Best 15707 quotes in «humor quotes» category

It was not long after that Ganesh saw a big new notice in the shop, painted on cardboard. ‘Is Leela self who write that,’ Ramlogan said. ‘I didn’t ask she to write it, mind you. She just sit down quiet quiet one morning after tea and write it off.’ It read: NOTICE NOTICE, IS. HEREBY; PROVIDED: THAT, SEATS! ARE, PROVIDED. FOR; FEMALE: SHOP, ASSISTANTS! Ganesh said, ‘Leela know a lot of punctuation marks.’ That is it, sahib. All day the girl just sitting down and talking about these puncturation marks. She is like that, sahib.

It was now twenty minutes past four in the morning, allowing for the fact that the clock in the library of his town house was four minutes slow, as it had been for as far back as he could remember. He eyed it with a frown of concentration. Now that he came to think about it, he must have it set right one of these days.Why should a clock be forced to go throught its entire existence four minutes behind the rest of the world? It was not logical.The trouble was though, that if the clock were suddenly right, he would be forever confused and arriving four minutes early -- or did he mena late? -- for meals and various other appointments. That would agitate his servants and cause consternation in the kitchen. It was probably better to leave the clock as it was.

It wasn't like that, darlin'." [Darcy] said quickly. "I swear on my mother's soul it wasn't!" Bronte bit her lip, trying not to smile. "Your mother is still living, is she not?" Darcy grinned sheepishly. "Yes, but…just the same.

It wasn’t enough that I had to worry about playing well and winning the game, but I also had to deal with possibility that one of my teammates could be dragged off the field by the inhabitants of the mental hospital.

It wasn't like there was a dating and mating website for bear shifters. If there had been, its mascot would have been that yellow Care Bear with the heart on its stomach.

It wasn’t the first time I’d run across sex spells: they were just as common as electricity-kindled spells. They just aren’t convenient for your average on-the-go magical needs. “Do all the memory spells require that?” I asked. “I don’t think so. I just noticed it on the last couple of retrieval ones.” “Uh, maybe I could just get myself, you know, privately …?” I suggested. I regretted it immediately, and felt my face flush with warmth. What the hell was I going to do? Ask Lon if he had any porn I could borrow and hole up in his library’s washroom?

It wasn't too far, unless there was someone shooting at you, then it was.

It wasn't until I was an adult that I realized you could buy a packet of cereal with a free gift and then just stick your hand in and root around in the packet until you found the free thing. It seems a much simpler way. But that took me about fifteen years to work out.

It wasn’t fair, he thought — Aaron having no family and Tamara having her scary family and now Jasper. Soon, there would be no one left for him to hate without feeling bad about it.

It wasn’t right. A rescuer shouldn't have a hard-on while performing a heroic act. Charles was pretty sure there was a rule about that somewhere, but he'd be damned if it was one he could follow right now.

It wasn’t until I’d walked halfway across the parking lot that I realized: 1. I wasn’t wearing shoes. A. Or a shirt. 2. I didn’t bring my keys                       A. Or anything really. 3. I’d just left a complete stranger in my apartment.                       A. Naked. Whoever said one-night stands were supposed to be simple with no strings attached had clearly never met the disaster that was me.

It was one dev, naked in a room with a carton of cigarettes, a thermos full of coffee and bourbon, and all his summoned angels.

It was not very long afterwards that Michael woke up one morning with a curious feeling inside him. He knew, the moment he opened his eyes, that something was wrong but he was not quite sure what it was. "What is today, Mary Poppins?" He enquired, pushing the bedclothes away from him. "Tuesday," said Mary Poppins. "Go and turn on your bath. Hurry!" she said, as he made no effort to move. He turned over and pulled the bedclothes up over his head and the curious feeling increased. "What did I say?" said Mary Poppins in that cold, clear voice that was always a Warning. Michael knew now what was happening to him. He knew he was going to be naughty.

It was one thing to be fooled, and another thing to be taken for a fool all the time.

It was sort of like Macbeth, thought Fat Charlie, an hour later; in fact, if the witches in Macbeth had been four little old ladies and if, instead of stirring cauldrons and intoning dread incantations, they had just welcomed Macbeth in and fed him turkey and rice and peas spread out on white china plates on a red-and-white patterned plastic tablecloth -- not to mention sweet potato pudding and spice cabbage -- and encouraged him to take second helpings, and thirds, and then, when Macbeth had declaimed that nay, he was stuffed nigh unto bursting and on his oath could truly eat no more, the witches had pressed upon him their own special island rice pudding and a large slice of Mrs. Bustamonte's famous pineapple upside-down cake, it would have been exactly like Macbeth.

It was rather too late in the day to set about being simple-minded and ignorant.

It was simply a matter of asking him to remove the tie from his head before he made love to her.

It was one of those decisions that shouldn't have been so easy to get so wrong. Go on your own or take the half wasted waif. She was wearing denim hotpants with a pink vest top, and was hanging off his arm, more for stability than closeness, so he propped her up against the wall next to the counter and reached inside his coat pocket for his badge. It was definitely his badge, he clearly remembered stealing it two years before whilst in California.

It was sort of like the way writers had long been pillaging all the good phrases from Shakespeare plays for the titles of their novels, so the only phrases still available meant nothing. Soon, Emmett thought, people would be writing novels called Enter, Guard.

It was one of those situations I often find myself in while traveling. Something's said by a stranger I've been randomly thrown into contact with, and I want to say, "Listen. I'm with you on most of this, but before we continue, I need to know who you voted for in the last election.

It was plain that he had had a lot of training, for nobody ever sang so by the light of Nature.

It was the butt that had done it nineteen years ago, was still doing it now. He'd seen it coming around Strawberry Alley and had followed it four whole blocks. It was mesmerizing, the way it moved, independent of the rest of her body, as though operating under the influencer of another brain entirely, one cheek knocking into the other cheek so that that cheek had to swing out before knocking back

It was pretty late and the streets were quiet so she was almost sure no one had seen her drag the soul eater into the alley... where she cut his head off with a samurai sword. God, she loved her life.

It was so hot that I get why the devil leaves hell to take an Airbnb vacation to the polar ice caps and melts them because he's mad at living in such a hot-ass home.

It was supposed to say "Great Artist" on my tombstone, but if I died right now it would say "such a good teacher/daughter/friend" instead; and what I really want to shout, and want in big letters on that grave, too, is FUCK YOU ALL.

It was sweet he was checking on me. He didn’t have to, but he knew that Blair and I were friends. Sisters, even. And he wanted to protect her friends like he’d protect her. Well, maybe not the same way. If there was a gun fight he’d probably use me as a shield to protect her. But still, he cared.

It was the end for something. It was the beginning for another. But in reality it just fell in the middle. In that confusing moment of time between my birth and my death.

It was the music that finally roused Leo back to consciousness. “Hey. I like that old song,” he croaked, completely oblivious to the calamitous chain reaction of the previous 10 seconds. That is until he realized there was a dead body separating him and Kay.

It was time to leave. He was insufferable, had toilet problems, looked demented to begin with, and now he was the accomplice to a cat killer. Yet did I leave? No, I sat there. And I thought, What has happened to me? Why am I not rising up off the sofa? Why am I not leaving?

It was time for tea as it so often was.

It was too early in the morning for this fuckery.

It was Will, filling the doorway with his lanky, broad-shouldred frame. His blue eyes where thunderous. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. So much for the brief peace they had achieved the night before. "I am practicing," Cecily said. "You told me I would get no better without practice." "Not you. Gabriel Lightworm over here." Will jerked his chin toward the other boy. "Sorry. Lightwood.

It was the only time I'd ever heard someone ask, "Can you grab me the spoon?" as opposed to "a spoon," which at least connoted there was more than one.

It was Valentine's Day and I had spent the day in bed with my life partner, Ketel One. The two of us watched a romance movie marathon on TBS Superstation that made me wonder how people who write romantic comedies can sleep at night. At some point during almost every romantic comedy, the female lead suddenly trips and falls, stumbling helplessly over something ridiculous like a leaf, and then some Matthew McConaughey type either whips around the corner just in the nick of time to save her or is clumsily pulled down along with her. That event predictably leads to the magical moment of their first kiss. Please. I fall all-the-time. You know who comes and gets me? The bouncer. Then, within the two hour time frame of the movie, the couple meet, fall in love, fall out of love, break up, and then just before the end of the movie, they happen to bump into each other by "coincidence" somewhere absolutely absurd, like by the river. This never happens in real life. The last time I bumped into an ex-boyfriend was at three o'clock in the morning at Rite Aid. I was ringing up Gas-X and corn removers.

It was the kind of storm that suggests the whole sky has swallowed a diuretic.

It was usual to be obedient to authority, to obey a legal letter. But Rachaela left her bills unpaid until the threats began. She ignored the money-envelopes stuck through the door for starving children and the sick.

It were better that we were not at all, than that we should live still in wickedness, and to suffer, and not to know wherefore.

It will never be all that I want it to be… But it is always twice what I expected.

it will be generally found that the popular joke is not true to the letter, but is true to the spirit. The joke is generally in the oddest way the truth and yet not the fact.

It would be especially comforting to believe that I have the answer to the question, What happens when we die? Does the light just go out and that’s that—the million-year nap? Or will some part of my personality, my me-ness, persist? What will that feel like? What will I do all day? Is there a place to plug in my laptop?

I understand we'll be attending your friend Miss Worthington's Christmas ball. Perhaps I'll find a suitable-- which is to say wealthy-- wife among the ladies attending." And perhaps they will run screaming for the convent.

It would change everything, gentlemen. It would shift the entire balance of power in Europe-maybe the world. Alexander conquered half of it. Think what he would have done with arrows dipped in monster snot!

It will be like having an extreme close-up in high definition to examine each freckle, while failing to notice whether the person is even wearing pants.

It won’t be disagreeable,” he said. “It can be made quite enjoyable.” “Oh, it had better be,” she said tartly. “I’ve heard plenty over the years on your amatory prowess. If I’m not on the roof crowing, I will consider myself disappointed.

It would be easier if they named jeans for celebrities so you'd know exactly what you were getting without even having to try them on. 'Mary-Kate' for itty-bitty jeans that come with a cartoonishly oversized caramel latte cup; 'Angelina Jolie' for jeans that are sold with two tiny Cambodian orphans stitched right into the back pockets; 'Katie Holmes', jeans which spell out 'help me!' in the fabric if you look very closesly; and 'Dina Lohan', self-promoting stage mom of Lindsay, for jeans that look OK from a distance, but when you get closer, are actually transparent. For men, there could be 'David Hasselhoff' jeans, made entirely of cheese, and 'John Mayer' jeans which, when removed, become instantly bored and walk themselves to to the house of next 'it' girl in Hollywood.

It would be either a very skilled or very unwise man to steal from an assassin.” - Taliesin

It would be hilariously tragic if I avoided the rabids, avoided the sun, only to be fried to a crisp on a damn electric fence because I was too impatient.

It would be, like all of Pammy's parties, hot and crowded and filled with impossibly glamorous people with hip bones so sharp they could qualify as concealed weapons.

I understand that you are an accomplished swords-man,” she finally said. He eyed her curiously. Where was she going with this? “I like to fence, yes,” he replied. “I have always wanted to learn.” “Good God,” Gregory grunted. “I would be quite good at it,” she protested. “I’m sure you would,” her brother replied, “which is why you should never be allowed within thirty feet of a sword.” He turned to Gareth. “She’s quite diabolical.” “Yes, I’d noticed,” Gareth murmured, deciding that maybe there might be a bit more to Hyacinth’s brother than he had thought. Gregory shrugged, reaching for a piece of shortbread. “It’s probably why we can’t seem to get her married off.” “Gregory!” This came from Hyacinth, but that was only because Lady Bridgerton had excused herself and followed one of the footmen into the hall. “It’s a compliment!” Gregory protested. “Haven’t you waited your entire life for me to agree that you’re smarter than any of the poor fools who have attempted to court you?” “You might find it difficult to believe,” Hyacinth shot back, “but I haven’t been going to bed each night thinking to myself—Oh, I do wish my brother would offer me something that passes for a compliment in his twisted mind.

It will take some clever appraisal on your part, but your clothes should express value without extravagance, warmth without being brazen, and understanding without looking like Whistler's Mother.