Humor Quotes - Page 115

To talk of diseases is a sort of Arabian Nights entertainment.

You're Professor Mills? The new one who teaches history?"As opposed to the old Professor Mills who preached overthrow of the government?

Hey Jake. I got an idea.''Be gentle with it,' the Doc grinned. 'It's in a strange place.

Hmm…now that I think about it, housecats are often coddled and petted. You don’t pet me nearly enough. You must be a lax owner. How selfish of you to deprive your cat of attention.

Daughters can spend ten percent more than a man can make in any usual occupation. That’s a law of nature, to be known henceforth as ‘Harshaw’s Law.

…well just call me Hannibal Lecter. With cleavage.

I'm an ugly girl,My face makes you hurl,Sad I have it, I should bag it.Acne everywhere, Unwanted facial hair.I'm a relation to Frankenstein's creation.

For me, it's always a little sad getting out of bed. Every morning after I get up, I always gaze longingly at my bed and lament, 'You were wonderful last night. I didn't want it to end. I can't wait to see you again.

...as you know, I don't believe in fear, just an invention by men so they get all the money and good jobs...

There used to be a canny politician in the Hyde Park area in Chicago in which I at one time lived for several years. His slogan was "I am for harmony if I have to use an axe." As "Secretary of Charm," if and when my merits and ambitions are recognized by my appointment to that office, I will take a page out of old "Doc" Jamieson's book. My motto will be "I will have charm, even if I have to use a club.

I’d have been dead a long time ago if not for my friends, one of whom had just jumped off the cliff after me. I’d have been a lot more appreciative if he hadn’t pushed me first." ~Cassandra Palmer

We're actors — we're the opposite of people!

I was still a newlywed and certainly wasn't to the point where I felt comfortable yelling, "I'm going to shit my pants any second!"But the sweating had started, which was followed by the tears. "I'm not feeling well, and need to get home," I told him."Ok, but I have to obey the speed limit because of all the kids in the neighborhood," he replied.I was pleading with him to hurry up when he came to a complete stop.I screamed at him, "Why are we stopping?"He rolled down the window. "Retreat."I could see the flag lowering in the distance, the beautiful orange sun setting behind it.In the opposite direction I could see the roof line of our home - so close, yet so far away.As Retreat played, I surrendered. I pooped my pants. I took one for the flag.Now that's patriotism.

I went through the usual stages: imp, rascal, scalawag, whippersnapper. And, of course, after that it's just a small step to full-blown sociopath.

You never get mad,” she said when their server left the table. “Except at me.”“That’s not true,” he said tightly. “Torie can get me going.”“Torie doesn’t count. You were obviously her mother in a previous life.

Caitlyn (telling a story of her friend): So. [She] grew up and left Neverland for the distant planet called College...And made a bunch of new friends. So. There was the one guy who was there since the beginning basically...Zechariah: Since the beginning?

Michael staggered to his feet and turned to face his worst nightmare. Baal stood before him, a smirk on his face. He wore his signature grey, pinstripe, three-piece suit, and casually twisted his pinky ring on his long and slender well-manicured finger. As it rotated Michael caught a glimpse of the rubies in the skull’s eye sockets. His black hair was slicked back, the sight of his false appearance made Michael sick to his stomach.

I don’t need a personal trainer… I need someone to stalk me and threaten to kick my ass when I eat and drink stuff I’m not supposed to!

Sucks to be left out of adolescence, sort of like getting locked in the closet on Venus when the sun appears for the first time in a hundred years.

But money spent while manic doesn't fit into the Internal Revenue Service concept of medical expense or business loss. So after mania, when most depressed, you're given excellent reason to be even more so.

When I was little, my dad used to tell me, "Will, you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friends nose.

I still love him so much I'll hide any amount of conjugated estrogen in his food. So much I'll do anything to destroy him.

No one had ever accused Koko of being naughty. Perverse, perhaps, or arrogant, or despotic. But naughtiness was beneath his dignity.

People are sheep. TV is the shepherd.

Most sane human beings who have managed to attain and retain fame each uses it to dramatically increase their name’s chances of being remembered until Jesus comes back, since their heart cannot do what they consciously or unconsciously lust for, that is to say, for it to beat until Jesus returns.

I am prone to envy. It is one of my three default emotions, the others being greed and rage. I have also experienced compassion and generosity, but only fleetingly and usually while drunk, so I have little memory.

Do you know how wizards like to be buried?""Yes!""Well, how?"Granny Weatherwax paused at the bottom of the stairs."Reluctantly.

Why are they going to disappear him?'I don't know.'It doesn't make sense. It isn't even good grammar.

Creativity is knowing how to hide your sources

Heterosexuality is not normal, it's just common.

Getting married is like trading in the adoration of many for the sarcasm of one.

People can do great things. However, there are some things they just CAN'T do. I, for instance, have not been able to transform myself into a Popsicle, despite years of effort.

Assassins: they got sass and live on sin.

I still don't belong to anyone - I am mine.

Leprechauns are not twee beings dreamed up by the tourist board, but warriors of legend. That name comes from the Celtic god of commerce and war, Lugh. Their mission, their life’s work, is to protect the gold. What better way to hide it than to become a joke, a story nobody takes seriously?

When your diary is full and your life is empty, get a date

I'm a Skeptic. And I'm a Journalist. I look up things in the library—a lot! I believe in the motto of Missouri, the 'Show-me, don't just blow me' state. I need evidence. I need demonstrations. I need show-and-tell. Even though I pray to God every once in a while, especially when I'm in trouble—which for most guys my age is every 28 days—I still think deeply about the issues and don't automatically jump to a religious or mystical answer to questions. I am, by nature, doubtful about the existence of God, and even whether He is a He or a Her. I don't believe in New Age stuff. For me, 'Past Life Regression' means not calling a girl after she gives me her phone number. Sure I own a lucky rabbit's foot, a lucky penny, a lucky 4-leaf clover and a lucky horeshoe [sic], and a pair of lucky underwear and several pairs of lucky socks that I only wash every seven days. But under it all I am a died–in-the-wool skeptic.

The great thing about writing fiction is that you can do whatever the fuck you want, go as far as you are willing to go, and laugh at the people who take it seriously.

For the moment, I am relying on the authority of Cahir aep Ceallach, the only soldier in our company-and Cahir confirmed that winning battles by means of a rapid escape from the battlefield is permissible from the point of view of most military doctrines.

How're we getting to King's Cross tomorrow, Dad?" asked Fred as they dug into a sumptuous pudding."The Ministry's providing a couple of cars," said Mr. Weasley.Everyone looked up at him."Why?" said Percy curiously."It's because of you, Perce," said George seriously. "And there'll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them-""-for Humongous Bighead," said Fred.

You cannot win in a fight against women, cause men have a need to make sense

Every single living thing is food to at least one living thing.

As rain began to fall, Aldric worried the old machines would not be able to survive the weather. "Hand me that oil can!" he shouted to Siomon.Magic machines need oil?" asked Simon.Of course they need oil. They're not perfect.

In between bites of banana, Mr. Remora would tell stories, and the children would write the stories down in notebooks, and every so often there would be a test. The stories were very short, and there were a whole lot of them on every conceivable subject. "One day I went to the store to purchase a carton of milk," Mr. Remora would say, chewing on a banana. "When I got home, I poured the milk into a glass and drank it. Then I watched television. The end." Or: "One afternoon a man named Edward got into a green truck and drove to a farm. The farm had geese and cows. The end." Mr. Ramora would tell story after story, and eat banana after banana, and it would get more and more difficult for Violet to pay attention.

He thought, Yeah. Yeah, non-smokers live seven years longer. Which seven will be subtracted by the god called Time? It won't be that convulsive, heart-bursting spell between twenty-eight and thirty-five. No. It'll be that really cool bit between eighty-six and ninety-three.

He was a musician of the best nature, with guitar string fingertips and soft flute lips that could tighten in a trumpet's purse. Every movement was perfect, every breath filled with purpose. Whether close or open, his eyes seeped ambition and his body burned with chaotic passion. I was his instrument and he played me so well. His fingers fashioned a tune of ecstasy while his lips felt the reed shudders of my skin. He stole my breath and made it his own, using my lips to create his climactic song. A symphony of electricity and orgasmic bliss, he played me so well his fingers never did miss. Half-circles and hooks with my parted lips as his speaker, I never knew another musician so ruthlessly eager. To finish his song, to hit every note, elongating the melody of every sound from the depths of my throat. He was ambitious, pushing my limits, tearing my reservations and destroying my thresholds, all I could do was phase in and out, my ears ringing from the ballad I was made to produce.

When you feel like throwing rocks, make sure they're ones no one can throw back.

Haven't you ever heard that modesty is an attractive trait?""Only from ugly people," Jace confided. "The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me." He winked at the girls, who giggled and hid behind their hair.

Wow. When he started looking back on the war with Kronos as the good old days--that was sad.

B looked down the shaft, at a metal ladder and darkness beyond. "Me first?"Of course. You're the apprentice, so you always go first into the unknown. If anyone's going to be eaten by a grue, it should be you."Tough job. But at least the hours are terrible.

We should have smashed through the door long ago,” grunted Thor. Everyone had always thought of Thor as Lennie from Of Mice and Men: too big and too slow. The chief difference being that while Lenny accidentally hugged little animals to death, Thor had a penchant for beating the shit out of them with his war hammer, Mjolnir.

If you never listen, you can't see. The devil has got so many people so disconnected that they cannot even listen or even sense when the Lord is speaking.

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.

Nobody wants to give up a weekend-long excuse to dress up and attempt to outshine one another.

Great Gates almighty,” HARV said inside my brain. “I go off-line for a few nanos and the whole world goes to DOS.

When in trouble or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout.

I am a leg of the death tripod that will destroy our foes.

There was hardly an eminent writer in Paris who was unacquainted with the inside of the Conciergerie or the Bastille.

What’s the matter for you? You wanna see a stereotypa, suck on my Italian sausage and…”Einstein interrupted by leaping out of his chair, hovering over Da Vinci with his eyes as wide open as possible. His long pointy tongue stuck out like a frog ready to snap at a fly.“Oh, you wanna licka my bocce balls, do you?

Gerald's look assured her that he and the others would be as near angels as children could be without ceasing to be human.