Best 708 quotes in «sarcasm quotes» category

She'd asked him what it was like to be in there, doing nothing but then being woken up to speak to somebody you couldn't see. He'd said that it was like being woken from a deep and satisfying sleep, to be asked questions while you kept your eyes closed. He was quite happy. Sight was over-rated anyway.

She never saw the point of making fun of strangers – how could you possibly know enough about them to hit below the belt?

She said yes. If only she didn't talk so much!

She searched through the dark for Brinn’s face, expecting a warm welcome. A hug, a hello. Anything. Footsteps stomped toward her, followed by the sting of a palm against her face. All right, that worked too.

She tapped out a beat on the edge of the piano as I tripped and plummeted through the refrain of “Spacebar,” trying to translate the synth chords into a piano bit on the fly. It had been a million years since I’d played it. But it was still catchy. Whoever had written this song had known what they were doing.

She thinks you're stalking me." "Why the hell would I do that? I see too much of your ugly mug as it is.

She washed he hands,then looked at my side. "you haven't even had it stitched?" She said incredulously. "I've been rather busy," I said. "With the running like hell and hiding all night.

She was looking at me as if I was a painting too, to be examined for symbols and meaning, and she couldn't decide in the end if I really was just a mass of pointless daubs

Sir Mark Turner," he said. "I speak with the tongues of a thousand angels. Butterflies follow me wherever I go. Birds sing when I take a breath.

Snark often functions as an enforcer of mediocrity and conformity. In its cozy knowingness, snark flatters you by assuming that you get the contemptuous joke. You've been admitted, or readmitted, to a club, though it may be the club of the second-rate.

So does anyone have a good survival strategy, or is there no hope for getting out of this nightmare?’ asks the Colonel. ‘We came up with a big, fat zero. I don’t know how we’re going to survive the blood hunt,’ says Dee. ‘That wasn’t the nightmare I was referring to,’ says the Colonel. ‘Death by stupid comments is what I was talking about.

So many authors, so little time to disqualify them!

Sometimes it’s good to fake as it’s important to be liked by others for a change

Some of us are looking at the stars, but all of us are living in the gutter.

Sometimes, I think, that in the mornings when you first wake up, every thing that happened in the previous day rushes through our mind so fast, we, A: Don't realize it. B: Become more tired, die a little inside, and become groggy. Since everyday, we die a little inside we age closer and closer to death. We constantly grow older, and we're constantly dying. Therefore, don't wake me up early, or I'll take it that you wanted to kill me.

Some women walk towards a better future. Others have chauffeurs.

Sometimes when I have the feeling like I’m almost crying, it can turn into an almost-laughing feeling.

Sometimes we know people who are too wonderful for words. I am not one of them. Or you, for that matter, as you well know.

Son, my dad said, every man needs a bitter, resentful woman in his life. Because there's nothing more touching to a mother's heart than to know that her son thinks of her constantly.

Son-- "We don't need ladders, we have obsidian, bro." Mommy's thoughts-- "............................... .......fucking minecraft

So the I.F. is spying on Earth." "Just as a mother spies on her children at play in the yard." "Good to know you're looking out for us, Mummy.

So the plan wasn't a clusterfuck, it was just circling the clusterfuck target zone, getting ready to come in for a landing.

Sorry, one night stands don't stack up as credentials for tending bar.

...So we passed, handcuffed and in silence, through the streets of Washington, through the Captial of a nation, whose theory of government, we are told, rests on the foundation of man's inalienable right to life, LIBERTY, and the pursuit of happiness! Hail! Columbia, happy land, indeed!

So no going and getting yourself killed,” Kieran jumped in. With the way those fae targeted him last night, more would come. The memory of the bartender lingered—if they’d made one wrong move the victim could’ve been Liz. Liz rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m going to go toddle into traffic.

Sorry, we took so long. I had a lot to pack.' 'I’m sure you did. I hope you packed it well,' he smiled coyly.

So the reason I was struck again and again was because of my overwhelmingly positive energy. Funny, I'd always thought of myself as a pessimist.

So you thought you could shit and eat at the same time. How disgustingly convenient.

Stop moping and think of a solution. A voice in his head told him. If you want to find your mojo again, then get on with it and stop wallowing in self-pity. This voice spoke the harsh truth. He needed to man-up. Nodding, Mortimer set his face in a line of steely determination, created a pile of papers and began to draft down possible ideas. Mass suicide? Too messy. Global war? Too soon. Revenge cult? Too predictable. NO.

Stop teasing me, doc. You haven't got the tits for it.

Tech made all things possible, and therefore mandatory. Not to mention the fact that carrying around all this smartphone in your purse or pocket had become such a fantastic drag. Cranial implant was so much easier. Now they could be in touch with the hive 24/7 and have their hands free for whatever. Their cars drove them everywhere, too. Also left them free to, you know, do whatever.

También le he visto a usted. Ozzera. Crispin. ¿Verdad? Christian-corrigió Lissa

Thank you so much for the rude know-it-all attitude while also having to look at your ridiculously colored hair and obnoxious facial and chest piercings. I am very fortunate to have just been schooled by someone who looks like they graduated from Care Bear Carnage University.

The bastard kissed her. She was so mad, she bit him hard enough to draw blood. Raphael pulled back, lip already beginning to swell. “We are no longer even, Elena. You’re now in debt.” “You can deduct it from my slow and painful death.

That's a good attitude. You should hate me more, curse me more, and detest me! Then you should take the power of that hatred and use it to survive this rotten world.

That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard of. I think I would have more fun chopping thistles with a butter knife.

The eye-roll is a 10.5 on the Ritcher. The Big One. California has slipped into the ocean.

The bourbon goes into the recipe, Miss Connor, not into you,” he’d said from directly behind me. He had a way of doing that, catching me in the act. I suppose the number of times I screwed up made me an easy mark. My spine straightened at the scolding, but my mouth did what it knew best. “Well, that’s just a waste of perfectly good bourbon if you ask me.

The cops got out of the car and came straight towards me. My first thought was, How hypocritical… They head straight for the kid all in black…

The creative process is a love story that never ends. The ideas are like suitors competing for your attention. You may have relationships, with multiple ideas, at once. You may devote yourself completely to one idea, for a awhile, but the affairs will never end. There will always be more ideas to romance and more concepts to develop. And all for that wonderful moment when you get to gaze at the complete creation and hold perfection in your arms, for one blissful moment... before your inner-critic starts tearing it to shreds.

The differences between women are all cosmetic.

The building is a tumbling house of cards behind me. The bus bitches are paper cutouts.

The fact that it took me eleven years to become an overnight success should also reassure him. It’s not my fault success has brought my unseemly arrogance and braggadocio to the surface: I was always thus tainted, but when you’re poor and unsuccessful it’s just vulgar ostentation to flaunt such character flaws: success wears very badly on me: I’m a sore winner. But those who have known and loved me through the Dismal Swamps of all the lies that are my life will testify that it is not merely the acquisition of pocket money that has made me an elitist. The seeds were always present. Only becoming a Writer of Stature has made them flower.

The Gay' is not infectious, the world is not coming to an end, and people are happy. Gosh, how about that.

The irony of life is like a brothel without prostitutes--but don't you worry, prostitutes don't need of a brothel, to exercise their profession.

The over-weight and out of shape guy who owned the house had apparently decided that having a half-million dollar house meant that he couldn’t afford to hire someone to clean out his gutters. Now he was dead with what looked to me like a broken neck after the ladder had slipped. He’d taken the plunge into his fancy landscaping—complete with rock garden. But hey, his fucking gutters were clean.

The life I've lived What more can one ask for Apart from a grand exit Slit of the wrist Total bliss

The mage pulled my knife out of his side and looked at it. “Nice knife.” The voice was deep but female. I threw my second knife. The blade bit into the mage’s chest. Shit. Missed the neck. “Here, have another one.

Then why are you here?” Emma demanded. “Oh, is this one of those missed-connections things? We met the other night, you felt a spark? Sorry, but I don’t date trees.” “I am not a tree.” Iarlath looked angry, his bark peeling slightly.

The King is naked! If only he was a Prince!