Christopher Moore Quotes

And I was all, "Don't be gross, you crustacious fuck. You pull that thing out and I'll pepper-spray you until you fry." (You have to be stern with weenie waggers--I've been exposed to on the bus over seventeen times, so I know.)

It was the sound of a thousand hungry children crying, ten thousand widows tearing their hair over their husband's graves, a chorus of angels singing the last dirge on the day of God's death.

If there was anything I learned from John the Baptist, it was that the sooner you confess a mistake, the quicker you can get on to making new and better mistakes.

Only cops and vampires have to have an invitation to enter.

Rivera rubbed his temples. "Satan told you to do it?" he said wearily."No.""Elvis?""I told you, it's supernatural.

She doesn't understand that a writer is a special creature--that I'm different from everyone else. I'm not saying I'm superior to other people, just more sensitive, I guess.

By Aladdin's lamplit scrotum, man! Everything is a story. What is there but stories? Stories are the only truth.

She was an alien, really - a sort of eating, pooping, tantrum machine - and he didn't understand anything about her species.

The three jewels of Tao: compassion, moderation, and humility. Balthasar said compassion leads to courage, moderation leads to generosity, and humility leads to leadership.

It's wildly irritating to have invented something as revolutionary as sarcasm, only to have it abused by amateurs.

Canada is a myth people made up to entertain children, like the Tooth Fairy. There’s no such place.

Mr. Asher, you can resist who you are for only so long. Finally, you just decide to go with fate.

In another Christmas story, Dale Pearson, evil developer, self-absorbed woman hater, and seemingly unredeemable curmudgeon, might be visited in the night by a series of ghosts who, by showing him bleak visions of Christmas future, past, and present, would bring about in him a change to generosity, kindness, and a general warmth toward his fellow man. But this is not that kind of Christmas story, so here, in not too many pages, someone is going to dispatch the miserable son of a bitch with a shovel. That's the spirit of Christmas yet to come in these parts. Ho, ho, ho.

I've seen more intelligence in the crotch lice of harem whores.

Children see magic because they look for it.

The Angel Gabriel disappeared once for sixty years and they found him on earth hiding in the body of a man named Miles Davis.

I'm feeling full of tiny princes, bustling to get out into the world and start plotting against one another.

Which isn’t, like, as bad as it sounds, because the general public kind of sucks ass.

Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry, you can't have a baby brother, because that would mean that Daddy had sex, and that's never going to happen again.

The Painting is not shit,' said Lucien.'I know,' said Henri. 'That was just part of the subterfuge. I am of royal lineage; subterfuge is one of the many talents we carry in our blood, along with guile and hemophilia.

Everyone thinks that it was the big strong caveman who got the girl, and for the most part, that may have been true, but physical strength doesn't explain how our species created civilization. I think there was always some scrawny dreamer sitting at the edge of the firelight, who had the ability to imagine dangers, to look into the future in his imagination and see possibilities, and therefore survived to pass his genes on to the next generation. When the big ape men ended up running off the cliff or getting killed while trying to beat a mastodon into submission with a stick, the dreamer was standing back thinking 'Hey, that might work, but you need to run the mastodon off the cliff.' And, then he'd mate with the women left over after the go-getters got killed.

Blessed with the Beta Male imagination, he spent much of his life squinting into the future so he might spot ways in which the world was conspiring to kill him...

Don't bruise the Foo!

Joshua's ministry was three years of preaching, sometimes three times a day, and although there were some high and low points, I could never remember the sermons word for word, but here's the gist of almost every sermon I ever heard Joshua give.You should be nice to people, even creeps.And if you:a) believed that Joshua was the Son of God (and)b) he had come to save you from sin (and)c) acknowledged the Holy Spirit within you (became as a little child, he would say) (and)d) didn't blaspheme the Holy Ghost (see c)then you would:e) live foreverf) someplace niceg) probably heavanHowever, if you:h) sinned (and/or)i) were a hypocrite (and/or)j) valued things over people (and)k) didn't do a, b, c, and d,then you were:l) fucked

He was a writer and words were his weapons.

Nothing evokes the prurient like puritanism.

A woman’s magazine quiz:Question: You decide to do the dread deed and just as things are starting to get hot he comes, rolls over, and asks, “Was it good for you?”You:a. Say, “God, yes! That was the best seventeen seconds of my life”b. Say, “Sure, as good as it gets for me with a man.”c. Put a Certs in your navel and say, “That’s for you, Mr. Bunnyman. You can have it on your way back up, after the job is finished

Let me say right here, if I haven't made it clear, that I have seen as many pale, naked old-man parts in the last twenty-four hours to bruise my delicate psyche for a lifetime, so don't be surprised if you someday find me wandering the moors at midnight, a crazed look in my eye, babbling about albino Tater Tots nesting in Brillo pads and being pursued by sagging man ass, because that shit can happen when you've been traumatized.

The prospect of change is a many-fanged beast, my dear.

And I'll have you know that if you hurt my son again, if he so much as sighs sadly over his coffee, I will hire a man, a Russian, probably, to hunt you down and rip all that shiny black hair from your head, then break your skinny arms and legs, and set you on fire, and then put you out with a hammer. And should there be children from your beastly rutting, I shall have the Russian man cut them to tiny pieces and feed them to Madame Jacob's dog. because, although he may be only a worthless, simpleminded, libertine artist, Lucien is my favorite, and I will not have him hurt. Do you understand?

One day I was telling him that I thought that cars had replaced guns as phallic symbols for American men, and I thought it was interesting that he had one that was so small and fast. The next day he gave me the Datsun and went out and bought a Lincoln.

You're trying to be tricky. What's morality?""It's the difference between what's right and what you can rationalize.""Must be a human thing.""Exactly.

What love is not torment when a man knows not how to love himself? Talk not of drowning, but attaining your heart's desire by action: Put money in thy purse.

My children are monsters, Kiro thought. And I am responsible. Perhaps if I had read them the haikus of Basho when they were little instead of that American manifesto of high-pressure sales, Green Eggs and Ham...

Abby Von Normal - And I'm like, "Don't change the subject, Kung Pao, what I want to know is if you're ready to spend some up-close and personal time with ninety pounds of barbarian woman-flesh! Sorry, I don't know how much that is in kilos.

It’s sarcasm, Josh.”“Sarcasm?”“It’s from the Greek, sarkasmos. To bite the lips. It means that you aren’t really saying what you mean, but people will get your point. I invented it, Bartholomew named it.”“Well, if the village idiot named it, I’m sure it’s a good thing.”“There you go, you got it.”“Got what?”“Sarcasm.”“No, I meant it.”“Sure you did.”“Is that sarcasm?”“Irony, I think.”“What’s the difference?”“I haven’t the slightest idea.”“So you’re being ironic now, right?”“No, I really don’t know.”“Maybe you should ask the idiot.”“Now you’ve got it.”“What?”“Sarcasm.

Why write a song when no one can play the notes or understand the lyrics?

Hope is bulletproof, truth just hard to hit

Blessed are the meek, for to them we shall say "attaboy".

But she's a redhead, so she's probably evil, even at her tender age.""I thought you liked redheads.""I do. What's your point?

...as if someone had thrown a hand grenade into the middle of a teddy bear orgy and the only survivors had had their fur blown off.

So I'm all, "Owned! Bee-yatch! Dog fucking owned you!" Doing a minor booty dance of ownage, perhaps, in retrospect, a bit prematurely. (I believe hip-hop to be the apprpriate language for taunting, at least until I learn French.)

Sweet Pocket, you mustn’t ask about my life before I came here. What I am now, I have always been, and everything I am is here with you.”　　“Sweet Thalia,” said I. “That is a fiery flagon of dragon toss.

Whistler,' Manet called. 'How's your mother?

That was supposed to be the whole purpose of the Internet, you know. To share scientific information.""Not a Viagra- and porn-delivery system?

But Charlie could imagine, because he was a Beta Male, and imagination was his curse....

Lucien, women are wondrous, mysterious, and magical creatures, who should be treated not only with respect but with reverence, perhaps even awe. Now go sweep the steps.

So I am death" Charlie said then turned to his daughter while buttering his toast."This is death toast sweety.

She hugged me and I could feel the heat rise in my face, either from shame or love, like there was a difference.

I love you above all things, even pie.

You sure about this writer thing son?

Love needs room to grow. Like a rose. Or a tumor.

Pondering is a little like considering and a little like thinking, but looser. To ponder, one must let the facts roll around the rim of the mind's roulette wheel, coming to settle in whichever slot they feed pulled to.

Nobody's perfect. Well, there was this one guy, but we killed him....

Of course they won't bloody remember, they'll be dead.' Then she called him a name in a dead language that translated, roughly, to 'poop on a stick,' but sounded more succinct, like this: 'Of course they won't bloody remember, they'll be dead, Poopstick.

Love: the sickest of Irony’s sick jokes. The place where logic and order go to die.

...and thus he found his single source of joy in the society of other people: frightening the girls with his penis.

Stephenie Meyer: Her vampires are sparkly, which I think we can all agree is wrong.

I've tried to get the angel to watch MTV so I can learn the vocabulary of your music, but even with the gift of tongues, I'm having trouble learning to speak hip-hop. Why is it that one can busta rhyme or busta move anywhere but you must busta cap in someone's ass? Is "ho" always feminine, and "muthafucka" always masculine, while "bitch" can be either? How many peeps in a posse, how much booty before baby got back, do you have to be all that to get all up in that, and do I need to be dope and phat to be da bomb or can I just be "stupid"? I'll not be singing over any dead mothers until I understand.

We were seekers. You are that which is sought, Joshua. You are the source. The end is divinity, in the beginning is the word. You are the word.