Best 501 quotes in «hilarious quotes» category

Don't open the door to strangers," said her dad. "Unless they're selling something. Then open the door and see if I'd like it. If I'd like it, buy it for me. But nothing cheap. I have standards. Nothing too expensive, either. My standards aren't that high.

Dont shave,I like it..It helps with one of my new fantasies." "Yeah ?"Zack shifted a little to the center on top of him for maximum pleasure."What new fantasy is that ?" Lucy grinned,the sleepiness in her smile melting into guile."The one about the innocent schoolteacher and the vicious,uncivilized cop.Want to play ?" "Sure."Zack ran his hands up her back."Who do you want to be ?" "I,of course will be the innocent schoolteacher"Lucy batted her eyes at him. "Which makes me the cop.All right you have the right to remain naked." Lucy laughed.

Don't threaten me with a good time.

Don’t tempt the scorpion if you don’t want to get stung.

Do you have nicknames for any of your other brothers?" The youngster squinted his dark gray eyes in concentration. "Well, Tristan is Dare, and sometimes he's Tris; and Bradshaw is Shaw; and sometimes we call Andrew, Drew, but he doesn't like that very much." "Why not?" "He says it's a girls' name, and then Shaw calls him Drusilla.

Dylan looked promising. Tomboy. Tall and deliciously rangy. Her raven hair was unevenly sliced, streaked auburn in a patch or two. A thatch of black hair hung like a flag of bad-girl honor over Dylan’s right eye. She was delightfully loud. Her black, paint-splattered jeans were ripped at both knees. She wore a red T-shirt that proclaimed: “Ask Me About My Big Pink Pussy.

[Ella] “Again, I ask, whose side are you on?” [Lola] “The side that has the least Dorito-flavored vomit on the floor after the party.

Elizabeth smiled warmly. "For you I will allow it, Mr. Trask. How is your wife, sir? Still putting up with you, or has she finally come to her senses and run away?" Trask laughed, slapping his knee. "I see married life has not tamed that wit of yours, Miss Elizabeth! Well done! Your poor hus- band, to be saddled with such a wench!" Lizzy assumed a mournful face. "Yes, it is a tragic affair. It is merely a matter of time ere a cell at Bedlam will be his home.

Everyone gets tortured these days. Skulduggery by Serpine, who then turned around and did that red right hand thing at you. Then Skulduggery was tortured again by the Faceless Ones. I figured it was my turn, you know? You're not part of the team if you haven't been tortured- that's what I always say. Well, I'll be saying that from now on anyway.

(Erin) 'What do you think gave you this interest?' Yep. There it was. 'I’m not saying anything bad about it. I just wonder what makes one person want to hit another. Did I not give you enough contact when you were young? Should I have breast-fed?' (Derek)'I’m pretty sure it started when you left me in the bread aisle when I was two. I started thinking the only way to get people to notice me was to tie them up and whip them.

Even the world’s greatest actor cannot fake an erection.

Even those who want to go to heaven would rather kill than be killed.

Everyone got behind Fox, the name the guys had dubbed the red truck. "Fox?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah," Isaac said with a grin. "Our truck is hot, like Megan Fox.

Every single person is a fool, insane, a failure, or a bad person to at least ten people.

Follow my finger." He moved it around, tracking my eye movements. "Any blurred vision?" "Well I think I'm hallucinating, because I see a big talking pile of crap." - Joanne Baldwin.

Everything ok here ?" Ryan grunted urging her with a hand on her lower back. "He thinks you should mind your own business,"Makenna told the Beta,translating the grunt. Dominic cocked his head."You understand his grunts?" She lifted her chin."I thought it was crystal clear." Dominic turned to Ryan."Marry her." Ryan grunted again before heading for the door. "What did he say?"Dominic asked her. "Fuck off,"she translated.

Finding out that you are not your lover’s only lover hurts, but not as much as discovering that you are the side chick … or the side dick.

First, if you participate in Movember, fuck you. Second, if you want to raise money for prostate cancer (a noble cause), do it the old-fashioned way, by either begging for it or exerting yourself physically for donations. Sitting on your ass and letting nature take its course above your upper lip is not the same thing as running a 10K at a local high school or breaking out the set of power tools your dad gave you as a housewarming present collecting dust in your garage and using them to go out and build a habitat for humanity. Maybe I can raise money for rectal cancer by getting people to pledge a dollar every time I take a shit. And third no one wants to see that horrific seventies pornstache growing like a caterpillar with cerebral palsy zigzagging across your face; you look like you're about to go door to door informing people that you're a registered sex offender who's just moved in next door and would their kids like to come out and was your windowless van for a dollar? Fuck Movember. And November.

Forgive me for saying so, Your Highness," Clarissa said slowly, "but for one as unaccustomed to good deeds as you, perhaps it would be best if you started with one on a smaller scale. Something like, I don't know, spreading bread crumbs for birds?" "Birds?" Valentina stared at Clarissa as if she had sprouted wings and would fly off. "Why on earth would I wish to feed birds?" "It was just a thought," Clarissa murmured.

For a long moment the butler sat in silence, his jaw hanging open. “I . . . my lord, I simply don't feel qualified to advise you about such matters.” “Don't tell me that,” Saint protested. “Tell me whether you can imagine me as a married man or not.” To his surprise, the butler set aside his brandy snifter and sat forward. “My lord, I do not wish to overstep my bounds, but I have noticed a change in your demeanor of late. The question of whether anyone can imagine you married or not, however, is one I believe must be answered by you. And the lady, of course.” Saint frowned. “Coward.” “There is that, as well.

Forgive me. I continue to underestimate the breadth of your ignorance.

Forget I ever referred to my mother and screwing in the same sentence. That's just .... wrong. On so many levels.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe I vow, I cannot seem to walk past a window without seeing my great-nephew carrying Miss Balfour somewhere. All great romantic poems have such scenes where the hero, in a fit of passion, sweeps the heroine off her feet. Sadly, it appears that Sin’s technique is questionable. I’m surprised that, with all of his supposed experience with the gentler sex, he doesn’t realize that women do not like to be carried in a way that musses their hair and leaves them with unattractively red faces. Sadly, yet another conversation I shall have to have with that boy.

Gilly Gilleshpee

Fuck, you’ve been to the sex store.” “Sure have.” Josh held up a plastic bag. “Man, that was fun. And by fun, I mean seriously fucking creepy...

Get this: how many Weavers does it take to screw in a light bulb?' Kate folded her arms, her expression aloof. Acciper pensively scratched his beard, withholding his ignorance. 'One?' ventured Vivian. Lucian's boyish face split into a grin. His body filled up with the imminent rumble of laughter. 'Two Weavers. One holds the light bulb and the other one spins reality around it.

Girls are always complaining that they can never meet a nice guy. Nice guys are everywhere. The problem isn’t that there aren't any nice guys, the problem is that all of the nice guys are ugly.

Give it up, mister! No sex for you!" I yelled at the wall as my girls cackled maniacally. "Tons of sex for me, sister. None for you!" he yelled all too clearly through the wall.

Hairy monkeyballs!” I hiss. “Dogshit on a stick! Puke pancakes!” A head pokes in. Wren, green eyes smiling, walks over to my bed. “I knew you were awake. Who else spews such original and captivating swears?

God help him if any of them ever came true. Why, he'd be a two-headed, three-toed, monkey-nosed, blind son of a cesspit-licking lackey is she had her way.

Golan swiveled his head back and forth, nervously sizing us up. Is she serious? For a moment he seemed genuinely frightened, but then he said, "You're full of shit.

Good afternoon, Your Honor,” she said. “Thanks for doing this.” “Call me Joshua,” he replied. “Unless we meet in the courtroom.” “Or Sir,” Connor added. She looked between them. “You’re a Dom, too? How many of you are there?” “It’s not like we’re werewolves or something,” Connor protested. “Werewolves only get randy around the full moon.

Hadn’t retired reporter Stan warned him of how protective Cosimo was of his granddaughters? What if the Carusos had discovered his identity and wanted to rub him out as they’d rubbed out his father? Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

Has that obscenely rich fucker upset you again?

Has anyone ever told you that you're unbearably rude?" she returned, facing him again. "Why, yes. You have on several occasions, as I recall. If you care to apologize for that, however, I'll be happy to escort you wherever you wish to go." A flush crept up her cheeks, coloring her delicate, ivory skin. "I will never apologize to you," she snapped. "And you may go straight to Hades." He hadn't expected her to apologize, yet he couldn't help suggesting it every so often. "Very well. Upstairs, first door on the left. I'll be in Hades, if you should require my services.

Halt regarded him. He loved Horace like a younger brother. Even like a second son, after will. He admired his skill with a sword and his courage in battle. But sometimes, just sometimes, he felt an overwhelming desire to ram the young warrior's head against a convenient tree.

Have they built cities on the moon?" another boy asked hopefully. "We left some garbage and a flag there in the sixties, but thats about it.

He closed his eyes. The insides of his eyelids were a brownish black, not at all the same as the thick purple of the night. Darkness had so many colors. It was strange, that, and perhaps a little disquieting. But— ―Oh!‖ A foot slammed into his left calf, and he opened his eyes just in time to see a woman tumbling backward. Right onto his blanket. He smiled. The gods still loved him.

He cuddled her back into his arms and sighed, closing his eyes as the flames in the gas logs danced like sugar-plums. Gracie watched them across his broad chest, feeling the happiness like a flame inside her heart. Somewhere she heard Christmas carols being sung and a dog barking in the distance. Closer, she heard the strong, regular beat of Jason’s heart under her ear. Christmas wasn’t only in her heart. It was in her arms.

He asked what she was in for and complimented the find workmanship of her metal extremities, but she ignored him, making him briefly question if he'd been separated from the female population for so long that he could be losing his charm. But that seemed unlikely.

He even dressed up for you. He only has one stain on his t-shirt.- Rylie Cruz

He eyed her warily. “Did Pearl give you coffee?” “Yes.” “How many cups?” “Just three. It’s quite good with cream and sugar.” “Have you ever had it before?” “No. Why? What does that have to do with anything? I don’t see what that has to do with anything. Why are my knees shaking?” “Pearl!” Pearl peeked around the wall. “Well! She had a headache. I didn’t think she’d act like a squirrel. And I didn’t know she had three cups.” “A headache?” Maximillion murmured. He turned to Isadora, pointing to the nearest chair. “Sit down.” “I don’t want to.” “Sit. Down.

He forced himself forward trying to seem innocent without acting like someone who was guilty who was trying to act innocent.

He ground his teeth together, the torture of it almost more than he could bear. The urge to pull her to him was overwhelming, but to do that would cost him dearly, for no doubt she would run out the door, damning him with every step. This was Lorelei, the artist, and she didn't see him as a man. Right now, he was about as human as the ridiculous fruit she'd painted in the past. And if he played along with her wants, perhaps she'd let him show her his...banana.

He ignored me, thank God, saying to Kat, "Let go of Frosty's leash. You're choking the life out of him." Kat's eyes narrowed to tiny slits, a sure sign of her aggression. "He deserves to choke. He didn't keep little frosty in his pants this summer." the words snapped like a whip. "He did." Cole snapped back with unwavering confidence. "Not." "Did." "Not!" "Did," "Not, not, not!" she shouted with a stomp of her foot. "What are we five?" Cole said. "Six.

He looked at Ghastly. "Thoughts?" "I want to kill Sanguine," was the first thing Ghastly said. "And I want to do it slowly, in front of a lot of people. Using a hammer." Skulduggery nodded. "Very healthy.

He liked murder. Murder and long walks had been two of his favorite things when he was younger.

He openned the door that he assumed was the garage only to find himself in the pantry. crap. "Um . . . grabbing some Pop-Tarts for the road," Nick said, covering his mistake. Still, they both stared at him as if he'd escaped Arkham Asylum. Offering them a fake smile, he grabbed the pastries, crossed himself, and hoped he got the next door correct. Nope. Bathroom. With a pain-filled groan at his rampant stupidity, Nick pretended to use it before he tried again. At least there were only two more doors to go. Fifty-fifty chance. Thankfully, third time was the charm.

Her gaze flickered to the balcony doors and back, her brows knitted in confusion. “My balcony doesn’t connect to yours.” “I jumped.” He grinned at the flash of concern he saw in “her eyes. “At dinner, your grandmother informed me that you’d be moving to the room beside mine. She also mentioned how close my balcony was to yours; so close that even an old lady like herself could leap between the two without the least effort.” Venetia’s cheeks heated and she pulled her nightgown closer. “Grandmama is anything but subtle.” “Almost as subtle as your mother.” “Oh, no! Not Mama, too.” Gregor paused beside a small table to pick up a silver tray holding a cut crystal decanter and matching glasses and set it on the table before Venetia. “Your mother was concerned I might be afraid of heights. She told me that if she were thinking of jumping between the balconies and couldn’t bring herself to make the leap, it might be possible to pick the lock on the connecting door with, say, a cravat pin.” Venetia blushed. “I’m surprised they aren’t in here now, throwing rose petals before you as you walk.” “I would never countenance petal tossing. Too showy.

Her next words took me by surprise. I lay as still as I could, barely breathing, afraid that if I moved she would stop speaking her heart. “My mom wanted six children. She only got me, and that sucks for her because I was a total weirdo.” “You were not,” I said. She twisted her head up to look at me. “I used to line my lips in black eyeliner and sit cross-legged on the kitchen table … meditating.” “Not that bad,” I said. “Crying out for attention.” “Okay, when I was twelve I started writing letters to my birth mother because I wanted to be adopted.” I shook my head. “Your childhood sucked, you wanted a new reality.” She snorted air through her nose. “I thought a mermaid lived in my shower drain, and I used to call her Sarah and talk to her.” “Active imagination,” I countered. She was becoming more insistent, her little body wriggling in my grip. “I used to make paper out of dryer lint.” “Nerdy.” “I wanted to be one with nature, so I started boiling grass and drinking it with a little bit of dirt for sugar.” I paused. “Okay, that’s weird.” “Thank you!” she said. Then, she got serious again. “My mom just loved me through all of it.