He was a writer and words were his weapons.
Don't be stupid, it's a flying house!
Mr. McGregor's a nasty piece of work, isn't he? Quite the Darth Vader of children's literature.
It was beautiful in a harsh I'm-going-to-gut-you-like-a-fish kind of way.
Don't explain computers to laymen. Simpler to explain sex to a virgin.
Heifer.” “Rich man’s whore!” “At least mine can cook the food he eats. And replaces it, too.” “Now see, Dee-Ann Smith. That was just mean!
Whenever I get that sad, depressed feeling, I go out and kill a policeman.
Anthony looked down at his evil clutches -- hands, he reminded himself, hands -- and grinned anew.
Let him treat you like a lady and open the car door for you. If he doesn't automatically open the door for you, stand by the darn thing and don't get into the vehicle until he realises he needs to get hid behind out of the driver's seat and come round and open the car door for you. That's his job!
Who shall I shoot? You choose. Now, listen very carefully: where's your coffee? You've got coffee, haven't you? C'mon, everyone's got coffee! Spill the beans!
How good one feels when one is full -- how satisfied with ourselves and with the world! People who have tried it, tell me that a clear conscience makes you very happy and contented; but a full stomach does the business quite as well, and is cheaper, and more easily obtained.
I was never really certain why he scared the bejesus out of me. Nothing scared me growing up. I’ve been playing with dead people since the day I was born, so it’s good thing, yet the Big Bad scared me. Which brings me to the reason I called.” “Which was to give me nightmares for the rest of my life?” “Oh, no, that’s just a plus. Why was I so scared of him?” “Hon, for one thing he was this powerful, massive, black smokelike being.” “So, you’re saying I’m a racist?
The lampshade on my head is for my bright ideas. I won't be able to convey them until Monday, when my curtain gets out of the dry cleaners.
If possible, try to avoid pushing each other over the edge, as that would cause me extra paperwork.
Men are all the same, they think that because they came out of the belly of a woman they know all there is to know about women.
I think it's the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.
There are women named Faith, Hope, Joy, and Prudence. Why not Despair, Guilt, Rage, and Grief? It seems only right. 'Tom, I'd like you to meet the girl of my dreams, Tragedy.' These days, Trajedi.
She blew out a breath between gritted teeth. “Sometimes I really want to”—a frustrated sound—“bite you!” He froze. “I might let you.” “I won’t do it if you’d enjoy it.
My dearest girl,' said the vampire finally, examining Lord Maccon with an exhausted but appreciative eye, 'such a banquet. Never been one to favor werewolves myself, but he is very well equipped, now, is he not?' Miss Tarabotti gave him an arch look. 'My goodies,' she warned. Humans,' chuckled the vampire, 'so possessive.
I hate patience. Slows everything down.
