Best 15707 quotes in «humor quotes» category

Having little to do with the present, Mr. Beaton had plenty of room for the past. Oh, yes, he read the papers and knew that governments came and went ("Conservative, Labor, Sociopath," Mr. Beaton would chuckle), but that made no odds to him.

Having a life expectancy is just part of being self-entitled

Having faith is believing in something you just know ain't true.

-Hay vida en todas partes, hasta en el fondo del mar. Y por todas partes la extingue la estupidez humana

He accepted new ideas as readily as new trends. Knowing those worth it would last and the lessers will pass.

Having solved all the major mathematical, physical, chemical, biological, sociological, philosophical, etymological, meteorological and psychological problems of the Universe except for his own, three times over, [Marvin] was severely stuck for something to do, and had taken up composing short dolorous ditties of no tone, or indeed tune. The latest one was a lullaby. Marvin droned, Now the world has gone to bed, Darkness won't engulf my head, I can see in infrared, How I hate the night. He paused to gather the artistic and emotional strength to tackle the next verse. Now I lay me down to sleep, Try to count electric sheep, Sweet dream wishes you can keep, How I hate the night.

Having the rug pulled from under one, and flying magic carpets -- cousin events?

He acts like he’s in one of those Hollywood movies where after spending a couple of weeks with the natives in a remote Amazonian village, the white explorer is already debating the nature of the universe with the Chief in passable lingo. Except that in the movie, he ends up shagging the prize virgin whose body looks as if the jungle is really just a spa. What he doesn’t know is that ten years down the road, she will wind up looking like all the other women in the village: saggy tits, rotten teeth, and about as supple as a mother of eight can be.

Headache!" Zeus bellowed. "Bad. bad headache!" As if to prove his point, the lord of the universe slammed his face into his pancakes, which demolished the pancakes and the plate and put a crack in the table, but did nothing for his headache. "Aspirin?" Apollo suggested. (he was the god of healing) "Nice cup og tea?" Hestia suggested "I could split your skull open," offered Hephaestus, the blacksmith god "Hephaestus!" Hera cried. "Don't talk to your father that way!" "What?" Hephaestus demanded "Clearly he's got a problem in there. I could open up the hood and take a look. Might relieve the pressure. Besides, he's immortal. It won't kill him

‎'Having' Your Cake....a little perverted.... 'Eating' it too.....a lot perverted!

Haydn lets out a low whistle. “You’re a real piece of work.” “It’s okay,” I say, turning to face him. “I got the memo.” He arches a brow. “The one that says you hate my guts. There’s no need to rub it in.

Hazel, do you enjoy it?' I paused a second, trying to figure out if my response should be calibrated to please Augustus or his parents. 'Most of the people are really nice,' I finally said.

Haydn snorts. “Only gullible, lovesick fools spout that mushy crap.” Thank the stars that his tone is teasing, because I can sense Logan’s patience waning. “When you find the right girl, I’m so going to make you eat your words. And I’m going to thoroughly enjoy rubbing your nose in it.

Haylee shook her head as soon as they were gone. “Christ, how can our family be mankind’s best hope?

Hay pocas cosas que pongan con tanta seguridad de buen humor como el relato de alguna calamidad que se ha sufrido últimamente, o también la sincera confesión de una debilidad personal".

Hay quienes dicen que, de ser rubia, podría hacer de Bridges Jones sin problemas. Deben estar bromeando, porque nunca he preparado una sopa azul

He already thought she was a weirdo, and this was just going to make her seem that much weirder. Did the bearded lady get excited when cute guys came to her freak show?

Having writers block sucks more than my actual writing. And my writing would be astonishing if I could write how I feel.

Hayır ya, hayır! Seks olmadan yaşamak. Bak düşün! Diyorum ki kötü bir şey olmasa. Misal, belki de çayı şekersiz içmek gibi. Başlarda acıdır, ama şekerli içtiğin yıllarda çayın tadını aslında hiç almadığını fark edersin ve artık şekersiz çay ile çok daha mutlusundur. Yok, olmaz. Baksana, balın tadını almasan, balın olmadığı için üzülür müsün? Yine de bal yiyen insanlara bakıp merak etmemek var mıdır?

[Hearing] was distinct from listening, which could only be achieved when hearing was combined with giving a shit.

He and I had an office so tiny, that an inch smaller and it would have been adultery.

Hear about the hidden time. Some think the hidden time is yet to come. The Kingdom of God does not come by Observation. It is hidden in the inner dimension.

He and George had even named the rats that lived behind their walls. Every night, they left Jon Cartwright Jr., III, and IV a piece of stale bread to nibble, in hopes they’d prefer the crumbs to human feet.

Hear me, and I will instruct thee; hearken to the thing that I say, and I shall tell thee more.

Heartache often drives us to consume things we wouldn't otherwise, such as an entire pint of Caramel Pecan Perfection high-fat ice cream, covered in ganache, the crack cocaine of frozed dairy. Twelve hundred calories per pint, six hundred and eighty of which are fat calories, but is only dulls the pain for the moment, there's that carb fog while you're standing at the sink shoving it in your face, and then it's over and you feel...used. Like a cheap pickup the Dove people seduced and abandoned in your kitchen, leaving you with sticky hands and an empty cup and a still-broken heart, except now you're mad at Dove, too.

He began the interview by asking what my hobbies were. "Incunabula and intercourse, sir." It slipped out and wasn't even accurate; I'd had little experience of one and couldn't afford the other.

He blew his nose resoundingly. "B natural," said he, "my cold drops more than a full tone every hour. Obviously I am dying.

Heaven makes you family, but a new generation of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors can make you friends.

He can blow the flute very well-that 'a can,' said a young married man, who having no individuality worth mentioning was known as 'Susan Tall's husband.

He can talk!" "Yes, I can speak any language you want, fly, and breath fire." Air Raid said proudly. "Can you do anything else?" the boy asked. Air Raid thought for a moment then said, "I can sing." "No, he can't. And please don't ask him to prove it," Ally quickly said looking at the fawn haired girl pleadingly. "I'll believe you this time," the fawn hair girl said. After being proven wrong several times already she didn't want to take any more chances.

He bowed over her hand and kissed the knuckles. He'd never despised a glove more in his life.

He cleared his throat and held up one hand dramatically. “Green grass breaks through snow. Artemis pleads for my help. I am so cool.” He grinned at us, waiting for applause. "That last line was four syllables.” Artemis said. Apollo frowned. “Was it?” “Yes. What about I am so bigheaded?” “No, no, that’s six syllable, hhhm.” He started muttering to himself. Zoe Nightshade turned to us. “Lord Apollo has been going through this haiku phase ever since he visited Japan. Tis not as bad as the time he visited Limerick. If I’d had to hear one more poem that started with, There once was a godess from Sparta-" “I’ve got it!” Apollo announced. “I am so awesome. That’s five syllables!” He bowed, looking very pleased with himself.

Heaven is the feeling of hand warmers on sore nipples.

He behaves the hard chaw, your man there, but he's thick as a plank for stupid.

He built a tower to try and be closer to her and walled himself inside.” She stared at him for a moment as if waiting for something. “And?” He glanced at her, puzzled. “And, what?” She widened her eyes. “How does the story end? Did the sorcerer win his Moon Maiden?” “Of course not,” he said irritably. “She lived on the moon and was quite unattainable. I suppose he must’ve starved or pined away or fallen off the wall at some point.

HECKLER: Say something funny! COMEDIAN: I don't do requests.

He could be doing quantum physics in his head or undressing her in his mind—she’d never know the difference.

He could not consent to allow himself to be insulted, still less to allow himself to be treated as a rag, and, above all, to allow a thoroughly vicious man to treat him so. No quarrelling, however, no quarrelling! Possibly if some one wanted, if some one, for instance, actually insisted on turning Mr. Golyadkin into a rag, he might have done so, might have done so without opposition or punishment (Mr. Golyadkin was himself conscious of this at times), and he would have been a rag and not Golyadkin - yes, a nasty, filthy rag; but that rag would not have been a simple rag, it would have been a rag possessed of dignity, it would have been a rag possessed of feelings and sentiments, even though dignity was defenceless and feelings could not assert themselves, and lay hidden deep down in the filthy folds of the rag, still the feelings there...

He could totally be your boyfriend," [Angel] went on with annoying persistance. "You guys could get married. I could be like a junior bridesmaid. Total could be your flower dog." "I'm only a kid!" I shrieked. "I can't get married!" "You could in New Hampshire." My mouth dropped open. How does she know this stuff? "Forget it! No one's getting married!" I hissed. "Not in New Hampshire or anywhere else! Not in a box, not with a fox! Now go to sleep, before I kill you!

He cut short my request for something to eat, snapping out, "I don't believe you want to work." Now this was irrelevant. I hadn't said anything about work. The topic of conversation I had introduced was "food." In fact, I didn't want to work. I wanted to take the westbound overland that night.

…he’d assumed their relationship would go on forever. It was going on now, but in another way, like the rearrangement of the stars, which were all still in the sky, just burning in unexpected places.

He could do this. He'd survived boot camp. He'd survived combat and the harsh weather of Afghanistan. He could survive broccoli. Probably.

He curled his claw into a fist. "I'd like to shove a stake up that bastard's ass." Adam's lip curled. "Remind me not to piss you off." The demon raised his brow. "Trust that shit, mancy.

He'd better make you happy or I'll break his face.

He'd done his walls with paint from Holy Basil. God, I yearned for their colors. I hadn't been able to afford them myself but I knew their color chart like the back of my hand. His hall was done in Gangrene, his stairs in Agony and his living room--unless I was very much mistaken--in Dead Whale. Colors I personally very much approved of.

He clenched his small fist, bellowed his rage to the heavens, and resolved to never again recognize the authority of any man on earth.

He'd heard about people who ascended too quickly and developed nitrogen bubbles in their blood. Leo wanted to avoid carbonated blood.

He could filter the dangerous ones from the talkers in a few minutes of conversation, like a terrorist Turing test.

He crouched at the care window and looked in. "What a lovely family you have. What a charming family. They're all lovely. Except for that one." His finger jabbed the glass. "That one's a bit ugly." The American stepped towards him. "What? What did you say?" "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure his personality makes up for his face.

Hector was sent to his office to wait, while Rat-face was restored to such limited consciousness as his heredity and his fate permitted him to enjoy.