me that they say them often enough that they've devised more efficient names for them.”
― Gretchen McCulloch, Because Internet: Understanding the New Rules of Language

“I was pleasantly surprised in that it was actually one of my favorite dishes of the night; the octopus had been charred perfectly so that the outside was crisp and smoky and the inside was tender, and it had been paired with a green salsa that made me want to sing with its freshness and vibrancy.”
― Amanda Elliot, Best Served Hot

“How then can one begin to describe the inside of Laura, where the child-mind lived in the midst of the familiar relics of the baby-mind, like a Fascist in Rome?
When swimming under water, it is a very sobering thing suddenly to look a large octopus in the face. One never forgets it: one's respect, yet one's feeling of the hopelessness of any real intellectual sympathy. One is soon reduced to mere physical admiration, like any silly painter, of the cow-like tenderness of the eye, of the beautiful and infinitesimal mobility of that large and toothless mouth, which accepts as a matter of course that very water against which you, for your life's sake, must be holding your breath. There he reposes in a fold of rock, apparently weightless in the clear green medium but very large, his long arms, suppler than silk, coiled in repose, or stirring in recognition of your presence. Far above, everything is bounded by the surface of the air, like a bright window of glass. Contact with a small baby can conjure at least an echo of that feeling in those who are not obscured by an uprush of maternity to the brain.”
― Richard Hughes, A High Wind in Jamaica

“My curiosity aroused, I flipped to another page. 蛸と海女: Tako to Ama, trans. ‘The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife.’ Head thrown back, eyes closed, a nude woman lay sprawled ashore. Her brows creased in anguish and ecstasy. As she was pleasured by a large octopus.

No, octopi. I trailed a finger along the suctioned underside of the creature’s appendage to her breast where a smaller octopus latched onto. The painting might’ve been unmoving, but it held an animated quality. The woman writhing on the shore; the fluid movements of the sea creatures as the trio derived mutual pleasure from their strange encounter. Their visceral desire seeped through the page, and I was but a voyeur.”
― Anita Zara, The Maid's Secret