Oh, that's Nanny, a wonderful cook and housekeeper. She's such a kind, understanding soul. You know, at times she seems almost canine.
— Hey, even though I'm much more popular, we have some things in common.
— Breathing?
She's wrong. I can't go back. What would it prove, anyway? It won't change anything.
— Hey, you wanna know what I do when I have a really bad, awful, terrible day?
— What?
— I imagine my great-great-great granddaughter in the future talking to her class about me. She's poised and funny, and tells people about me and how everything worked out in the end. And when I think about that, I think about how everything's going to work out. Because how else could she tell people?
"Timon? Ever wonder what those sparkling dots are up there?"
"Pumbaa, I don't wonder, I know."
"Oh? What are they?"
"They're fireflies. Fireflies that got stuck up in that big bluish-black thing."
"Oh, gee. I always thought they were balls of gas burning billions of miles away."
"Pumbaa, with you, everything's gas."
You don't have time to be timid. You must be bold, daring.
— M-m-m. This is good. This is really good. What is this?
— Uh, weed rat. Rotisserie style.
— No kidding. Well, this is delicious.
— Well, they're also great in stews. Now, I don't mean to brag, but I make a mean weed rat stew.
— I guess I'll be dining a little differently tomorrow night.
— Maybe you can come visit me in the swamp sometime. I'll cook all kinds of stuff for you. Swamp toad soup, fish eye tartare — you name it.
— I'd like that.
