People who wear fur smell like a wet dog if they're in the rain. And they look fat and gross.
There is no need for fur - since there are compassionate alternatives.
I used to wear real fur, but, like many others, I had a change of heart when I learned what actually happens to the animals.
Thou shalt not kill: the four most important, and yet, most ignored words in all religious teachings. There is not an asterisk next to that commandment saying, “Unless you walk on all four and have fur, feathers, horns, beaks or gills.
In a meat-eating world, wearing leather for shoes and clothes and even handbags, the discussion of fur is childish.
Since I was a little kid, I was against fur. I never wore fur in my life.
Know, Nature's children all divide her care, The fur that warms a monarch warmed a bear.
I've got four roommates and they all have fur and tails.
Never buy a fur from a vegetarian.
There is no morally coherent difference between fur and other animal clothing, such as leather, wool, etc., just as there is no morally coherent distinction between meat and milk or eggs.
Fur only looks good on its original owner. Be comfortable in your own skin, and let animals keep theirs.
People are more violently opposed to fur than leather because it's safer to harass rich women than motorcycle gangs. People are very inclined to set moral standards for others.
...no cat out of its first fur can ever be deceived by appearances. Unlike human beings, who enjoy them.
My soul seemed as foul as smoke from burning cat fur.
You've taught me that we're all needed, even those who sometimes think we're worthless, plain and dull. If we love and allow ourselves to be loved...well, a person who loves is the most precious thing in the world, worth all the fortunes that ever were. That's what you've taught me, fur face,and because of you I'll never be the same.
When I see a person wearing a fur coat, I see not only the coat but the animals who were cruelly abused, killed and skinned to make that coat, and also I see the person wearing that coat being reborn as a poor fox crazily circulating in a tiny cage waiting to be skinned. And I see the poor dairy cow who has been raped and exploited, and in the same picture, I see the new future dairy cow taking her place, in the form of that person putting milk in her coffee, today.
Killing animals for sport, for pleasure, for adventure, and for hides and furs is a phenomena which is at once disgusting and distressing. There is no justification in indulging is such acts of brutality.
Then stop being a know-it-all lionpaw retorted You're not my mentor so stay out of my fur. Lionpaw at Berrynose in Outcast pg 67
When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?" Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. I smell the crypts where the stone kings sit. I smell hot bread baking. I smell the godswood. I smell my wolf. I smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. "I don't smell anything," she said.
Is there anything sweeter than the touch of another as she pulls a dead bug from your fur?
I'm saying your name in the grocery store, I'm saying your name on the bridge at dawn. Your name like an animal covered with frost, your name like a music that's been transposed, a suit of fur, a coat of mud, a kick in the pants, a lungful of glass, the sails in wind and the slap of waves on the hull.
So...I'm larking through the Baby Gap, looking at tiny capri pants and sweaters that cost more than ... I don't know,more than they should. And I get totally sucked in by this ridiculous, tiny fur coat. The kind of coat a baby might need to go to the ballet. In Moscow. In 1918. To match her tiny pearls.
It's not the fur or the fangs that make you a monster, not always. Sometimes, it's just where you draw the line.
Just once I’d like to meet a fella who isn’t a phony. Somebody who doesn’t wanna buy me a fur so he can show me off to his boys.
Venus in Furs has caught his soul in the red snares of hair. He will paint her, and go mad.
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