Best 15707 quotes in «humor quotes» category

Stop your idiocy, Sandra, please. For once in your death.

Stories can do and be anything they wish. Just like thoughts are sometimes upside down and inside out and sometimes don’t make sense, stories don’t have to make sense, even to themselves. So if something seems catawampus or upside down in these stories, please don’t spend too much time trying to figure it out. Just figure it’s a quirk. After all, people like to eat normal foods, but sometimes they might eat a laugh or a chortle or a snicker or they might wear yellow socks on their heads. You see, people and dogs and other Beings do the most amazing and silly things, just because.

Storming was one of her main modes of transportation." In reference to teenager Heather in "Carry The One

Strive for the 4 hour work week. The rest of the time run like hell.

Street change, I didn't

Stupid Ape: I had to quantify this with the word “stupid” so as not to offend the ape community. Large of limb, impotent of intellect, he was the kind of guy who lettered in leg-breaking at thug school but flunked the written exam because he didn't know which end of the e-pencil to use.

[Stump speeches] are to oratory what a stump is to a tree.

Suatu bangsa tanpa pahlawan sama dengan kulkas tanpa isi, sepeser pun tiada arti

Subject: Sundown Date: June 14 2011 09:35 To: Christian Grey Dear Completely & Utterly Smitten I love waking up with you, too. But I love being in bed with you and in elevators and on pianos and billiard tables and boats and desks and showers and bathtubs and strange wooden crosses with shackles and four poster beds with red satin sheets and boathouses and childhood bedrooms. Yours Sex Mad and Insatiable xx

...subtitled it 'Everything you Always Wanted to Know About Driving Out to Remote Locations in the Upper Midwest to Find your Childhood Imaginary Friend but Were Afraid to Ask.

S tvorbou obehov a chronometráží na linkách nemám nič spoločné a ziapať na mňa je podobné ako hulákať v Tescu na pokladníčku, že zdražel pomarančový džús. Ale ako jediný zamestnanec dopravcu, s ktorým substrát prichádza do styku, som zároveň jediným dostupným hromozvodom. Aj preto vodičov niet a kopa adeptov to zabalí ešte v skúšobnej dobe. Z nejakého dôvodu ľudí nebaví nechať si nadávať kvôli veciam, za ktoré nemôžu.

Success is like sausage, you'd be surprised what goes into it.

Success? It has the shortest half-life of any known substance.

Success to me is: I think I would say to be happy, to be content, to have peace, to feel accepted, and to feel as if I am loved, and belong. I would also like to add - to have work, accomplishments, and activities that bring joy and purpose. Ten years from now I might give a different answer. It really does not matter what I have, if I am not happy.

Success starts with a Vision

Success. I turned back to my sandwich, only to find that it wasn’t there anymore. Maybe because it had been hijacked. “Give me that!” I told the vamp, who was holding it firmly against his chest, a determined look on his face. “What ees zat?” he demanded, eyeing my prize. “Cheese.” I held it up. “Zat ees not cheese.” “How do you know?” “Eet is orange.” “A lot of cheese is orange.” “Non! No cheese ees that color. Cheese comes from zee milk. Zee milk, eet ees white. When ’ave you seen milk that looks like zat?” I held up the square of little slices and pointed at the bold-faced label. “Processed American Cheese.” He snatched the package, without letting go of his hostage. And eyed it warily. “Eet says ‘cheese food.’” He looked up, obviously perplexed. “What ees thees? Zee cheese, it does not eat.

Such a nice ring…Dead Furry Friends Animal Shelter…so warm and comforting.

Such are the foolish dreams of idealistic children who believe that anything can possibly get better over time.

Suddenly, the double doors of the parlor whooshed open. A large fleshy woman stood before me in full regalia. Her eyes were all made up, earrings and bracelets jangling. The sign in the window said Miss Sadie was a medium. From the look of her, I'd say that was a bit wishful.

Suck Cock Deep!

Suffering is my teacher. If I pay attention to it instead of trying to numb it out, maybe it can lead me to its root.

Suddenly I had visions of being sent to prison, drilling until I fell over dead, or, at the very least, peeling potatoes into eternity.

suddenly I’m that chick from Fatal Attraction. Next thing you know, I’ll be boiling rabbits.

Suddenly, Blaze appears, alone. “She’s in the middle of something really important. What do I tell her?” Jen groans. “Tell her she gets to hack into the CIA’s system. She won’t be able to pass that up.

Suddenly he stopped as if rooted outside the doors of one house; before his eyes an inexplicable phenomenon occurred: a carriage stopped at the entrance; the door opened; a gentleman in a uniform jumped out, hunching over, and ran up the stairs. What was Kovalev's horror as well as amazement when he recognized him as his own nose!

Suddenly, she employed those very English weapons: devious good manners and a rapid change of subject.

Suffice it to say I was compelled to create this group in order to find everyone who is, let's say, borrowing liberally from my INESTIMABLE FOLIO OF CANONICAL MASTERPIECES (sorry, I just do that sometimes), and get you all together. It's the least I could do. I mean, seriously. Those soliloquies in Moby-Dick? Sooo Hamlet and/or Othello, with maybe a little Shylock thrown in. Everyone from Pip in Great Expectations to freakin' Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre mentions my plays, sometimes completely mangling my words in nineteenth-century middle-American dialect for humorous effect (thank you, Sir Clemens). Many people (cough Virginia Woolf cough) just quote me over and over again without attribution. I hear James Joyce even devoted a chapter of his giant novel to something called the "Hamlet theory," though do you have some sort of newfangled English? It looks like gobbledygook to me. The only people who don't seek me out are like Chaucer and Dante and those ancient Greeks. For whatever reason. And then there are the titles. The Sound and the Fury? Mine. Infinite Jest? Mine. Proust, Nabokov, Steinbeck, and Agatha Christie all have titles that are me-inspired. Brave New World? Not just the title, but half the plot has to do with my work. Even Edgar Allan Poe named a character after my Tempest's Prospero (though, not surprisingly, things didn't turn out well for him!). I'm like the star to every wandering bark, the arrow of every compass, the buzzard to every hawk and gillyflower ... oh, I don't even know what I'm talking about half the time. I just run with it, creating some of the SEMINAL TOURS DE FORCE OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. You're welcome.

Suddenly, he wanted some credit for it. He wanted someone to thank him for not crapping on the institution of love. He wanted someone to thank him for not being yet another dilettante. He wanted someone to thank him for quitting poetry. He wanted some great poet to thank him for quitting poetry instead of desecrating it with his amateurishness. He wanted some unborn child to thank him for not conceiving her and not leaving her a hope chest full of mawkish villanelles. He wanted some sort of organization of martyrs to give him an award. He wanted to be decorated for not putting up a fuss. He wanted to be the president of forgettable people. He wanted there to be a competition for the least competitive person, and he wanted to win that competition. He wanted some sort of badge or outfit or medal or key or hat. He wanted to be asked to stand. He wanted to be considered. He wanted to be considered in earnest before being ignored. He wanted all the insane and beautiful and passionate people in the world to take one moment of silence in gratitude for the ones who had ceded them the stage-- he, the unread poet, the sacrifice, the schoolteacher-- he wanted one goddamned moment of appreciation.

Suddenly, I saw ocean again—then another horizon line—but this time the deep blue sky was on the wrong side of the line…the Holy crap, we’re upside down side.

─Sueño los sueños de los jóvenes ─confesó─, o sea que siempre sueño con ser mayor, más rico, más sensato, más fuerte. Solté una risita.

Sugar maple!" Mary-Todd Holt knelt over her husband. "Are you all right?" Eisenhower sat up, and egg-size lump blooming on his crown. "Of course I'm all right!" he managed, his words slurred. "You think a little insect can stop me?" Reagan was unconvinced. "I don't know, Dad. She brained you with a baseball bat!" "Hockey stick," Dan corrected. "Those could be your last words, brat–

Su filosofía era una mezcla de tres famosas escuelas: los Cínicos, los Estoicos y los Epicúreos, y él reunía las tres en su famosa fase: "No se puede confiar en ningún mamón más allá de lo que se le puede lanzar, y no hay nada que podamos hacer al respecto, así que vamos a tomar una copa.

Sugar Lips, you have a guest in the fourth dimension. I repeat, you have a guest in the fourth dimension. This is Tijuana Daddy, over and out. ~Julian

Sunshine, I... Starla's voice broke off as she entered the room and caught sight of him standing naked in the corner. She eyed him in an odd, detached way, as if he were an interesting piece of furniture. Talon and modesty were strangers, but the way she stared at him made him damned uncomfortable. In spite of the sunlight, Talon grabbed the pink blanket off the bed and clutched it to his middle. You know, Sunshine, you need to find a man like that to marry. Someone so well hung that even after three or four kids, he'd still be wall to wall. Talon gaped. Sunshine laughed. "Starla, you're embarrassing him.

Superman once challenged Chuck Norris to a fight, the loser had to wear his underwear on the outside.

Sunday is always one of those days when you don’t feel bad that it has arrived.

Surprisingly, Gwendolyn, I have more important things to do with my time, like put bamboo shoots under my nails or drill holes in all my teeth.

Sure, but…” Roz thinks about everything she uses Information for, all the time. “If you’re driving, and you come to an intersection, how do you know what vehicles might be approaching from either side?” “Well, we try not to design blind intersections,” Maria says. “And we use mirrors.” Mirrors! Ingenious. “You must have found it much easier than we did when Information went out during the elections,” Roz says, trying to offer Maria’s odd cult some credit.

Sure, good things come to those who wait—but they’re the leftovers from those who got there first.” Chloe Traeger

Sure, I liked girls but I was always too terrified to speak to them unless we were arguing or I was calling them stupidos, which was one of my favorite words that year.

Sure, I said. But some people would ask, 'How can you expect others to replicate what you're doing here?' What would be your answer to that? He turned back and , smiling sweetly, said, Fuck you. Then, in a stentorian voice, he corrected himself: No. I would say, 'The objective is to inculcate in the doctors and nurses the spirit to dedicate themselves to the patients, and especially to having an outcome-oriented view of TB.' He was grinning, his face alight. He looked very young just then. In other words, 'Fuck you'.

Surely Tillie knew glitter on wrinkled cleavage was a sin.

Sure we could replace war with paintball battles. But it would escalate to paint grenades, paint bombs, weapons of mass paint. I don’t want to live in a world where my kids have to worry about what color they will be in the morning.

S’up?” he asks. My voice rattles when I answer. “N-not much. You know, reanimated corpses chasing me on a cruise ship. Same old.

Supposedly, guys think about sex every eight seconds. If that's true, how can they talk to their grandmothers?

Surely there was not another soul in England that could delude themselves like I could.

Surely you're joking Theodore?' he protested. 'You mean to say that each snail is both a male and a female?' 'Yes indeed,' said Theodore, adding with masterly understatement, 'it's very curious.' 'Good God,' cried Larry. 'I think it's unfair. All those damned slimy things wandering about seducing each other like mad all over the bushes, and having the pleasures of both sensations. Why couldn't such a gift be given to the human race? That's what I want to know.

Surgery is easy; it's recovery that's hard.

Supposing an emperor was persuaded to wear a new suit of clothes whose material was so fine that, to the common eye, the clothes weren't there. And suppose a little boy pointed out this fact in a loud, clear voice... Then you have The Story of the Emperor Who Had No Clothes. But if you knew a bit more, it would be The Story of the Boy Who Got a Well-Deserved Thrashing from His Dad for Being Rude to Royalty, and Was Locked Up. Or The Story of the Whole Crowd Who Were Rounded Up by the Guards and Told 'This Didn't Happen, OK? Does Anyone Want to Argue?' Or it could be a story of how a whole kingdom suddenly saw the benefit of the 'new clothes', and developed an enthusiasm for healthy sports in a lively and refreshing atmosphere which got many new adherents every year, and led to a recession caused by the collapse of the conventional clothing industry. It could even be a story about The Great Pneumonia Epidemic of '09. It all depends on how much you know.

Sure, Bob Dylan had some good songs. But he could have been a doctor.