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Liz: the chicken must have been a vain creature indeed, to have thought up such a clever way of tormenting young minds. I do fancy puzzles, but not many so surely built to antagonize.

Hamlet: To chicken or to egg? That is the question!                                                   To progeny or mother? Which was engendered by                                                      or which engendered? Such a choice! Of my choosing? Nay,                                      Both exist only encompassed by each other, both need one another                        to survive, both could not have been born without the other.                                    Through flesh and blood and life both are bound?                                                      Which then, is the choice? Is it indeed of my choosing?                                               Oh, how to rest my fickle heart! The rise of a new from the old,                                To generations gone, till the same….

Sherlock Holmes: an interesting puzzle this. I need more facts. Data! I need data! How is one to make a house with no bricks? You have no evidence to suggest either is true! Your question, in fact, must be wrong. A chicken or an egg? Mere idiom, mere idiocy. There is clearly no such thing as a chicken.

Murakami: The chicken boils pasta on the stove, its color is rotund, its smell oblique…it bubbles on the stove while the lines blur with the steam.

James Bond: I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.