Best 160 quotes in «geek quotes» category

I know a flute player is technically called a "flautist," but something about it sounds a little sketchy, as does "pianist," so I will refrain.

I left the Shire, got 7 outstanding N.E.W.T.'s and became a Vampire; Because Winter is Coming...

Infighting would be stupid, since, y'know, claws and teeth.

Imagine for a moment that you are the proud owner of a large house which you have spent years of your life painting and decorating and filling with everything you love. It's your home. It's something you've made your own, something for you to be remembered by, something that, perhaps years later, your children and grandchildren can visit and get a view of your life in. It's part of your creativity, your hard work... it's your property. Now suppose you decide to go camping for a couple of weeks. You lock your door and assume that nobody is going to break in... but they do, and when you return home, to your horror you find that not only do these trespassers break in, but they also have quite uniquely imaginative ways of disrespecting, vandalizing and corrupting everything within your property. They light fires on your lawn, your topiary hedges are in heaps of black ashes. There's some blatantly obscene graffiti splattered across your front door, offensive images and rude words splashed on the walls and windows. Your television has been tipped over. Your photographs of family and friends have had the heads cut out of them. There's mold growing in the refrigerator, bottles of booze tipped over on the table, and cigarette smoke embedded into the carpeting. Your beloved houseplants are dead, your furniture has been stripped down and ruined. Basically, the thing you've spent years working for and creating within your lifetime has been tampered with to the point where it is just a grim joke. So, I feel terrible for poor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Jane Austen and Lewis Carroll, who must be spinning in their graves since they have no rights to their own works of fiction anymore. I'm all for readers being able to read books for free once and only when the deceased author's copyright eventually ends. Still though, did Doyle ever think in a million years that his wonderful characters would be dragged through the mud of every pervy fanfiction that the sick internet geek can think of to create? Did Carroll ever suspect that Alice and the Hatter would become freakish clown-like goth caricatures in Tim Burton's CGI-infested films? Would Austen really want her writing to be sold as badly-formatted ebooks? The sharing of this Public Domain content isn't really an issue. Stories are meant to be told, meant to echo onward forever. That's what makes them magical. That being said, in the Information Age, there's a real lack of respect towards the creators of this original content. If, when I've been dead for 70 years and I then no longer have the rights to my novels, somebody gets the bright idea of doing anything funny with any of those novels, my ghost is going to rise from the grave and do some serious ass-kicking.

India is the only country wherein the total number of engineers exceeds the number of vehicles on the road.

It's the geek who gets the girl, not the jock.

Love can be just like hot peppers, exciting on the way in and agonizing on the way out.

Magical thinking underlies the I-don't-want-to-know-how-it-works-I-just-want-it-to-work view of technology. That may be a viable attitude for business people who don't want to take the time to understand their desktop computers, but it makes for a lethal combination when geeks and suits try to build businesses together.

I love crafting. Knitting, decoupage, scrapbooking, any "lady-ish" art form, I'm a fan. For about six months each. Then I shove all the supplies in a closet, alongside the skeletons of long dead New Year's resolutions, like saber fencing, playing the ukulele, and Japanese brush painting.

I once heard [Gerald] Feinberg suggest that many of Manhattan's 1970s social problems could be solved by forbidding anyone who earned less than, say, $10,000 per year to live there. It had not occurred to him, apparently, that this excluded many of the people who worked at the university.

I wanted to be Feinberg's student, but I didn't know how to go about it. Since it was premature for formal arrangements and since I was naturally reticent and shy, I simply began to greet him very politely whenever our paths crossed. Graduate school was a small community. In corridors and elevators and on campus, I was soon running into Feinberg several times a day, always giving him a polite hello and a nice smile. He would reciprocate similarly with a sort of nervous curling of the lips. As time passed, this limbo of flirtatious foreplay continued unabated. I could never find the courage to broach the question of being his student; I supposed I must have hoped it would just happen wordlessly. Every time I saw him I smiled; every time I smiled he bared his lips back at me with greater awkwardness. Our facial manipulations bore increasingly less resemblance to anything like a real smile; each of our reciprocated gestures was a caricature, a Greek theatrical mask signaling friendliness. One day, on about the fifth intersection of our paths on that particular day, I could stand it no longer. I saw him heading towards me down one of the long dark, old-fashioned Pupin corridors, and immediately turned towards the nearest stairwell and went up one floor to avoid him. Having succeeded at this once, I was compelled to do it repeatedly. Soon I was moving upstairs or downstairs to another floor as soon as I saw him approaching, like the protagonist in some ghastly version of the video game Lode Runner.

I was limited by stories that came before mine. We are so often limited by our own expectations of stories, by the stories that came before, by the heroes who came before.… How is it we can bear to live with ourselves, as readers and storytellers, if we swallow those limitations without questioning them?

I will take a serious approach to a subject usually treated lightly, which is a nerdy thing to do.

Love puts itself first, and makes its own plans. It maps you out instead. Maybe that's what makes it perfect

Many things have been compared to a brick, mainly as a tribute to their intellect or to their aerodynamic characteristics.

Nerds don't know they're nerds. I know I'm a... well, I prefer to be called a dork, thank you.

My Best Friend and I have spent plenty of time together, despite me being in my First Ever Relationship. This is because friends should always come first.

Simon did not solve problems, he just shamed them into going away.

On a scale ranging from very little to too much, Merkin could just about categorize the amount of personal data stored in Master Loo’s computer as a shitload.

On reflection, looking at shows like this and considering my own experiences, what fascinated me was that we have so many stories like this that help us empathize with monstrous men. “Yes, these men are flawed, but they are not as evil as this man.” Even more chilling, they tend to be stories that paint women as roadblocks, aggressors, antagonists, complications—but only in the context of them being a bitch, a whore, a Madonna. The women are never people. Stories about monstrous men are not meant to teach us how to empathize with the women and children murdered, but with the men fighting over their bodies. As a woman menaced by monsters, I find this particularly interesting, this erasure of me from a narrative meant to, if not justify, then explain the brokenness of men. There are shows much better at this, of course, which don’t paint women out of the story—Mad Men is the first to come to mind, and Game of Thrones—but True Detective doubled down. The women terrorized by monsters in real life are active agents. They are monster-slayers, monster-pacifiers, monster-nurturers, monster-wranglers—and some of them are monsters, too. In truth, if we are telling a tale of those who fight monsters, it fascinates me that we are not telling more women’s stories, as we’ve spun so many narratives like True Detective that so blatantly illustrate the sexist masculinity trap that turns so many human men into the very things they despise. Where are the women who fight them? Who partner with them? Who overcome them? Who battle their own monsters to fight greater ones? Because I have and continue to be one of those women, navigating a horror show world of monsters and madmen. We are women who write books and win awards and fight battles and carve out extraordinary lives from ruin and ash. We are not background scenery, our voices silenced, our motives and methods constrained to sex. I cannot fault the show’s men for forgetting that; they’ve created the world as they see it. But I can prod the show’s exceptional writers, because in erasing the narrative of those whose very existence is constantly threatened by these monsters, including trusted monsters whose natures vacillate wildly, they sided with the monsters. I’m not a bit player in a monster’s story. But with narratives like this perpetuated across our media, it wouldn’t surprise me if that’s how my obituary read: a catalogue of the men who sired me, and fucked me, and courted me. Stories that are not my own. Funny, isn’t it? The power of story. It’s why I picked up a pen. I slay monsters, too.

Reason to move to New York: I don't to get left behind

Right now. Living. Aiming to misbehave or just trying not to fade away.

So basically, you get to play Super Mario all you want, any time you want, for FREE!" "That is the single most amazing thing I've ever heard.

Rhiannon Anna Maria Reyes, (Strength 10, Dexterity 14, Stamina 12, Will 17, IQ 16 and Charisma 15 -- Geek 7 / Barista 3 / Screenwriter 2 / Gamer Girl 2) was Bryan’s secret weapon. Rhiannon (known to practically everyone as “Ree”) kept the café in fabulous baked goods, talked authoritatively about subjects from Aliens to Zork, and drew the attentions of countless lovelorn geeks.

Scientist say that music can change the speed of a heartbeat. They failed to add: so can a text message.

Software testing is a sport like hunting, it's bughunting.

The coding was anachronistic, kind of like bokeh in a renaissance painting.

The saddest thing I have ever experienced is watching a fellow nerd I've known forever and befriended, trying to unnerdify themselves. It was painful because that great geeky personality I loved so much is hidden behind a plaster of trends, and he may end up with a girl who will never understand him.

The more attractive and athletic the character depicted on the T-shirt, the less attractive and athletic the fan wearing it

The room continued to spin though she was standing still, but her ears were hot. She felt like she'd just slammed three doubles of tequila and needed a fistfight chaser.

The sad fact is, there are 7.220.400.641 people on the planet, but right now I haven't got a single one to talk to.

This was a conversation I had with a so-called-fellow-trekkie the other day: ''So Picard or Kirk?'' I asked. ''What?'' ''Star Trek...'' ''Oh, Kirk.'' ''Why?'' ''I like the name better.'' I could have slammed his head against the table.

They say that life is just a blank chain, and precious moments are the beads we hang off it to make it beautiful.

This isn’t going to work,” Justine murmured. “It is going to work,” I told her, keeping my tone confident. “We’ll breeze right in. The Rack will be with us.” Justine glanced at me with an arched eyebrow. “The Rack?” “The Rack is more than just boobs, Justine,” I told her soberly. “It’s an energy field created by all living boobs. It surrounds us, penetrates us, and binds the galaxy together.

Tradition, thought Merkin, was not the most reliable thing in the world. Tradition had this nasty habit of asserting itself overnight. A new species of funny-shaped, bioluminescent invertebrate found sixteen thousand feet under the ocean might instantly become part of the Chinese traditional medicine, for instance. You never knew.

Who knew that you would be The One," I smile, "which I guess makes me your Trinity." "My Amidala." "Your Zira." "My Sylvia." "Your..." I scour my brain, trying to remember some other great sci-fi love interest. "Ha! I'm your Saphira," I settle back smugly, only for Trevor to start laughing. "Saphira is a dragon.

We can arrange class time with, um, minimum interaction." That's perfect. The part where the interacting is all minimum-y," Montgomery said eagerly. That was almost a Buffyism," Mica pointed out to Ellen. Almost," Ellen admitted grudgingly.

Wonderful craftsmanship, Simon decided with the expert eye of one who had played enough computer games to know art when he saw it.

Vampires used to be the Dracula types, but in the last ten years most of them have become weak, brooding androgynes that only go after teenagers. A friend of mine took the opportunity to rid his whole city of them after the forth Mormon Vamps book hit and the sparkle meme was at its strongest." "So does that make Ms. Mormon Sparkle Vamp a hero?" "Of a sort. Before they started to sparkle, there were a lot of vamps who were tortured antiheroes, thanks to Rice and Whedon." Ree grimaced. "Do you know if she was clued in?" Eastwood shrugged. "She's very secretive, no one in the Underground has been able to say for sure. It's all rumor. My guess is she lost someone to a vampire and decided the greatest revenge she could inflict was to turn them into a laughing stock.

When taking Spock to see the spores, Leila comments, "It's not much further." having been beaten about the head severely on the difference between "further" and "farther," I believe I can say with some trembling confidence that she should say, "it's not much farther." "Further" means "to a greater extent or degree" whereas "farther" means "to a greater distance." (I know this is really picky, but hey, that's my business.)

Why do you always rescue me?" — "Every Cinderella needs a fairy godmother. But sometimes your fairy godmother needs you right back.

You are alone... you put it like that "Come and Fuck me"... or "I am free.."... but why???

Actors geek out over athletes. Everyone knows that.

You learned a lot by playing RPGs, although not all of it was useful, or real for that matter – unless you really believed that wolves normally carry seven gold pieces, a flawed garnet, a scroll of ice storm, and a lock pick somewhere about their person.

Activists and geeks, standing together, are demonstrating powers beyond the reach of government control.

A rousing tale of techno-geek rebellion, as necessary and dangerous as file sharing, free speech, and bottled water on a plane.

Acting had always been the social scene I'd fallen into. It was sort of a merry band of band geeks and theater nerds.

Being a geek is extremely liberating

Being a geek just means that you're passionate about something.

Being a geek is all about learning the inventories of things.