Best 2389 quotes in «comedy quotes» category

I don't write comedy. I write drama that's funny.

I dream of a world where chickens can cross the road without having their motives questioned.

I’d say the winner of this debate is the God of Death, who’s now several minutes closer to claiming all of us.

I'd say it's time for women to make a stand. And it's far, far easier to make a stand when you're wearing comfortable shoes.

If Ashton Hamid had a patronus, it was an overgrown Great Dane. He was all long arms and knobby-kneed legs, bony elbows and size sixteen feet. The resemblance extended to his face too. His brown eyes seemed perennially tired, punctuated by drooping lids and sloping black brows. Chin-length hair flopped over his eyes and behind his ears. His clothes—bought to fit his six and a half foot frame—always looked three sizes too big.

If by fawning, you mean he’s a deer, I have a gun, and it’s hunting season, then I guess you’re right.

I feel weird and not at all like myself, like Stefan Salvatore when he gets the taste for human blood after 150 years.

I felt bad for the girls in my school, who flocked to prom like it was the second coming of Christ, complete with double-rainbows and unicorns.

If God gives you a hundred bucks, you better bet He’s going to ask you what you bought.

If God wanted us to use the metric system, He would have given us ten fingers and ten toes.

If God’s suggesting that I am expected to do good and also obligated to manufacture a genuine desire for it, this boat’s sunk, still sitting on the trailer in the driveway. A stack of things need to happen before I desire to be good…

If I could go back and say one thing to my younger self it would be: YOU ARE NOT FAT.

If I had been born in the 1700′s, presumably children had a bigger vocabulary than I had which means I wouldn’t have been able to recite fairy tales to kids because I’m not smart enough. You know…? I’d have to be like…..uh: In time passed, though not long ago, there lived three pigs in stature, little in number, three, who being of an age both entitled and inspired to seek their fortune did set about to do thusly. When they had traveled a distance, pig numbered first spake saying, “Harken Brethren, head this impetuous realm! Tarry me far from hearth and home I fear we shall fair *snort* not well!” And so being collectively agreed, but individually impaled, the diminutive swine sought each to erect himself an abode.....

If it's impossible to understand how I could kick a weeping, torn-in-half cog that was gushing something that looked like tapioca pudding and whale semen on my nice shiny space suit, then you probably never kicked a car for getting a flat tire, or slapped a television remote when the batteries were getting weak, in which case you'll never understand what it means or meant to be a human.

If I were serious I would never have become a wizard, would I?

I found myself surrounded by really old veterans wearing hats that said, "Retired Marine - SEMPER FI." These hats didn't appear to fit on their heads, but instead seemed to hover over them. At one point, I mistakenly tried to take the last box of crackers that a veteran also wanted. He started yelling, "I ran away from home at seventeen, lied about my age, and joined the Corps! I fought in World War II, Korea, and NAM! I have no cartilage in my right knee! It's bone-on-bone, but every morning I run six miles! I did not sacrifice my knee for this country to come here today and have you disrespect me at the commissary. Oooh-RAH!" I dropped the crackers and walked away.

If one starts a serious cgange, the beginning has to be with comedy.

If she did bitch-slap me, I'd bitch-slap her right back, but I resented the word bitch and all its familiar forms, as it was degrading to women and dogs everywhere.

If the elder Smith brothers’ faction had any luck, it would be a rip-roaring dust storm of a war such as Garlick had never seen since the days of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Circus.

If teams had to name themselves honestly, they’d all be the Pimple-Faced Teenagers.

If there's anything worse in this world than a bad batch of babi guling, it's hindsight.

If those at your top are weak, your bottom will be rotten

If tragedy is about the fact that people are mortal, then comedy is about the fools we make of ourselves on the way to the grave.

If the weight comes from bacon you can so deduct it off the scale total to get your true weight. #science

If we reflect a moment, we shall find that even in the present day, on our own stage, the infallible and inexhaustible source of the ludicrous is the same ungovernable impulses of sensuality in collision with higher duties; or cowardice, childish vanity, loquacity, gulosity, laziness, &c. Hence, in the weakness of old age, amorousness is the more laughable, as it is plain that it is not mere animal instinct, but that reason has only served to extend the dominion of the senses beyond their proper limits. In drunkenness, too, the real man places himself, in some degree, in the condition of the comic ideal.

If ye wear underwear, it's a skirt. If ye dinna, it's a kilt.

If you cannot find an element of Humour in something, your not taking it seriously enough.

If you don't fall down now and again, it just means the training wheels are working

If you don't want to tear off the clothes of the person you're on a date with and jump into bed with them, then what's the point? I'd never date; instead, I'd have lots of good friends and hug them a lot and life would be easier and neater and uncomplicated.

If you find yourself cutting corners, go in a circle instead

If you do finish the book and are still scared of me and people of my ilk, then I recommend you schedule an appointment with a therapist. Either that, or try writing your own book

If you drink anymore, you're going to be positively flammable.

If you knew how many hidden depths I had your pretty eyes would pop right out of your winsome face. Not literally of course - that would be disgusting. I wouldn’t envy the man who had to clean up a pair of popped eyes, especially given the state of this deck. I’m not sure we even have any cleaning products that work for popped eyes, although I suppose a general viscera cleaner would do the trick.

If you put any effort into anything you do and have a strong sense of self to the point where you don’t even question your choices before you walk out of the house— you’re a fucking weirdo.

If you want to get results in your life try with comedy... first pressure then apply comedy. Always it shallow the shitty life-pressure!

If you're not creating, you're waiting.

If you see the light at the end of the tunnel, you’re looking through binoculars the wrong way

I go throw the rough life with comedy.

I gotta go Seth, so I'll leave you to work on being nerdy and withdrawn.” “It's not as easy as it looks, you know.” “I'm sure,” Nine said with a laugh.

I glanced over and saw Wyatt glaring at me. Journey’s “Lovin’ Touchin’, Squeezin’” was playing on the radio. “What?” I asked. “You secretly hate me, don’t you.” He gestured toward the radio. “You can’t stand the thought of me taking a much needed nap and leaving you to drive without conversation. You’re torturing me with this sappy stuff.” “It’s Journey. I love this song.” Wyatt mumbled something under his breath, picked up the CD case, and started looking through it. He paused with a choked noise, his eyes growing huge. “You’re joking, Sam. Justin Bieber? What are you, a twelve-year old girl?” There’s gonna be one less lonely girl, I sang in my head. That was a great song. How could he not like that song? Still, I squirmed a bit in embarrassment. “A twelve-year old girl gave me that CD,” I lied. “For my birthday.” Wyatt snorted. “It’s a good thing you’re a terrible liar. Otherwise, I’d be horrified at the thought that a demon has been hanging out with a bunch of giggling pre-teens.” He continued to thumb through the CDs. “Air Supply Greatest Hits? No, no, I’m wrong here. It’s an Air Supply cover band in Spanish.” He waved the offending CD in my face. “Sam, what on earth are you thinking? How did you even get this thing?” “Some tenant left it behind,” I told him. “We evicted him, and there were all these CDs. Most were in Spanish, but I’ve got a Barry Manilow in there, too. That one’s in English.” Wyatt looked at me a moment, and with the fastest movement I’ve ever seen, rolled down the window and tossed the case of CDs out onto the highway. It barely hit the road before a semi plowed over it. I was pissed. “You asshole. I liked those CDs. I don’t come over to your house and trash your video games, or drive over your controllers. If you think that will make me listen to that Dubstep crap for the next two hours, then you better fucking think again.” “I’m sorry Sam, but it’s past time for a musical intervention here. You can’t keep listening to this stuff. It wasn’t even remotely good when it was popular, and it certainly hasn’t gained anything over time. You need to pull yourself together and try to expand your musical interests a bit. You’re on a downward spiral, and if you keep this up, you’ll find yourself friendless, living in a box in a back alley, stinking of your own excrement, and covered in track marks.” I looked at him in surprise. I had no idea Air Supply led to lack of bowel control and hard core drug usage. I wondered if it was something subliminal, a kind of compulsion programmed into the lyrics. Was Russell Hitchcock a sorcerer? He didn’t look that menacing to me, but sorcerers were pretty sneaky. Even so, I was sure Justin Bieber was okay. As soon as we hit a rest stop, I was ordering a replacement from my iPhone.

I got home a little after seven, but didn’t feel hungry. Instead, I crawled into my pajamas and pulled out my Jimmy Stewart movie It’s a Wonderful Life. I fixed myself a cup of herbal tea and settled in for the night. Normally, I’d save such a classic movie for the holidays, when I tended to feel sorry for myself, but today’s need felt urgent. If Jimmy was able to accept that he had a wonderful life, maybe I could, too.

I ground my teeth. "Just when I thought I was getting a handle on this whole Dark One/demon lord/imp thing, you go and throw knockers into the mix. I'm going to have to request that you stop, Adrian. I'm about at my limit of how many impossible things I can believe before breakfast." He flashed a heart-stoppingly roguish grin at me, his dimples just about bringing me to my knees. "Your middle name wouldn't be Alice, would it?" he asked. "No, it's Diane, and you're no White Rabbit, so let's just stop pretending we're in Wonderland, OK?" He laughed and pointed across the tiny square at our destination. I watched him for a moment, seeing a glimpse of the charming, charismatic man he must have been before the demon lord cursed him and leeched away all the softer emotions.

I had a blind date with a dentist — and he told me to come back in six months.

I had one friend with same-sex orientation, and Dana hadn't spoken to me since I asked her to describe her honeymoon in graphic detail—and then made vibrator noises.

I have a present for you.” He raised his eye brows. “I don’t like your surprises.” “You’ll like this one. Close your eyes.

I have so much hate that it has turned into love.

I have the most fantastic, stupendous, magnificent idea. Why it’s better than television," he said, standing there in red, tartan pyjamas, his beard in a sleepy tangle. Dunn's Magnificent Idea

I just looked at the calendar and realized- my days are numbered

I know for a fact that I would be awful if I was built like Serena Williams or Jennifer Lopez... If I had a body remotely close to what they have, I would be a terror. My ass would cause me to do really inappropriate and rude things. I'd be so ridiculous that people would be able to pick my labia out of a lineup. I'd wear zero clothes any- and everywhere, every day. I'd show up at church rocking a denim thong and a cropped T-shirt and have the nerve to sit right next to the head usher and dare her to say anything to me. And if anyone did say something to me, I'd tell them, "Jesus blessed me in many ways, and I am just showing off His works. HALLELUJAH." People would be disgusted and appalled by me and I wouldn't care. All insults would bounce off my ample backside. To whom much is given, much is required, and I'd require that my much would be given nary an inch of fabric. I'd hire a band whose sole job would be to follow me around and play theme music for my yansh, based on the mood I was in... I might opt to walk backwards into any room I entered, because why not?... I might also declare my booty its own limited liability corporation, assigning myself as CEO and chairman of the Donk. My jeans would be tax-deductible business expenses, and I would add my ass to my LinkedIn profile's Skills section. Everyone would throw hate ration in my dancery, and I wouldn't even see it, protected as I would be by the throne I sat atop.

I know for a fact that he regularly steals from self-checkouts and sticks his gum underneath desks. Those are not the actions of a moral person.