Best 19 quotes in «cookie quotes» category

Did you catch the time-of-great-suffering thing?” Her expression softened. “Can you just make sure I’m not around when it happens?” “No can do,” I said, strolling back to my office with a negating wave of my hand. “If I have to suffer, then so does everyone else within a ten-mile radius.” She pursed her lips. “What ever happened to taking one for the team?” “Was never much of a team player.” “Sacrificing yourself for the greater good?” “Not that into human sacrifice.” “Suffering in silence?” I stopped and turned back to her, my eyes narrowing accusingly. “If I have to suffer, I’ll be screaming your name at the top of my lungs the whole time. You’ll be able to hear me all the way to Jersey, mark my words.” - Charley to Cookie

Am I alone in this mother-food connection or does being with your mom trigger the sudden and voracious need for large amounts of mac & cheese, rice pudding, and the scraps along the side of a bowl of cookie dough?

Cookie saw him, too. "Holy mother of all things sexy," she said, her eyes drinking him in. "Right there with ya.

Do you want a cookie? - What? - A cookie. Like an Oreo. Do you want one? - No. - How can you not want a cookie? - I just don't. - Okay, fine,let's say you did want a cookie. Let's say you were dying for a cookie, and there were cookies in the cupboard. What would you do? - I'd eat a cookie? - Exactly. That's all I'm saying. - What are you saying? - That if people want cookies, they should get a cookie. It's what people do. - Let me guess. Dad won't let you have a cookie? - No. Even though I'm practically starving to death, he won't even consider it. He says I have to have a sandwich first. - And you don't think that's fair. - You just said you'd get a cookie if you wanted one. So why can't I? I'm not a little kid. I can make my own decisions. - Hmm. I can see why this bothers you so much. - It's not fair. If he wants a cookie, he can have one. If you want a cookie, you can have one. But if I want a cookie, the rules don't count. Like you said, it's not fair. - So what are you going to do? - I'm going to eat a sandwich. Because I have to. Because the world isn't fair to ten-year-olds.

Everyone needs to calm down! Okay, you got a weird cookie. So what? I don’t mean to swat your ego here, buddy, but this smacks a little narcissistic for me. God is not trying to communicate to you through a cookie. It doesn’t work that way. God’s not all Jack-and-the-magic-beans and tooth-beneath-the pillow voodoo. You don’t just close your eyes, flap open your Bible, and slam a steak knife into a verse. It’s that sort of thinking that leads to witch trials and Senate probes.

He’s like a half-baked cookie. - Aunt Polly

Fucking delish, I don't care if it's a faggy word, oops, sorry, no offense, sorry again. [i]Delish! Criminy![/i] This is like a cookie, it tastes like a cookie having sex with a doughnut.

I was busy perusing the suicide notes and waiting for Belvedere's water to finish its treatment when I heard a thud from Cookie's office. Then a mousy squeak. The a throaty moan. "Cookie," I said, wiggling my fingers at Belvedere to get him acquainted to with our strange ways, "are you masturbating?" "No, I got a paper cut." Oh, I didn't see that coming.

God didn’t give Moses ten fortune cookies in a to-go box. God didn’t lead the Israelites through the wilderness with a neon all-you-can-eat sign. And God doesn’t speak to people in bathrooms, public or otherwise.

My phone pinged. It was a text from Cookie. I'm not good at cocking guns. Really? Did she not know me at all? I texted her back. You can do this. Learn the cock, Cookie. Know the cock. Be the cock.

Okay but he has a case for you," she said again, her voice singsong. "Don't care." "It's right up your alley. There's been a rash of suicide notes." "That's not right up my alley. That's, like, two blocks over from my alley.

Do you know how hard it is to diet with a name like Cookie?” “That’s so weird.” I stared off into space, marveling at the similarities of our situation. “It’s hard to diet with a name like Charley, too

Reckoner Super Plan for Killing Regalia... Step One: find Regalia, then totally explode her. Lots and Lots. Step Two: put Val on decaf. Step Three: Mizzy gets a cookie.

You know how you heal really fast?” I stood and walked to the doorway that separated our offices. “Yes,” I answered, wondering where she was going with this. She was sucking the side of her index finger. “Maybe if you lick my cut, your spit will heal me fast, too.” “Dude,” I said, tamping down a giggle, “I’m not licking your cut.” “Just lick me.” She held out her finger. “This is going to be tender for days.” “I’m not licking you.” A line I rarely said aloud.

Some people just don't have what it takes to appreciate a cookie.

That’s the thing about the collapse of civilization, Blake. It never happens according to plan – there’s no slavering horde of zombies. No actinic flash of thermonuclear war. No Earth-shuddering asteroid. The end comes in unforeseen ways; the stock market collapses, and then the banks, and then there is no food in the supermarkets, or the communications system goes down completely and inevitably, and previously amiable co-workers find themselves wrestling over the last remaining cookie that someone brought in before all the madness began.

...what has possessed you to steal blood?" "It's for a project." "What kind of project?" "A... bloody one.

You are either a half-baked, baked, or burnt cookie. You decide, but you can't be all three in life. - Aunt Polly

Well?” she asked when she picked up. “Do you think we’re really alone in the universe?” “Were you abducted by aliens again?” “No, thank goodness. Once was enough for me.” “Oh, whew. So, what happened with Reyes? Did you see him?” “Saw him. Argued with him. Barfed.