The boomerang is Australia’s chief export (and then import).
Listen carefully, Lucas Steele, because I will only say this once. I am NOT your mate, I will never be your mate, and if you ever put your hands on me again I will cut them off along with other body parts you might want to use one day. Got it?” Jacque told him with...
No one ever thinks about the guy who was raised by the guy who was raised by wolves.
The stork is voiceless because there is really nothing to say.
[how can anyone] be silly enough to think himself better than other people, because his clothes are made of finer woolen thread than theirs. After all, those fine clothes were once worn by a sheep, and they never turned it into anything better than a sheep.
Once she even successfully argued on behalf of my older brother, Dan, getting a BBGun, a weapon which he promptly turned against his younger siblings, outfitting us in helmet and leather jacket and instructing us to run across Eaton Park while he practiced his marksmanship. Today he is a colonel in the army and the...
Raven: The Honourable Mr Listless is gone. He declared that, what with family quarrels in the morning, and ghosts at night, he could get neither sleep nor peace; and that the agitation was too much for his nerves: though Mr Glowry assured him that the ghost was only poor Crow walking in his sleep, and...
Oh, that’s just Thud! That’s easy!” yapped a voice.Both men turned to look at Horsefry, who had been made perky by sheer relief.”I used to play it when I was a kid,” he burbled. It’s boring. The dwarfs always win!”Gilt and Vetinari shared a look. It said: While I loathe you and every aspect of...
Y’all reporters like my quotes, don’t you. Yeah, my quotes are Shaqalicious.
No,I just thought I’d shoot bullets out of my nose
Do we have a hand mirror?’ I asked from the kitchen doorway.’Never use one,’ said Lester, examining the date on a carton of sour cream.’Naturally, you’re a male. What you see is what you’ve got,’ I said resentfully.’Huh?’ said Lester.
No, I don’t go to that restaurant anymore. No body goes there. It’s too crowded.
If you were an animal, what would you be?” I wrote, “A bumblebee trying to fuck a marble.
We fell to wrestling again. We rolled all over the floor, in each other’s arms, like two huge helpless children. He was naked and goatish under his robe, and I felt suffocated as he rolled over me. I rolled over him. We rolled over me. They rolled over him. We rolled over us.
In movies, we are accustomed to seeing handsome actors. It’s so commonplace on the screen, large or small, that we barely note it as extraordinary. But in life, rarely do we encounter an onslaught of beauty, entire a hive of handsomeness, find ourselves awash in an ocean of attractiveness, drowning in a miasma of hotness.
Writing a book with completely fictitious characters is like running a democracy, centered around a capital state. You constantly live with the fear & suspicion that one of the characters will start an uncontrollable rebellion.
…Anand, look at the back of my hands. No hair. The sign of an advanced race, boy. And look at yours. No hair either. But you never know. With some of your mother’s bad blood flowing in your veins you could wake up one morning and find yourself hairy like a monkey
Good humor is one of the best articles of dress one can wear in society.
It’s more like how some people can’t help but bring out the not necessarily righteous parts of your personality. Like how you meet someone and instantly know they’re a full-time professional victim, and no matter how hard you try, something takes over and you can’t help needling them.
Of course I don’t care if you’re bleeding! I’m fucking autistic!
Our guy has a property office, John. And I don’t mean the Property Office here in One PP. I mean the huge fucking storage facility. A guy in there, with access to thousands of fucking handguns. Even the ones that other people would be keeping an eye on, like Son of Sam’s piece, for fuck’s...