Best 3518 quotes in «humour quotes» category

On growing peonies: The fact that a flower as gentle and delightful as the peony should be so exacting and dictate such harsh terms hits me with the force of a cold shower. It's just like my girlfriends when I was a teenager, it was always the loveliest and most yielding ones who ran everything...[and] According to the English gardening book, peonies are so fussy that you might as well not bother. You'd need to go back generations to discover the composition of the soil, you'd have to go right back to the Big Bang to find out how the elements are distributed in your garden.

Only a man with nothing to hide could make that kind of racket.

(on learning Westlife had beaten Oasis, U2 and The Beatles in an album chart battle in November 2006): There is no God.

Only dead fishes go with the flow.. I guess that make me a dead fish!

Only someone who isn’t a fool stands a chance of not being bothered by being deemed a fool by a fool.

Only men with intelligence, confidence and absolutely no empathy at all can progress upstairs.

Only the great warriors fall down from their horses; one would not fall who rides a donkey cart.

On peut rire de tout mais pas avec n'importe qui.

[On setting all clocks at varying times in advance...] A selfless gesture on my part which ensures I am never late, but really only means that I spend time waiting not only for people who are late but also for people who are on time.

On my first day in London I made an early start. Reaching the Public Record Office not much after ten, I soon secured the papers I needed for my research and settled in my place. I became, as is the way of the scholar, so deeply absorbed as to lose all consciousness of my surroundings or of the passage of time. When at last I came to myself, it was almost eleven and I was quite exhausted: I knew I could not prudently continue without refreshment.

On the drive up here, I saw a goose," he says. "A Canada goose. Fred told me they shit something horrible. They migrate between the north and the south, don't they? Like seniors.

On the first day of his holiday Laurence Manders woke to hear his grandmother’s voice below. ‘I’ll have a large wholemeal. I’ve got my grandson stopping for a week, who’s on the BBC. That’s my daughter’s boy, Lady Manders. He won’t eat white bread, one of his fads.’ Laurence shouted from the window, ‘Grandmother, I adore white bread and I have no fads.

On the sixth day god created man, on the seventh day man created god. Now we are even.

On the other side of St John’s house is a fake egg timer who can’t maintain an erection. He shares the property with a glossy beef burger called Tom, who has been painted by a seven year old magistrate in order to be entered for this year’s Miss East Lancashire competition. Next door to them is a Dundee cake with a lisp.

(on the word "fuck") 'Oh, come on, Mum,' I sighed at her protest. 'It's just an old Anglo-Saxon word for the female organ which has been adopted by an inherently misogynist language as a negative epithet. It's the same as "fuck", it basically means the same as copulate, but the latter is perfectly acceptable. Why? Because copulate has its roots in Latin and Latin reminds us that we are a sophisticated, learned species, not the rutting animals that these prehistoric grunts would have us appear to be, and isn't that really the issue here? We don't want to admit that we are essentially animals? We want to distinguish ourselves from the fauna with grand conceits and elaborate language; become angels worthy of salvation, not dumb creatures consigned to an earthly, terminal end. It's just a word, Mum; a sound meaning a thing; and your disgust is just denial of a greater horror: that our consciousness is not an indication of our specialness but the terrifying key to knowing how truly insignificant we are.' She told me to got fuck myself.

Ooh, a mystery!’ the old lady squealed, briefly looking half alive.

Open this fucking door now Nell.” “Go away,” I shout furiously. “If you don’t open it I’m going to break the fucker down.” I’m horrified. “You wouldn’t do that. This is a really nice hotel.” “Nell, I’m a fucking rock star sweetheart. They’ll consider themselves lucky if there’s still a functioning TV in here when I leave. Now are you going to open this door?

On y voit comme à travers un pelle là-dedans... Hé lumières!!! Pff bande de fainéants... Ah ça, pour roupiller, vous êtes fortiche (s'esclaffe) Les chevaliers de la Table Ronde... CHEVALIERS DE MES DEUX !!! Chuis p... chuis pas roi, moi ? C'est p..., c'est pas moi le roi ?! (dégainant Excalibur) Et ça, c'est du nougat ??? Tout seul, je vais le chercher le Graal, moi, et la vie éternelle, c'est pour bibi !!! Et vous, vous irez vous gratter!!!

Operation 'forget bossy werewolf guy' has been green-lighted?" Sally asked. Jen covered her face and groaned at Sally's words. "Did you seriously just say that? Operation forget bossy werewolf guy? Really, Sally?" Sally nodded in all seriousness. "Well, if you're going to call our night out an operation – and you know how I love ops– at least get it right. It's operation 'forget freaking fine, brooding, bossy werewolf guy'," Jen supplied. "Good call.

Opposites attract but only to torture each other.

Or that time she made a snowman in Britt-Marie and Kent’s garden right under their balcony and dressed it up in grown-up clothes so it looked as if a person had fallen from the roof.

Other married people have lived together and hated each other. Why shouldn't we? We may forget even to hate.

Otis," I said. "Shhh," he said. "I'm incognito. Call me...Otis." "I'm not sure that's how incognito works, but okay." Otis, aka Otis climbed into the chair I'd reserved for Sam.

Our car was packed up like a real blackfella's car... All someone needed to do was give it a paint job proper way - dots and that.

Our bellies are empty and our patience is short...submit to us and we will make of you a great quiche!' 'Again with the QUICHE?! What kind of self-respecting monster would eat a DAINTY PASTRY DISH?! STEW is what we will make of their bones!' 'Don't get greedy on me! There's three of them! I just want the little one for my quiche!' 'It was nothing to do with greed! It's a matter of principle! MONSTERS DO NOT EAT QUICHE!

Our friend Chewy doesn’t speak much, but he chews a lot of tobacco so we call him Chewbacco.

Our friend, Gor – he’s the bony, old one, by the tallboy – has been suffering strange occurrences, spirit.

Our senses inform us of the colour, weight, and consistence of bread; but neither sense nor reason can ever inform us of those qualities which fit it for the nourishment and support of a human body.

...our witness, one Edward Littleton, was as gay as Elton John's handbag.

Outside the door, a teller with a blue rosette chomps on an apple and asks for my number. She smiles a thank you and reveals a ghastly, gaping tunnel of masticated apple, edge with violent mauve lipstick seemingly applied by Bette Davis in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane.

Ousep looked carefully at the priest. A fifty-year-old virgin, a fully grown man in a white gown who believed that he was an elf who connected God to man, this clown thought Unni was strange.

Out of all the things you would expect when facing a dragon, silence was not on the list. Roaring? Certainly! Snarling? Why, yes - of course! Fire-breathing? Couldn’t possibly do without it. Wouldn’t feel right if it wasn’t there. But silence? No. Definitely not. It was as out of place as a potter at a blacksmith’s.

Over the years, I have been subjected to many indignities, all for the sake of Art. If I ever catch him, I'm going to kill the guy.

Over my opponent's shoulder, I saw Other Ash block an upward strike, then lash out with a kick that sent Puck sprawling onto his back. The reflection stepped forward, raising his sword, but Puck reached back, grabbed a handful of twigs and flung it at his assailant. They turned into a swarm of yellow jackets, buzzing around the fake prince, until a vicious burst of cold sent them plummeting to the ground, coated in frost. "Hey!" Other Puck stabbed forward viciously, making me keep back to avoid him. "The fight's here, ice-boy. Don't worry about your boyfriend, worry about yourself.

Ow! That’s my leg, you know.” She rubbed the sore spot. “I’m gonna have a big bruise there now. Thanks a lot.” “Just tell everyone you had to fend off a pack of unicorns with your bare hands. ‘Cause you were just walking around, minding your own business, cavorting with nature, when a bunch of unicorns descended upon you unexpectedly, and wanted to practice their horn- fighting with a human, just in case they happened upon a wizard and they had to battle to stay free. A wizard would use his wand, so you grabbed a stick, but the stick broke, so you only had your hands. And one of the unicorns’ horns went through your leg, and ‘cause their horns have healing qualities or whatever, the hole healed, but he was just a young unicorn, so his powers hadn’t developed fully yet, and so you were left with this battle scar that’ll mark you as a hero for the rest of your life.” There was a brief silence. “You’re full of crap, you know that, right?” “Yup. But I feel better for it.

O woman, father says natural is beautiful so why do you redden your cheeks and blacken your eyes? Why do you remove the hair on your legs and draw them into your brows? Why do you hold your breath lest your stomach show and hold your fart lest they know that you’re a human? O woman, father says natural is beautiful so why do you straighten your hair to curl it next and pretend to orgasm so they think you enjoyed the sex? Why do you dumb yourself down and push your breasts up? Why do you smile when you’re told to and love when you don’t want to? When? When will you stop, woman? Father says natural is beautiful but that is doubtful for what does father know he’s only a fellow.

Ow. Stop that. It hurts my brain. Isn't your brain distributed through your entire body? See why I want you to stop with the doublethink? -Sergeant Schlock & Captain Tagon

Ozzy's cage is now sparkling but there is a problem. It seems that if you put vast quantities of sawdust down a toilet, the toilet stops working.

..."Papa" referred to Frank five times as: "...the blood son of Dr. Felix Hoenikker." The phrase reeked of cannibalism.

Parents never you make church and studying the word of God optional for your children. If they are in your house, get them up, teach them the word of God, the greatest awards, PhD or achievements any child could have is to grow up in the word of God. I and my family are living witness and it is extending to our third generation.

Parent-Teacher Conference At the parent-teacher conference, my father made a scene. He scared my fifth-grade teacher, with his mask from Halloween. She showed him all my science grades and said she was concerned, but he just stuck his tongue out when my teacher’s back was turned. He drew a monster on the board and claimed it was her twin. He even shook her soda, which expolded on her chin. My angry teacher crossed her arms and said, “This meeting’s done! I now see where he gets it from— you act just like your son!

Parli come se stessimo uscendo insieme seriamente» disse, guardandomi negli occhi con insistenza. «E non è così, vero?» Restai con la bocca talmente aperta da sembrare un tunnel ferroviario. Non sapevo cosa rispondere. Perché non stavamo uscendo? Certo che lo stavamo facendo, che diritto aveva di chiedermi spiegazioni? «Quale delle tue personalità multiple sta parlando in questo momento?» riuscii a dire. «Quella dello stronzo» sorrise. «A ogni modo, siamo adulti e il termine uscire è obsoleto.» «Sarà così per i trentenni. Io esco, ho degli appuntamenti e dei ragazzi, come mi hai presentato alla tua famiglia? Come un’estranea conosciuta grazie a un escremento di cane?» «No, come qualcuno di molto speciale.

Passing their toilet training is the very last thing that some adults did that has made their parents proud of them.

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man . . .” Evie chanted as she played with Stephen in the Challons’ private railway carriage. They occupied one side of a deep upholstered settee, with Sebastian lounging in the other corner. The baby clapped his tiny hands along with his grandmother, his rapt gaze fastened on her face. “Make me a cake as fast as you can . . .” The nursery rhyme concluded, and Evie cheerfully began again. “Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake—” “My sweet,” Sebastian interrupted, “we’ve been involved in the manufacture of cakes ever since we set foot on the train. For my sanity, I beg you to choose another game.” “Stephen,” Evie asked her grandson, “do you want to play peekaboo?” “No,” came the baby’s grave answer. “Do you want to play ‘beckoning the chickens?’” “No.” Evie’s impish gaze flickered to her husband before she asked the child, “Do you want to play horsie with Gramps?” “Yes!” Sebastian grinned ruefully and reached for the boy. “I knew I should have kept quiet.” He sat Stephen on his knee and began to bounce him, making him squeal with delight.

Peace and gladness in every home is a peace for the society, nation and the world.

Par le bois du Djinn où s’entasse de l’effroi Parle ! Bois du gin ou cent tasses de lait froid

Patriotism is the narcissism of countries.

Pelagia put her hands on her hips, taking advantage of the superiority implicit in the fact that she was standing and he lying down.

People are good because they are good in hiding their bad.

People are writing post-apocalyptic fiction like there's no tomorrow!