Best 15707 quotes in «humor quotes» category

There must be something that God knows about fear that we don't know. I am sure He knows that when you are in a state of fear, you can't fix anything. When we are in a state of fear we can't talk about anything reasonable and we can't solve anything. That is the problem because the media throws all lies on us to create fear and we fall for it....Number one Satan's strategy of getting some people trapped.

There once was a man from Des Moines Whose wife was always annoyed He stepped in the kitchen She started her bitchin' Now that fucking cunt is dead.

There probably was a time when the idea of having a toilet inside a house was repulsive.

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.

There's a fine line between minimalism and not trying very hard.

There's a great Lebanese restaurant a few blocks over. They have the best shawarma in the world." "What's shawarma?" "You know what a gyro is?" "No." "Same thing.

There’s a head inside the ball?” Surefire turned a shade paler along the edges of her face paint. “It is good,” Coatl responded. “Makes the ball lighter, bounce farther.” “You always want to get a head in the game,” Raven added.

There's a hell of a distance between wise-cracking and wit. Wit has truth in it; wise-cracking is simply calisthenics with words." [Interview, The Paris Review, Summer 1956]

There’s a long tradition in many disciplines regarding the breath, so I’m certainly not the first to suggest its importance. Unfortunately, though, having so much tradition, that gives the sense to many that there’s nothing really new there, nothing extraordinary to discover. The traditions themselves in most cases haven’t really evolved and haven’t succeeded in compelling the general public. Everyone knows to “take a deep breath” when stressed, but the immediate impact is minimal at best (actually, a deep breath is not much help; a long, smooth, slow exhale is, however). And the idea of another obligation, studying or relearning how to breathe, lacks inspiration.

There's a reason straight men call us 'cocksuckers'. I've just never understood why it's considered an insult.

There’s a saying that all roads lead to Ankh-Morpork, greatest of Discworld cities. At least, there’s a saying that there’s a saying that all roads lead to Ankh-Morpork. And it’s wrong. All roads lead away from Ankh-Morpork, but sometimes people just walk along them the wrong way. Poets long ago gave up trying to describe the city. Now the more cunning ones try to excuse it. They say, well, maybe it is smelly, maybe it is overcrowded, maybe it is a bit like Hell would be if they shut the fires off and stabled a herd of incontinent cows there for a year, but you must admit that it is full of sheer, vibrant, dynamic life. And this is true, even though it is poets that are saying it. But people who aren't poets say, so what? Mattresses tend to be full of life too, and no one writes odes to them. Citizens hate living there and, if they have to move away on business or adventure or, more usually, until some statute of limitations runs out, can’t wait to get back so they can enjoy hating living there some more. They put stickers on the backs of their carts saying "Anhk-Morpork—Loathe It or Leave It.

There's a lot of humiliation in living, but that's okay, for if the gods are always laughing, then surely at times they must be laughing with us.

There's a fine line between stuff, and if you stare at it long enough it'll drive you insane or to genius

There's a growing trade in fakes, you know. Does that concern you? He paused, but he didn't seem surprised not to get an answer. I've never seen one - well, as far as I know - but I'm curious. Could one really tell the difference? Novels, they call them. They must be much cheaper to produce. You can copy them, you see. use the same story over and over, and as long as you're careful how you sell them, you can get away with it. It makes one wonder who would write them. People who enjoy imagining misery, I suppose. People who have no scruples about dishonesty. People who can spend days writing a long sad lie without going insane.

There's a kid or some kids somewhere. I'll never know them. They're particle-puzzle-cubing right now. They might be mini-misanthropes from Moosefart, Montana. They might be demi-dystopians from Dogdick, Delaware. They dig my demonic dramas. The metaphysic maims them. They grasp the gravity. They'll duke it out with their demons. They'll serve a surfeit of survival skills. They won't be chronologically crucified. They'll shore up my shit. They'll radically revise it. They'll pass it along.

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

There’s a reason people say everything happens for a reason, but don’t think about that reason too much, because then you’ll turn into the unhappy “skeptical one" of the group.

There's a lot more to ridin' a horse than just sittin' in the saddle and lettin' yer feet hang down.

...There's an -or- in -whore- because you always have a choice to respect your body and say no.

There’s been a lot written on the topic of minimalism. But I still believe in it.

There shall be confusion also in many places, and the fire shall be oft sent out again, and the wild beasts shall change their places, and menstruate women shall bring forth monsters:

There’s lots of people will help you with alcohol business, but there’s no one out there arranging little meetings where you can stand up and say, ‘My name is Sam Vimes and I’m a really suspicious bastard.

There’s a tunnel between our external skill sets and our deepest longings and passions. People with the highest developed skills always know how to traverse that tunnel. That is, personal integration and wholeness — and consequent accomplishment and fulfillment — are largely about “enlightening” the tool with the best we have in us. The tool could be anything — a voice or body, a musical instrument or paint brush, a trowel or computer. But skill is made up of capability, and that requires practiced familiarity over time with how to inject into the moment our unique talents, virtues and qualities.

There should be a device which can detect when the person is getting angry and should not let that person speak till he/she calms down. This will solve so many problems.

There's just one thing I want you to remember. You know those chemicals women have in them, when they've got PMS? Well, men have the very same chemicals in them all the time.

There's a time and a place for everything.”...Yes. This is my time and you are in my place.

There's no set future, only the one we make.

There’s more to this amazing body than awe-inspiring abs. I have a pair of ears, too, and they happen to work superbly.

There’s no point running anyway. In t-minus ten minutes, you will have no where to run to.” Quinn tensed at the triumphant look in his eyes. “. . .what have you done?” “I have entered launch codes in the computer. In exactly ten minutes, Alpha Star 9 will be a black stain in the middle of Utah.” Quinn’s lips part in shock. “Yes,” said. Dr. Zorgone in amusement. “Dramatic gasp!

There’s no accounting for the opinions of old ladies. They think everyone is cute.

There’s no need to say anything to Mr. Turing. I was the one who wasn’t watching where I was going” “You were the one?” Mavis said indignantly. “Turing never pays the slightest attention to where he’s going. He simply plows through pedestrians” Elspeth nodded. “Someone needs to tell him he must be more careful! He could have injured you!” And I could have injured him, Mike thought. Or killed him. If Turing had lost control of his bicycle and crashed into a lamppost instead of the curb, or into a brick wall… Mavis said, “I’ve a good mind to tell Cap—” “No. There’s no need to tell anybody. I’m Fine. No Harm done. Thank you for picking me up and dusting me off.” He picked up his bag, which Mavis had carried in… “Watch out for Turing on your way there,” Joan cut in. “And for Dilly,” Elspeth said. “He’s even worse about not watching where he’s going, and he has a car! Whenever he comes to a crossing, he speeds up.” “Dilly?” Mike said hoarsely. “Captain Knox,” Mavis said. “We work for him. He has some sort of mathematical theory that by going faster he’ll it fewer people, because of being in the crossing a shorter time.”... “I refuse to accept lifts from him anymore,” Elspeth was saying. “He forgets he’s driving and takes both hands off the—are you alright? You’re pale as a ghost.

There's no other life for me. Anyway, clemency wouldn't begin to repay your debt. I've given you a greater gift than you know." "What gift?" "You'll find out. In return, I expect you to keep it safe." Kelsea turned back to the mirror. "Great God, tell me you didn't impregnate me while I slept." The fetch threw back his head and roared with laughter. He placed a friendly hand on Kelsea's back, making her skin prickle. "Tear Queen, you'll either be dead within a week or you'll be the most fearsome ruler this kingdom has ever known. I see no middle ground.

There's no point in wasting calories on cheap chocolate, always opt for the darkest and richest.

There’s never enough time for all the naps you want.

There’s no such thing as a good or bad person: there are just people who have each been or seem to have been good or bad to you, someone, or some people, thus far.

There's one good thing about being in the bomb disposal unit: No superior officer is ever looking over your shoulder.

There's nothing good about diversity, other than the food, and we don't need 128 million Mexicans for the restaurants.

There's nothing more frightening than a half-baked do-gooder who knows nothing of the world but takes it upon himself to tell the world what's good for it.

There's nothing sillier in the world than a teacher telling you don't do it after you already did it.

There’s no tragedy you can’t profit from.

There's only one way of escaping trouble; and that's killing things." Henry Higgins, Act V, Pygmalion

There’s nothing in the world sicker-looking than the grin of the man who’s trying to join in heartily when the laugh’s on him, and to pretend that he likes it.

There's no way on God's green earth that I'm dressing up like Mr. Darcy." Brooks stretched out on Caroline's bed, hanging his suede wing tips off the edge and crossing his ankles. He laced his fingers behind his head and looked infuriatingly cool and relaxed. "Not Mr. Darcy. That's the guy from Pride and Prejudice. You're supposed to come as Mr. Knightley.

There's nothing worse than the day you find out that your parents are nasty, horny mortals like everyone else. It just kills your childhood.

There’s pretty much no way for me to answer that without sounding like an asshole, so maybe you could do me a solid and not make me.

There’s someone in town asking for directions to Bhaile Anois,” she said. “He checked in late last night at the inn.” Any and Dan exchanged uneasy glances. “What does he look like?” Amy asked. Fiona narrowed her eyes. “Sneaky, for certain,” she said. “And he’s quite a waster. Good for nothin’ but complaining. Nora over at the inn said he’s never satisfied with the temperature if his tea, and he asked for a cashmere throw in his room.” Any and Dan exchanged another glance. “IAN,” they said together, and sighed. “You know the eejit?” Fiona asked. “The eejit is our cousin,” Amy said. “Distant cousin,” Dan added. “Very, very distant.

There's really only one subject in this world, Connie, and that subject is sex, in particular hot lesbian sex.

There's something infinitely fascinating or fatal about a woman behind the wheel.

There spoke the race!" he said; "always ready to claim what it hasn't got, and mistake its ounce of brass filings for a ton of gold-dust. You have a mongrel perception of humor, nothing more; a multitude of you possess that. This multitude see the comic side of a thousand low-grade and trivial things--broad incongruities, mainly; grotesqueries, absurdities, evokers of the horse-laugh. The ten thousand high-grade comicalities which exist in the world are sealed from their dull vision. Will a day come when the race will detect the funniness of these juvenilities and laugh at them--and by laughing at them destroy them? For your race, in its poverty, has unquestionably one really effective weapon--laughter. Power, money, persuasion, supplication, persecution-- these can lift at a colossal humbug--push it a little--weaken it a little, century by century; but only laughter can blow it to rags and atoms at a blast. Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand. You are always fussing and fighting with your other weapons. Do you ever use that one? No; you leave it lying rusting. As a race, do you ever use it at all? No; you lack sense and the courage.

There's some heinous fuckery goin' on mon.