Best 3518 quotes in «humour quotes» category

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    Henry, you mustn’t mind. It is really a kindness to have him.’ ‘Well, I do mind, Emily,’ said Mr Leslie, getting up. ‘Kindness is one thing and your family is another. You treat this house as if it were the Ark, Emily, inviting everyone in.’ ‘At least she doesn’t ask them in couples, sir,’ said David. ‘A female Holt would be appalling.’ ‘That’s enough,’ said his father. ‘If Mr Holt comes into this house, I go out of it.’ He took a cigar from the sideboard and went out, almost slamming the door.

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    He plunged into the foliage, and was swept into a humid, wet world of towering trees, animal chirps and thick ferns. After a few steps, he turned, and could barely make out the village. He walked a few more steps. He could see nothing now except for the thick trees and long ferns and grasses that surrounded him. He was enveloped into the confined space between trees, surrounded by the jungle heat and staccato chirps. He turned in the direction of the village, but could only see thick, dense trees. Hoping his sense of direction had not been muddled, he turned back around to the direction of the alleged ocean, and kept walking. Now the calls he heard sounded more and more strange. How far had he walked by now? The jungle, or rain forest, whatever it was, did not relent, and he kept on weaving into narrow gaps between the sturdy ferns and towering trees, pressing onwards. This continued for a seemingly oppressive amount of time, and he began to doubt his decision. To come to this place. To take a chance with his life, which was going in the right direction. Why couldn’t he be happy with the normal and mundane, he cursed, scolding his own stubbornness

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    ... he paraphrased his father's favourite saint, Augustine: Lord, make my wife virtuous, but not yet.

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    He plugged the phone into the outlet. It rang. Roman stared at it as if it were a viper. The phone rang again. He unplugged it. “There.” “It can’t be that bad,” I told him. “Oh, it’s bad.” Roman nodded. “My dad refused to help my second sister buy a house, because he doesn’t like her boyfriend. My mother called him and it went badly. She cursed him. Every time he urinates, the stream arches up and over.

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    Her account is that she tried to get out of having to read it, but it was no use." "And that's fair enough," sighed Craddock. "If anyone is really determined to lend you a book, you never can get out of it!

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    Her computer’s fan whirred to life, blowing warm air onto her fingers. Two flame-red slits glowed from the monitor. The speakers boomed. “I lived! I died! I live again!” Olivie had dealt with blue screens, frozen hourglasses, and even the odd hardware conflict back in the day. This was new.

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    Here’s another big symbol,” she says, still crouched and looking up at me. “These flowers will be rotten in a couple hours. Birds will crap on them. The smoke here will make them stink, and tomorrow a bulldozer will probably run over them, but for right now they are so beautiful.

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    He responded with one of those looks of pity and amusement I was by now so used to getting, the kind that implied not only was my fly undone, but that there was nothing to see even if it was.

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    Here's a health to our Captain, so gallant and free Whether stuck on a rock or asleep 'neath a tree Or rolled in the arms of some nymph of the sea Which is where we would all like to be, man!

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    Here is a story in the worst way. I have no business being anywhere in it. It comes between me and the life I have coming.

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    He quite liked dentists’ waiting rooms. Waiting for dentists was good. Waiting for them was so much better than having them stick metal spikes in your mouth.

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    Here you go, fellas. Piping hot...right out of the oven!' 'Is--Is that what I think it is?' 'It's your favourite! Custard pie with cheese and bacon!' 'QUICHE!' 'No, comrade!! Be strong! Monsters don't eat flakey bakery products! Get a hold of yourself!' 'But comrade, I'm STARVING! Our army has no food! We haven't eaten since the ghost circles appeared!' 'Oh well! We certainly have a lot of food Here, don't we, Teach? A Lot of Food...' 'Oh yes, A lot of food!' 'OK! I GIVE UP! YES! YES!! GIVE US THE QUICHE!! WE'RE STARVING--

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    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.

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

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    Her eyes widened. I assumed in alarm, but who the hell knew what was going on in her stubborn head. I took the coffee cup from her hand and rested it on the grass next to mine. I leaned in toward her slowly. Her eyes remained steady on mine. Just as I was so close I could feel her warm erratic breath on my face, her hand landed on my chest. “What are you doing?” she whispered. Maintaining eye contact I smiled, reached out, held the back of her head and pulled her closer still. “What I should have done ten years ago.” ~ Preston, A Perfect Moment

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    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.

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    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.

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    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.

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    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

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

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

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    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.

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

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    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.

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    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.

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    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.

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    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.

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    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

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

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    He realised he was in a chair. The world was white and blurry in half his vision, and it took him a few moments to realise a sheet of paper was stuck to his face.

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    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!

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

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

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

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    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.

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    He should probably make love to her.

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

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    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.

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    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.

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    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.

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    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)

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    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.

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    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.

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    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.

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    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?

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    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.

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    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.

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    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…

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    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.

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