Best 2389 quotes in «comedy quotes» category

There is a moment of sheer panic when I realize that Paul's apartment overlooks the park... and is obviously more expensive than mine.

There is a simple explanation for why men haven't found women funny. It's because men only ever experience women in relation to men: they never get to see what women are like with one another. Shows like ours started to let men in on the joke.

There's a big difference between want and need," she muttered to herself, picking her pad and pen back up. "I mean I want a bikini body, but I need chicken nuggets.

theres actualy more cells in our brains than there are brains in our entire body

There's always someone we'd love to kill, the trick is to make it not look like an accident

There's something about courting the darkness that makes some people see the truth in raw, twisted ways, as though they were shining a black light on life to illuminate the absurdity of it all. Comics tell you a truth you can only see from the underside of the psyche. At its best, comedy is prophesy and societal dream interpretation. At its worst it's just dick jokes.

There was Arctic John, a businessman from Salisbury who doesn’t hold water, Bruce Knott, a social worker from Cumberland who spends his lunch hour picking his bum, and Judith Glycerine, the reformation pig.

The revelation that personal truth can be the foundation of comedy, that outrageousness can be cleansing and healthy…

The religion of Hell is patriotism, and the government is an enlightened democracy.

These days, you could stage a three-point orgy in the garden and nobody would bat an eye...

The second rule of improvisation is not only to say yes, but YES, AND. You are supposed to agree and then _add something of your own._ If I start a scene with 'I can't believe it's so hot in here,' and you just say, 'Yeah...' we're kind of at a stand-still. But if I say, 'I can't believe it's so hot in here,' and you say, 'What did you expect? We're in hell.' Or if I say, 'I can't believe it's so hot in here,' and you say, 'Yes, this can't be good for the wax figures.' Or if I say, 'I can't believe it's so hot in here,' and you say, 'I told you we shouldn't have crawled into this dog's mouth,' now we're getting somewhere.

The strangest thing about becoming an atheist was how little things changed. With no divine rules or threat of eternal punishment hanging over my head, I still somehow managed to not lie, cheat, steal, or kill anybody. Although to be honest, I was a little confused as to why we weren't lying, cheating, or stealing. Not killing people still made sense, but why, for example, should we not steal some peanut butter crackers from the unmanned mini-mart in this Holiday Inn?

The stalker, meanwhile, stepped into the road. Didn’t even check for traffic. There wasn’t any, but something told me this was lucky for traffic rather than the stalker.

The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: 'No room! No room!' they cried out when they saw Alice coming. 'There's plenty of room!' said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table. 'Have some wine,' the March Hare said in an encouraging tone. Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. 'I don't see any wine,' she remarked. 'There isn't any,' said the March Hare. 'Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it,' said Alice angrily. 'It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited,' said the March Hare.

The train hit her with the sound of a meat-filled hefty bag smacking the pavement, and the effect was much the same, I guess. (Dark City Lights)

The verdict of this court is that the accused are guilty of witchcraft. The maximum penalty the law allows is to be burned to death.However, in view of your previous good background I am disposed to be lenient. I therefore sentence you to be burned alive.

There was no way to have a civilized conversation with that guy. It's like he was raised by giraffes or something.

The story is uneven in its progression.

The truth is what we say it is...prove to me this desk is not a cow!

The truth is like sunlight: It causes cancer.

They are treading water in a sea of retarded sexuality and bad poetry.

Think like a middle-aged man with OCD, a dead wife, and a teenage daughter. Think like a woman with three teenage sons who once ran a golf cart into the side of their granddad's house." "Cameron and Sean shouldn't have let me drive," Adam said in his own defense. "I was seven." "You shouldn't have ASKED to drive. You were seven.

This is the funniest book I’ve ever held in my hands. --Dave Barry, Pulitzer Prize winning humorist and author says about Radical Sabbatical

The very implausibility of the restoration of pared down fingernails and amputated limbs at the end of time underlines, for me, the despicableness of human beings who, in fact, torture and mutilate their fellow human beings. Yet, the implausible, even risible doctrine of the resurrection of the body asserts that—if there is such a thing as redemption—it must redeem our experience of enduring and even inflicting such acts. If there is meaning to the history we tell and the corruption (both moral and physical) we suffer, surely it is in (as well as in spite of) fragmentation. Bodily resurrection at the end of time is, in a technical sense, a comic—that is, a contrived and brave—happy ending.

They’re not pro-life. You know what they are? They’re anti-woman. Simple as it gets, anti-woman. They don’t like them. They don’t like women. They believe a woman’s primary role is to function as a brood mare for the state.

Thing is, I am not a big fan of hovers. I firmly believe that if man was meant to fly we’d have feathers, rubber bones, or better insurance coverage.

This doesn't feel right Agres...” Tria whispered “Nonsense!” Agres replied.

This isn't where I intended to be. Killing a person has a funny way of getting your life off-track.

This isn't where I intended to be. Killing a person has a funny way of getting your life off-track. (Dark City Lights)

This should be fun see how much we can annoy them this time.” “Annoy is such a harsh word...” Tria teased.

This particular event had been somewhat more raucous than usual as Derek Jameson had just lost an arm wrestle with Ann Diamond. The match was the second semi-final of the morning after Belinda Carlisle had been pipped at the post by Rusty Lee. Carlisle had caused some consternation after, upset at losing and forfeiting the chance to compete for the first prize of a quarter of midget gems, she had spat port in Lee’s handbag. Carlisle had been asked to leave and, after a brief tussle, had been ejected from the building whilst screaming and spitting in Simon Parkin’s face.

This is what my high school life had become—a horror show of epic, mind-fuck proportions.

This simple theatre production had caused the Great American Ruckus of the century. How would the chaos pan out? Would there be public drama, hair-raising speeches, epic face-offs or brawls? And what of the Patriot Protesters? Would they commit self-immolation, shave their heads or do running cartwheels outside the premises? Would there be attempts at sabotage?

Tiberius sparred, “Mr. Monogamy doesn’t find my shenanigans funny? Oh thank god, if you did I’d have to chuck it all and join a monastery.” Thorne sparred, “You’d never be able to stop talking long enough.” Frost laughed, “He’d light on fire as soon as he stepped through the gate.” “Right alongside of you,” Tiberius said, patting Frost’s shoulder. “Touché,” Frost chuckled. “You do have me there.

Through comedy, we can touch core societal beliefs and transform them completely. I believe we can get to the truth of some deep societal ideologies, and begin to transform them into a new understanding. Far too many promote hateful ideologies, and we must do much more to bring our cultures together, in love and peace.

Time heals all wounds. Unless they're infected. Like gangrene. That shit'll kill you.

Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, Another thing to fall." - Angelo, Act 2 Scene 1

This is my heart on CRACK." Robin when she sees Creek

To be absolutely modern is to be the ally of one's grave diggers.

TO EAT IS VERY IMPORTANT, AND VERY PLEASUREABLE THING, BUT IT CAN ALSO BE VERY FRIGHTENING

To Kalist, Baumauer’s just a timber bridge in need of a good hot fire.

Tsuyokini,honki Mutekini,suteki Genki,yuuki! --Kusakabe Maron

To neglect ones own ability to laugh is the greatest form of Blasphemy, for to laugh is to pray.

True, beneath the human façade, I was an interloper, an alien whose ship had crashed beyond hope of repair in the backwoods of Southern Appalachia—but at least I’d learned to walk and talk enough like the locals to be rejected as one of their own.

Twoa said, obviously still in my brain. "It was my pheromones," she said defensively. I looked up at her; she was sniffing herself. She looked down at me. "Okay, maybe it wasn’t ALL the pheromones," she admitted. "Nobody makes a good deodorant for superheroes.

To comedians and humorists, God is laugh.

Tragedy is actually untimely comedy

Tragedy and comedy involve an audience, so they must give--sharing themselves to elicit tears and laughter. Melodrama is not such a strategist. It meets no one's expectation but its internal need to feel.

Um, thanks,” Jackson told her. “And your name is…?” “I’m Margaret, Margaret Van Der Graaf,” she answered with another eerie smile. Her teeth were so white that they looked bleached. “Van Der Graaf?” Jackson repeated, trying to stifle his laughter. He didn’t want to be rude to the only person in sight, to this kind-hearted stranger who was offering to help him, but… Van Der Graaf? “What are you laughing at?” Margaret asked with curiosity, flashing him a calculating gaze. “I like my name. If you’re going to be a jerk, then I won’t help you. You can stay out here on the street through the night for all I care.” “…Harsh,” said Jackson, giving her a quizzical glance back. There was something ‘off’ about her, something that Jackson couldn’t quite place, something that bordered on horrible loneliness and longing. “Who else lives here, Margaret Van Der Graaf?” He couldn’t resist saying her name aloud. Despite its hilarity, it had a nice ring to it. “Who else lives here?” he urged. “Me, myself and I,” said Margaret simply, snickering when she saw his horrified and annoyed expression

Two hours later, a noise resembling a hippo rolling along a corrugated iron roof shook Jane from her doze and Rob bursts through the living room door.