Best 3518 quotes in «humour quotes» category

Here you are. Would you like some pickles?” “Pickles gives me the wind something awful.” “In that case—” “Oh, I wasn’t saying no,” Mistress Weatherwax said, taking two large pickled cucumbers.

Her metaphors for her children included barnacles encrusting a ship and limpets clinging to a rock.

Her hair was pulled back so severely, it would have won approval from the Spanish Inquisition as a method of torture.

Her lips taste like mint from toothpaste or gum, or sometimes like cherries or grapes from her lip gloss. She's soft when I hold her, with curves where my hands rest, and when I touch her I think stupid caveman things like, mine and totally mine—oh yeah, and all mine.

Her lips full and inviting, she has an infectious laugh and glassy cackle in her eyes, and a 2000 volt sexual charisma that beckons me like a fluff girl on scuffed knees.

Her mother set to with the hairbrush again. “But would that be so awful, darling? To be the prettiest thing in Brimscombe-and-Thrupp?” “I should rather die.” “You nearly did.” “Yes, but I tend to blame the Germans.

Her other boyfriend before me was a druggie, too. I don't mean... he was a druggie. I like drugs, but he was a druggie . It's like she just goes out with people who take drugs so she can pick on them. Joan of Narc, patron saint of the addict. - Alex

Her protestations were drowned out by the sound of Gordon Honeycomb barfing up aftershock into the kitchenette sink.

Her preferred form of exercise, she told Wendy, was stress. "Clench muscles, hold for twelve hours, release for a count of five, then clench again

He scanned the page looking for an entry that read, "Help! I'm Almost Thirteen Years Old and I Still Have the Muscles of a Third-Grader!" but apparently Robert's condition was so freakish and rare, the authors of the book didn't even bother to include it.

[He]said something that made it impossible to continue working for him.[The exact words were]You're fired.

He’s adorably high-handed where you’re concerned, isn’t he?” My eyes slide closed. “With anyone.” “No,” he says thoughtfully. “Only you. He really can’t be bothered with anyone else, unless they’re connected to you. You’re all he sees.

He's all right. His hair is cute." Jonas froze, his lobster fork halfway to his mouth. " Oh my God, you're in love." "I'm not in love." "'his hair is cute'? You never say anything nice about anyone. Coming from you, cute hair is a mating call." " I talked to the guy for thirty seconds. And then he waved at me while i was in the tank." "Holy fuck, you're getting married, aren't you!" " Will you simmer. I certainly am not.

He said he wouldn’t stay, as he didn’t care much for the smell of the paint, and fell over the scraper as he went out. Must get the scraper removed, or else I shall get into a scrape. I don’t often make jokes.

He's got a chloroform-soaked rag in one hand, and before Judy realizes what's happening, the dude is all over her like fat on cheese.

He shall rule, whom they look not for that dwell upon the earth, and the fowls shall take their flight away together:

He’s my cat! He’s not God’s cat! Let God have his own cat! Let God have all the damn old cats He wants, and kill them all! Church is mine!

He’s in a side room alone with her and it’s far too fucking hot.

He smells like what I always imagine Bruce Wayne must smell like - a lot of money and a big, bad secret.

He’s going to kill me,” Peppone murmured, his jaw drooping, “or at least send out the order to have someone take care of me. Well,” with a sigh, “might as well get rid of this body before the others wake up.” He canted his head and mused to himself. “Maybe I should carve it up first.” “At long last,” Bartleby cried, raising his eyes and wringing his hands, “somebody who has no regard for collective conscience and general morality. Oh, happy, happy morning!” “Take care, Peppone,” Danaco laughed, “if you have so little regard for life and the creatural condition, Bartleby will attach himself to you and never leave you for a moment.

He should probably make love to her.

He’s more a shape in a drape than a hep cat

He's like a man with a fork, in a world of soup. (about his brother Liam)

He's never known anything like it! But then, he has never known anything to write home about, so this is nothing to write home about.

He shakes his head furiously. “I won’t go to her Nell. I can’t because I don’t want her, and I haven’t for a long time. I belong to you and the only woman that I see is you, and that’s never going to change. I want you for everything that makes you mine. I want what we were building on tour but I want it for always – us together laughing, talking and making love. We were a team and we looked out for each other. At the end of the day you’ve changed me in so many ways there is no way that I can go back to the old me.” He pauses and then straightens and his voice firms. “I don’t want to go back. I want to go forward, but only with you.

He stares at me. “So you’re telling me that you obey all my orders, because honestly that would be news to me?” “I always obey your orders,” I say indignantly. “I am quite possibly the best assistant in history.” “That would certainly be true, if you were the only assistant in history.

He then, with great presence of mind, put a stop to any further recriminations by kissing her; and his indignant betrothed, apparently feeling that he was too deeply sunk in depravity to be reclaimable, abandoned (for the time being, at all events) any further attempt to bring him to a sense of his iniquity.

He stopped at the gate on his way back to the temple, where Gracilis, the Twentieth’s hard-case wolf hunter from the Campanian mountains, was supervising the strengthening of the defences. ‘Take some men and tear down the huts along the west wall. And while you’re at it, clear everything for a javelin throw in front of this gate. I want a killing ground from there to about there.’ Gracilis grinned and saluted. Like all legionaries, the only thing he liked better than fighting and drinking was destroying someone else’s property. ‘Should we burn them, sir?’ he said hopefully. Valerius shook his head. No point in creating smoke to warn the enemy. ‘Just break them up and add them to the barriers.

He tends to go for girls who are-Shelby, honey? Put your hands over your ears for just a sec.” Back into the phone he said, “He likes the real slutty ones. Ow!” he yelled when he received a whop to the back of the head.

He took the pen and book from her and faltered. “Just write anything – anything trivial that won't matter if it comes to pass.” “Erm...” God, he was useless at this. Elena's hair turned blue. “Hey!” “What?” “I don't want blue hair! What the hell did you write that for?” “It seemed trivial.” “Blue hair – blue? That's trivial? What if I can't undo it?” Karl stared at her blankly. His throat went dry. He felt like a total dickhead, but writing really wasn't his strong point, so he went for humour instead and flashed her a grin. “I was going to write that all your clothes fall off, but figured you may have a problem with that. This was the second thing that came to mind.” (Karl and Elena)

Heureusement l'ennemi était on ne peut moins entreprenant. Il y eut des nuits où notre position eût pu être prise d'assaut par vingt boy-scouts armés de carabines à air comprimé, ou tout aussi bien par vingt girl-guides armées de raquettes.

He took her hand in his and knelt before her. Valkyrie looked at him. He was serious. (...)'Dude, I'm sixteen.' 'I love you.' 'That doesn't make me any older. Stand up.' 'Not until you say yes.' 'You're going to shuffle around on your knees for the rest of your life? Stand up, for God's sake.' 'Be my wife.' 'Shut the hell up.

He unlaced his arms and took a step forward. "You hurt?" "Not badly." She tried to smile, but her lips only curved on one side. "My main problem is that I'm stuck to a cactus." (...) "How'd you manage to get tangled up with a cactus?" J.T. crouched beside her and started extricating her from the prickly plant. "Well, believe it or not, I was on my way to apologize to you when a prairie-dog hole jumped up and grabbed my shoe heel.

He turned around, suddenly concerned. "Are you pregnant? Are you gay? I'd rather you were gay than pregnant. Unless you're pregnant. Then we'll deal. Whatever it is, we'll deal. Are you pregnant?

He wanted to start from the top while he knew nothing of the beginning and that was why he was always swimming at the bottom. He liked to think he was an entrepreneur and was even on Dragon’s Den with the silliest invention ever: a machine to scratch his back. Why don’t you just reach out, you lazy twit?

He was a large, fleshy man, weighing at least two hundred pounds, and he quickly became a faithful representation of a quivering jelly mountain of fat.

He was a philosopher, if you know what that was.’ ‘A man who dreams of fewer things than there are in heaven and earth,’ said the Savage promptly. ‘Quite so…

He was a very dispirited Poet. He had never expected the world to act in a courteous, seemly, or even sensible manner, and the world had seldom done so; often he had taken heart in the consistency of its rudeness and stupidity. But never before had the world shot the Poet in the abdomen with a musket. This he found not heartening at all.

He was cold, standing in a wood, talking to a big black bird who was currently brunching on Bambi.

He was silent. Well! Now she knew how right she had been. He was not in the least in love with her, and very happy she was to know it, All she wanted was a suitable retreat, such as a lumber-room, or a coal-cellar, in which to enjoy her happiness to the full.

He was pretty sure he hadn't dozed off as a snake. Usually, he slept like a dog.

He wasn’t a pretty boy, his nose was crooked and his grin lopsided, but he had that square-jawed, salt-of-the-earth handsome look that made a girl think of loose-hipped cowboys and demanding Scottish Lairds. And speaking of Scottish Lairds, old mate was a redhead. Usually gingers weren’t her scene but this guy’s hair was the rich coppery-auburn of a fox's pelt. It gleamed like rose gold under the floodlights, his short beard the exact colour as the stuff on his head. Big Red was doing it for her. Big time. And apparently, the feeling was mutual.

He was the guy who always won the game of chicken because his opponents suspected he might actually enjoy a head-on collision.

He was under the mistaken impression that I didn't have enough tact. The truth was, I had no tact.

He was trying to talk to Cath about buffalo. As far as she could tell, Levi had a whole class that was just about buffalo. He seemed like he'd major in buffalo if that were an option. Maybe it was an option….

He went through the bills with the jaundiced eye of a China trader, asking himself not whether he had been stolen from, but where the theft had occurred. If he couldn’t find it, that would suggest his factor back home in Shanghai was either cleverer or more honest than he had thought, and Crane didn’t think he was particularly honest.

He went on like this all day, his lips bristling with bright iron brads under his grizzled beard, talking, spitting out nails, hammering them in, grasping, misquoting and singing all at the same time, lively as a leprechaun. "... the spectre of war is haunting Europe!"-bang bang bang-"You have nothing but your chains to lose, Mr. Small, and all the world to gain!" "Chains?" asked I. Small, looking about him. "What do you mean, chains? What chains? Where chains?" He touched his watch-chain to satisfy himself that it was not yet lost. Then, somewhat sadly, he said "You're bleddywell right. I got nothing but my chain to lose. And what's that worth? Three pounds?

Hey, do you want to end this right now?" Her eyes flared. "I wouldn't have asked you out if I'd wanted to end it. Sit back, eat and enjoy. Pretend I'm dead.

He with the cleanest clothes isn’t necessarily the cleanest.

He who is jealous is better off not dating someone who is bisexual.