Best 248 of Humourous quotes - MyQuotes
A few days earlier, Adriana and I had been browsing books at the local library. I happened to turn around and look at her...and that was it. The man who "loved to laugh" in Mary Poppins had nothing on us.
It would be like The Rock versus Seth Green. Now, tell me who he is
She opened the door within two seconds of his pressing the doorbell, letting out a stream of cats that ran around with such rapidity and randomness of motion that they assumed a liquid state of furry purringness.
Błogosławiony ten, co nie mając nic do powiedzenia, nie obleka tego faktu w słowa. Cnotliwa kobieta nie goni za mężem, bo kto widział, by pułapka goniła mysz? Egoista: ten, który więcej dba o siebie niż o mnie. Pesymista twierdzi, że wszystkie kobiety to nierządnice. Optymista twierdzi, że nie, ale ma nadzieję. Pojęcia takie jak: wieczność, bezgraniczność zaczynam rozumieć dopiero wtedy, gdy załatwiam jakąś sprawę w urzędzie. Powiedzieć komuś: idiota! – to nie obelga, lecz diagnoza. Różnica między wielbłądem i człowiekiem – wielbłąd może pracować przez tydzień nie pijąc; człowiek może przez tydzień pić nie pracując. Żyj tak, aby znajomym zrobiło się nudno, gdy umrzesz.
What we’ve got here is a lunatic genius ghost-in-the-computer monorail that likes riddles and goes faster than the speed of sound. Welcome to the fantasy version of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
Silk stockings. With garters. Well, they were out. There were a lot of things he'd do for Sybil, but if garters figured anywhere in the relationship they weren't going to be on him.
Thomas Love Peacock
If we go on in this way, we shall have a new art of poetry, of which one of the first rules will be: To remember to forget that there are any such things as sunshine and music in the world.
There ain't enough happens in soccer. It's like watching twenty-two hair models kick a ball around for what seems like six months and then one of them falls over and the ball goes in the goal.
Now that I've declared my religion, namely, NUTTISM; I anoint myself, Mr. NUTS, as its MESSIAH. And you damn well bow to our god, Mr. NOT. He reveals that your pal up there too is naught! Dare not criticize the messiah - me! Or you'll be kicked in the nuts by my pal Mr. NOT.
The city wasa, wasa, wasa wossname. Thing. Woman. Thass what it was. Woman. Roaring, ancient, centuries old. Strung you along, let you fall in thingy, love, with her, then kicked you inna, inna, thingy. Thingy, in your mouth. Tongue. Tonsils. Teeth. That's what it, she, did. She wasa...thing, you know, lady dog. Puppy. Hen. Bitch.
I believe in love. Unfortunately, it doesn't believe me. Lust, on the other hand, is a nagging wife poking constantly at my DNA.
I don’t suppose you’d want to go destroy some evil, would you? the voice said. I’m not really sure what that means, to be honest. I’ll just trust you to decide.
She nodded, grabbed her purse out of the drawer and skedaddled, walking like she was on a catwalk, one foot in front of the other, her ass swaying under the skirt of her expensive, tailored suit. Bitch. I thought again, watching her go. “No comparison,” Luke said after the door closed behind Dawn and I turned to him. “Excuse me?” “Dawn’s a man eater. You’re not. No comparison,” Luke answered and I didn’t know how to take that. “Is that good?” The half-smile came back. “Most men prefer to do the eating.” Holy fucking cow.
The ECTs are moving the guns in small batches," Bat said. "We're making them take so many photos that one of them asked if she was being trained to shoot porno.
The mighty hunter,” I quipped as we snuck out the backdoor, escaping into the yard. “He can take down vicious rabids and rampaging boars, but one old lady can make him flee in terror.” “One scary old lady,” he corrected me, looking relieved to be out of the house. “You didn’t hear what she told me when I got up — you’re so cute I could put you in a pie. Tell me that’s not the creepiest thing you’ve ever heard.” His voice climbed a few octaves, turning shrill and breathy. “Today for dessert, we have apple pie, blueberry pie and Ezekiel pie.
The horsemen came closer. Vimes was not good at horsemen. Something in him resented being addressed by anyone eight feet above the ground. He didn't like the sensation of being looked at by nostrils.
Vanessa was deprived of her hormones in prison and thus retained several male characteristics that would have been less evident otherwise, most notably her voice. While she spoke in a high, little-girl voice most of the time, she could switch at will to a booming, masculine Richard-voice. She loved to sneak up behind people and scare the crap out of them this way, and she was very effective at quieting a noisy dining hall, roaring, "Y'all hush up!" Best of all were her Richardian encouragements on the softball field, where she was a sought-after teammate. That bitch could hit.
Brussel Sprouts are bad for your health, Scientists have shown that everyone who ever ate a Sprout between the years 1762 and 1815 are now death. You have been warned
It was possible she’d been too focused on her need for another cocktail to realize we were witnessing one of the portents of the apocalypse. ”The Luidaeg is singing Disney songs.
The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork sat back on his austere chair with the sudden bright smile of a very busy person at the end of a crowded day who's suddenly found in his schedule a reminder saying: 7.00-7.05, Be Cheerful and Relaxed and a People Person.
It had to be asked, even though I was almost certain I was the special cupcake of the year.
At times like this it's traditional that a hero comes forth," said the President of the Guild of Assassins. "A dragon slayer. Where is he, that's what I want to know? Why aren't our schools turning out young people with the skills society needs?
The weed-whacker dad was helping his kid whack weeds. Dad was blitzed to the eyeballs on beer, and the kid was waving the weed whacker around like he was Luke Skywalker. It wasn’t going to end well.
Adrian Mole's diary Easter Poor Jesus, it must have been dead awful for him. I wouldn't have the guts to do it myself.
The street was full of animals, milling around uncertainly. When animals are in a state of uncertainty they get nervous, and the street was already, as it were, paved with anxiety.
Oi, stop looking at my nethers. Be a gentleman, look away. When a gal’s in a predicament you should ‘elp ‘er out
Optimism was for children. Once you reached adulthood then you had to join the rest of the world as a realist - life was a bag of shit you were expected to pay for.
Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for your friends, and then you do it for the money - Virginia Woolf
Oh, I'm dying,' I like moaned. 'Oh, I have a ghastly pain in my side. Appendicitis, it is. Ooooooh.' 'Appendy shitehouse,' grumbled this veck.
Even the ones you don't like, you like better in Paris.
If you're not smarter than your phone, then you aren't smart at all.
But it is infamous that they have not told you!’ declared Eustacie. ‘Je n’en reviendrai jamais!’ ‘If it’s all the same to you, miss, I’d just as soon you’d talk in a Christian language,’ said Mr. Stubbs.
One girl raved about a nice voicemail a guy had recently left her. I kindly requested she play it and heard this gem: 'Hey, Lydia. It's Sam. Just calling to say what's up. Gimme a ring when you get a chance.' THAT WAS IT. I pleaded to know what was so great about this. She sweetly recalled that 'he remembered my name, he said hi, and he told me to call him back.' Never mind the fact that what she described was the content of LITERALLY EVERY VOICE MAIL IN HISTORY. Name, hello, please call back. Not really a boatload of charm on display. To fail this test, a guy would have to leave a message that said: 'No greeting. This is man. I don't remember you. End communication.
Is that the drink with the vodka? Because- " "No," said Lady Margolotta quietly. "This, I am afraid, is the other kind. Still, ve have that in common, don't ve? Neither of us drinks...alcohol. I believe you vere an alcoholic, Sir Samuel." "No," said Vimes, completely taken aback. "I was a drunk. You have to be richer than I was to be an alcoholic.
After a few minutes, Molly came partway up the short ladder to the bridge and stopped. "Do I need to ask permission to come up there or something?" "Why would you?" I asked. She considered. "It's what they do on Star Trek?
Click. The salamander flared, etching the room with searing white light and dark shadows. Otto screamed. He fell to the floor, clutching at his throat. He sprang to his feet, goggle-eyed and gasping, and staggered, knock-kneed and wobbly-legged, the length of the room and back again. He sank down behind a desk , scattering paperwork with a wildly flailing hand. "Aarghaarghaaaargh..." There was a shocked silence. Otto stood up, adjusted his cravat, and dusted himself off. Only then did he look up at the row of shocked faces. "Vel?" he said sternly. "Vat are you all looking at? It is just a normal reaction, zat is all. I am vorking on it. Light in all its forms is mine passion. Light is my canvas, shadows are my brush." But strong light hurts you!" said Sacharissa. "It hurts vampires!" "Yes. It iss a bit of a bugger, but zere you go.
The three thieves looked around. As their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they received a general impression of armourality, with strong overtones of helmetness.
Do you want me to tell you the truth?" he asked softly. "No I want you to bullshit me please.
When I wanted to quit smoking cannabis a few years ago and found that I couldn’t do it under my own steam I went in search of a self-help book to show me the way. Annoyingly all I could find were books on how to cultivate the damn stuff. So to exact my revenge on the world of publishing I decided to one day write that book myself.
All I want is for my kids to have a good sense of humour. They don't have to be funny, just need to be able to recognise how hilarious I am.
He wants to put ranch dressing on your Hidden Valley
I needed to say something. Something romantic! Something to sweep her off her feet. "You're like a potato!" I shouted after her. "In a minefield.
Writing is all about tents: sometimes you're competent, sometimes you're eloquetent.
Monsters are getting more uppity, too," said another. "I heard where this guy, he killed this monster in this lake, no problem, stuck its arm up over the door-" "Pour encourjay lays ortras," said one of the listeners. "Right, and you know what? Its mum come and complained. Its actual mum come right down to the hall next day and complained. Actually complained. That's the respect you get.
The Codex actually sounds kind of creepy here. “Yeeeees, tell me eeeeeverything.” I was Marked by a very cute boy with terrible impulse control. I don’t remember because I was basically unconscious but everyone was mad at him when I woke up. The end, love Clary.
Is that you, Sergeant Angua?" said a voice in the gloom. A lantern was open, and lit the approaching face of Constable Visit. As he drew near, she could just make out the thick wad of pamphlets under his other arm. "Hello, Washpot," she said. "What's up?" "...looks like a twist of lemon..." said a damp voice from the shadows. "Mister Vimes sent me to search the bars of iniquity and low places of sin for you," said Visit. "And the literature?" said Angua. "By the way, the words "nothing personal" could have so easily been added to that last sentence.
I've nothing against people. Just a***oles. But then, most people are.
The forest of Skund was indeed enchanted, which was nothing unusual on the Disc, and was also the only forest in the whole universe to be called -- in the local language -- Your Finger You Fool, which was the literal meaning of the word Skund. The reason for this is regrettably all too common. When the first explorers from the warm lands around the Circle Sea travelled into the chilly hinterland they filled in the blank spaces on their maps by grabbing the nearest native, pointing at some distant landmark, speaking very clearly in a loud voice, and writing down whatever the bemused man told them. Thus were immortalised in generations of atlases such geographical oddities as Just A Mountain, I Don't Know, What? and, of course, Your Finger You Fool. Rainclouds clustered around the bald heights of Mt. Oolskunrahod ('Who is this Fool who does Not Know what a Mountain is') and the Luggage settled itself more comfortably under a dripping tree, which tried unsuccessfully to strike up a conversation.
No swamp dragon could ever terrorise a kingdom, except by accident. Vimes wondered how many had been killed by enterprising heroes. It was terribly cruel to do something like that to creatures whose only crime was to blow themselves absent-mindedly to pieces in mid-air, which was not something any individual dragon made a habit of. A race of, of whittles, that's what dragons were. Born to lose. Live fast, die wide.
Primus is certainly learning caution," said Secundus to his four other dead brothers. "Well, you know what they say," whispered Quintus, in the wistful tones of the dead, which sounded, on that day, like the lapping of distant waves upon the shingle, "a man who is tired of looking over his shoulder for Septimus is tired of life.