Best 708 quotes in «sarcasm quotes» category

Wes sat in a cracked vinyl booth picking at his fries and listening to Amanda go on and on about the dress she'd found. '...and it has these little lavender bows. Oh, Wes, I can't wait 'til you see it.' She gesticulated wildly, and her only saving grace right now was her amazing rack that swayed and bounced with each movement. Sometimes he swore that was the only reason he ever looked crosswise at Amanda Price. That, and her daddy's checkbook. 'And I found these shoes--" 'Uh huh, that's nice,' he cut her off and slid free from the booth. He held out his hand. 'Got the card?' He waved the bill in the air at her questioning gaze. Was she a little cross-eyed, maybe? He thought so.

What about you? What do you do?” I needed to ask questions, draw him out. I needed to find out all the information I could. My voice sounded strong and smooth, but my hands were shaking. I put them in my lap so he couldn’t see. “I prey on innocent villagers and terrify their children,” he said with a nasty smile. “And sometimes when I’m feeling really evil, I read books or paint.

What am I going to do?" asked Ce'Nedra. "First you ought to go wash your face," Polgara told her. "Some girls can cry without making themselves ugly, but you don't have the right coloring for it. You're an absolute fright. I'd advise you never to cry in public if you can help it.

What am I doing here? The Southern Star has vanished, a Cataclyst is calling the moon out of time at the mythical Great Barrier, and you're asking what I'm doing here? Are you serious?

What are you doing?" Alain asked. "Starting a fire, of course." Mari held up the thing in her hand. "It's a fire-starter. A really simple device. Haven't you ever seen one?" Alain shook his head. "Never. That thing seems very complicated. I do not understand how it can work." "How do you start fires?" That was a Guild secret. Or was it? The elders had told him that no Mechanic could understand how it worked. What would this Mechanic say if he told her? "I use my mind to channel power to create a place where it is hot, altering the nature of the illusion there," Alain explained, "and then use my mind to put that heat on what I want to burn." "Oh," Mechanic Mari said. "Is that actually how you visualize the process?" "That is how it is done," Alain said. "That's...interesting." She grinned. "So, instead of making fire by doing something complicated or hard to understand like striking a flint, you just alter the nature of reality. That is a lot simpler.

What does your birth date say about you? You are old!

What do you do when you’re in a room of vampires and the most dangerous one tells you that you know too much? You bolt. What did I do? I hyperventilated.

Whatever crimes this man had committed, they weren't as egregious as his inflated self-image.

Whatever doesn't kill them, makes them make reality TV shows...

Whatever you are, do not even assume that you will be surrounded and gnawed by luxurious worms of an exquisite breed.

What, everyone you know has been kidnapped by pirates and forced to chop octopus in a kitchen that smells like a whale's stomach?" "Quite a lot of them, yes," said Trudi, who appeared to be one of those people who'd heard of sarcasm but thought it was some sort of exotic fruit like a pineapple.

What--has O-Tar seen an ulsio and fainted?" demanded I-Gos with broad sarcasm. "Men have died for less than that, ancient one," E-Thas reminded him. "I am safe," retorted I-Gos, "for I am not a brave and popular son of the jeddak of Manator.

What I really needed wasn't a dose of school spirit; it was a glass of water, an aspirin the size of my fist, and the answers to the history exam that I hadn't studied for the night before. "As long as I'm dreaming," I muttered, my words lost to the cacophony of the gym, "I'd also like a pony, a convertible, and a couple of friends." "That's a tall order." I'd known that there were people sitting next to me, but I couldn't begin to imagine how one of them had heard me. I hadn't even heard me. "Would you settle for a piece of gum, an orange Tic Tac, and an introduction the the school slut?

What is your collective GPA for this year?” “Not as high as I'd like it to be.” Freud steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “What about your parents?” “I don't know. They haven't been in school for a while.

What's next? You want to convince me they're making another crap Last Airbender movie?

Who am I to judge me?

What - what - what are you doing?" he demanded. "I am almost six hundred years old," Magnus claimed, and Ragnor snorted, since Magnus changed his age to suit himself every few weeks. Magnus swept on. "It does seem about time to learn a musical instrument." He flourished his new prize, a little stringed instrument that looked like a cousin of the lute that the lute was embarrassed to be related to. "It's called a charango. I am planning to become a charanguista!" "I wouldn't call that an instrument of music," Ragnor observed sourly. "An instrument of torture, perhaps." Magnus cradled the charango in his arms as if it were an easily offended baby. "It's a beautiful and very unique instrument! The sound box is made from an armadillo. Well, a dried armadillo shell." "That explains the sound you're making," said Ragnor. "Like a lost, hungry armadillo." "You are just jealous," Magnus remarked calmly. "Because you do not have the soul of a true artiste like myself." "Oh, I am positively green with envy," Ragnor snapped. "Come now, Ragnor. That's not fair," said Magnus. "You know I love it when you make jokes about your complexion." Magnus refused to be affected by Ragnor's cruel judgments. He regarded his fellow warlock with a lofty stare of superb indifference, raised his charango, and began to play again his defiant, beautiful tune. They both heard the staccato thump of frantically running feet from within the house, the swish of skirts, and then Catarina came rushing out into the courtyard. Her white hair was falling loose about her shoulders, and her face was the picture of alarm. "Magnus, Ragnor, I heard a cat making a most unearthly noise," she exclaimed. "From the sound of it, the poor creature must be direly sick. You have to help me find it!" Ragnor immediately collapsed with hysterical laughter on his windowsill. Magnus stared at Catarina for a moment, until he saw her lips twitch. "You are conspiring against me and my art," he declared. "You are a pack of conspirators." He began to play again. Catarina stopped him by putting a hand on his arm. "No, but seriously, Magnus," she said. "That noise is appalling." Magnus sighed. "Every warlock's a critic." "Why are you doing this?" "I have already explained myself to Ragnor. I wish to become proficient with a musical instrument. I have decided to devote myself to the art of the charanguista, and I wish to hear no more petty objections." "If we are all making lists of things we wish to hear no more . . . ," Ragnor murmured. Catarina, however, was smiling. "I see," she said. "Madam, you do not see." "I do. I see it all most clearly," Catarina assured him. "What is her name?" "I resent your implication," Magnus said. "There is no woman in the case. I am married to my music!" "Oh, all right," Catarina said. "What's his name, then?" His name was Imasu Morales, and he was gorgeous.

When friends become overfriendly - smell fish!

When it rains it pours and when it shines you get melanoma.

When you succumb to cynicism, darkness, pessimism and sarcasm you are amplifying imbalance and negativity.

Where were we?” he said. “Ah, yes, cake and sarcasm.

While Daniel disappeared into his room, probably to limn the contours of some exquisite constellation of philosophical nonsense for his internship applications and gasp in the throes of his overachieving OCDness.

While you were out JUDGING others, you left your closet door open...and guess what fell out!....Ooops

Whoosh! went the bluebird of sarcasm, zooming miles above Dale’s head.

What’s that around your neck?” asked Emily. “It’s a golden star.” Said Reed. “What did you get it for?” “Chemistry class.” “What’s the star for?” the shadow asked, Usually stars represent a straight A student. “You get it for having greatness. But Emily doesn’t know what that is.” He said, answering the shadows question and looking at Emily. “Greatness, what’s greatness?” Emily asked, all wide eyed, and clueless looking “It’s when you do really awesome stuff, and people recognize you for it.” “Oh, no” Emily laughed .”No, I don’t know what that is.

Where did you live before you came here?" I asked. "The moon," he said smoothly. "We left because the place had no atmosphere.

While the man is putting on it's shoes, the woman can buy dozens of high heels.

Who cares even if I didn't?!" Conor shouted back. "They're just stupid berries. Woo-hoo, so scary. Oh, please, please, save me from the berries!" The monster looked at him quizzically. How strange, it said. The words you say tell me you are scared of the berries, but your actions seems to suggest otherwise.

Women KNOW, we just know. Even if we didn't know, we would know. Men won't get this, but women will..because we KNOW

Word of advice - never ask a terrorist the question 'What would you do for a Klondike bar?'.

Women do not lie about their age. In fact, no woman ever has, its just that memory is the first thing to go.

Women strive to be the change they want to see in the mirror.

Wow," she said. "It's like you're teaching me something and being all wise." "You are not easy to get along with," Skulduggery said.

Wouldn’t you like to know,” I smiled. “I travel. Shit happens.

Would somebody please tell him whose idea it had been to kill the entire state of Colorado?

You are in good shape for a dead man.

Yeah, and we could fly in on dragons and release a cloud of sugar plum fairies to tiptoe in an get the watch.

Yes. Reyn is our resident horse master. He has an excellent seat." I grinned. "I've noticed." Reyn's face tightened and Nell flushed, looking embarrassed. "It's an equestrian term." "Really? I thought you were talking about his ass.

You are quite possibly the least smooth guy I know,” she mumbled. “You can’t even put your arm around me without tripping up.

You are soft person you said. But you're soft as shit: it is very soft but stinking!

Yeah, because you'll really be showing them, won't you. Talk about cutting up your wrists to spite your fate.

Yes, I curse God all the time. On some days for giving us such a short life, and on others for giving us such a long one.

You are such a kind and caring man, and so sizzling hot and studly. Please, please don’t go nutty on me.

You could heal him?" I asked, glancing at Hal. "Could," said the wysling, "but won't, until I get what's mine." I pressed my lips together and took a deep breath. "You're heartless and selfish." "I agree," he said, steepling his pale hands together and pointing them at the floor. "Any decent human being would offer to heal him anyway. However, since I'm neither decent nor a human being, I feel pretty all right about it.

You couldn't find your dick in the dark, you scheming, sleaze-mongering scumwad.

You can't expect them to wear a big sandwich board with spy on it or a special spying hat.

You do know you’re one of the hot ones, right? You could have any dom in this room if you looked marginally more approachable than an underfed piranha having a bad day.

You don't have to make fun of it." "Actually I do," I said. "I make fun of almost everything.

You don’t like my restaurant, Miss Connor?” “I couldn’t say since the waiting list to get in is six months long.” One side of his mouth curved up. “This is true.” His finger lingered, and I tried to swallow the nervous lump in my throat. “I think you can call me by my first name now, seeing as how you’re touching my boob. That puts us a little past formality, don’t you think?

You don’t want a girlfriend. You want a therapist whom you can be intimate with.