3. "Because of his hormones, he only has three emotions: crabby, hungry, horny."
- Sherry Argov, Why Men Love Bitches: From Doormat to Dreamgirl - A Woman's Guide to Holding Her Own in a Relationship
6. "I didn't want to get involved in an argument, so I lied, saying that I wasn't being crabby at all, I was just looking for a goddamn place to set the cake down in our disgusting pit of a refrigerator."
- Quote by David Finch
7. "I'm not cheerful or domestic. I'm drab, crabby and friendless. I fill my days fighting a constant battle to keep my dignity. Loneliness is my curse- our species' curse- it's the gun that shoots the bullets that make us dance on a saloon floor and humiliate ourselves in front of strangers."
- Douglas Coupland, Eleanor Rigby
8. "Olivia was moody. Moody wasn't a word with which she was very familiar, but if it meant that her moods swung back and forth for no reason at all, and that she felt crabby and wanted to be alone more often than she felt content and friendly, and that she was often tempted to slam her bedroom door - preferably in someone's face - well, then, moody described perfectly the way she'd been feeling lately."
- Ann M. Martin, Coming Apart
9. "I saw what I had been fighting for: It was for me, a scared child, who had run away a long time ago to what I had imagined was a safer place. And hiding in this place, behind my invisible barriers, I knew what lay on the other side: Her side attacks. Her secret weapons. Her uncanny ability to find my weakest spots. But in the brief instant that I had peered over the barriers I could finally see what was finally there: an old woman, a wok for her armor, a knitting needle for her sword, getting a little crabby as she waited patiently for her daughter to invite her in."
- Amy Tan, The Joy Luck Club
10. "As he ran, he thought about everything and anything, about the life he’d led, the children, the snatches of time frozen in his mind: a moment when he’d gotten shot in an alley, and the flash of the man who’d shot him; the first sight of a newborn daughter; his mother’s face, crabby with an early morning slice of toast in her hand, her image as clear in his mind as it had been twenty-five years earlier, on the day she died…. They all came up like portraits and landscapes hanging on the wall of his memory, flashes of color in the black-and-white night."
- John Sandford, Stolen Prey