Armour Funny Quotes

Silena appeared out of the woods, her sword drawn. Her Aphrodite armour was pink and red, colour coordinated to match her clothes and makeup. She looked like Guerilla Warfare Barbie.

Approaching the forest from the west was no army, but a delegation of Grailsundanian master surgeons on their way to an appendix conference . . . But that isn't the craziest part of the story - oh, no, my boy, for approaching from the east was a party of itinerant watchmakers bound for the pocket-watch fair at Wimbleton . . . But not even that is the craziest part of the story! For apporaching from the south were over a hundred armourers and locksmiths on their way to Florinth, where some power-hungry prince had commissioned them to build a monstrous war machine . . . Well, that would be enough crazy coincedences for an averagely crazy story but the battle of Nurn Forest involved the most improbable coincedences in the history of Zamonia. For entering the forest, this time from the north came a delegation of alchemists.

Stand,' he says against my lips. 'Xaden.' My heart thunders. 'I fucking need you, Violet. Right now. And I don't need anyone, so I'm not quite sure how to handle this feeling, but I'm giving it my best. And if you don't want this tonight, that's fine, but I'm going to need you to walk out that door right now, because if you don't, I'm going to have you naked on your back in the next two minutes.' The intensity in his eyes and the vehemence of his words should frighten me, but they don't. Even if this man loses every ounce of his self-control, I know he'll never hurt me. Not with his body, at least. 'Walk away or stay, but either way, I need you to stand up,' he begs. 'I think two minutes might be overestimating your skills with a corset.' I glance down at my armour. He grins and lifts me from his lap. My feet hit the floor. 'I'm timing you.' 'Is that-' 'One. Two.' I hold up my fingers. 'Three.' He's on his feet in a heartbeat, and then his mouth is on mine, and I stop counting.

If there was a chink in 'Putumee's psychological armour it was in the vicinity of his ego.

What were you doing tonight anyway?' 'What makes you ask?' His tone clearly insinuates that I shouldn't. Too bad. 'You made it to my room within minutes, and you're not exactly dressed for sleeping.' He's strapped with a sword for crying out loud. 'Maybe I sleep in my armour, too.' 'Then you should pick more trustworthy bedmates.' He snorts, a flash of a smile appearing for a heartbeat. A real one. Not the fake, forced sneer I'm used to seeing or the cocky little smirk. An honest, heart-stopping smile that I'm anything but immune to.

When Nature makes a chump like dear old Bobbie, she’s proud of him, and doesn’t want her handiwork disturbed. She gives him a sort of natural armour to protect him against outside interference. And that armour is shortness of memory. Shortness of memory keeps a man a chump when, but for it, he might cease to be one. Take my case, for instance. I’m a chump. Well, if I had remembered half the things people have tried to teach me during my life, my size in hats would be about number nine. But I didn’t. I forgot them. And it was just the same with Bobbie.

That evening I was the sole guest in the huge dining room, and it was the same startled person who took my order and shortly afterwards brought me a fish that had doubtless lain entombed in the deep-freeze for years. The breadcrumb armour-plating of the fish had been partly singed by the grill, and the prongs of my fork bent on it. Indeed it was so difficult to penetrate what eventually proved to be nothing but an empty shell that my plate was a hideous mess once the operation was over. The tartare sauce that I had had to squeeze out of a plastic sachet was turned grey by the sooty breadcrumbs, and the fish itself, or what feigned to be fish, lay a sorry wreck among the grass-green peas and the remains of soggy chips that gleamed with fat.

Annabeth drew her dagger. Instead of dropping it, she tossed it as far as she could into the water. Octavian made a squeaking sound. ‘What was that for? I didn’t say toss it! That could’ve been evidence. Or spoils of war!’ Annabeth tried for a dumb-blonde smile, like: Oh, silly me. Nobody who knew her would have been fooled. But Octavian seemed to buy it. He huffed in exasperation. ‘You other two …’ He pointed his blade at Hazel and Piper. ‘Put your weapons on the dock. No funny bus–’ All around the Romans, Charleston Harbor erupted like a Las Vegas fountain putting on a show. When the wall of seawater subsided, the three Romans were in the bay, spluttering and frantically trying to stay afloat in their armour. Percy stood on the dock, holding Annabeth’s dagger. ‘You dropped this,’ he said, totally poker-faced. Annabeth threw her arms around him. ‘I love you!’ ‘Guys,’ Hazel interrupted. She had a little smile on her face. ‘We need to hurry.’ Down in the water, Octavian yelled, ‘Get me out of here! I’ll kill you!’ ‘Tempting,’ Percy called down. ‘What?’ Octavian shouted. He was holding on to one of his guards, who was having trouble keeping them both afloat. ‘Nothing!’ Percy shouted back. ‘Let’s go, guys.’ Hazel frowned. ‘We can’t let them drown, can we?’ ‘They won’t,’ Percy promised. ‘I’ve got the water circulating around their feet. As soon as we’re out of range, I’ll spit them ashore.’ Piper grinned. ‘Nice.

I divide the causes of human laughter into Joy, Fun, the Joke Proper, and Flippancy [...] flippancy is the best of all. In the first place it is very economical. Only a clever human can make a real Joke about virtue, or indeed about anything else; any of them can be trained to talk as if virtue were funny. Among flippant people the Joke is always assumed to have been made. No one actually makes it; but every serious subject is discussed in a manner which implies that they have already found a ridiculous side to it. If prolonged, the habit of Flippancy builds up around a man the finest armour plating against the Enemy that I know, and it is quite free from the dangers inherent in the other sources of laughter. It is a thousand miles away from joy; it deadens, instead of sharpening, the intellect; and it excites no affection between those who practise it.

flippancy is the best of all. In the first place it is very economical. Only a clever human can make a real Joke about virtue, or indeed about anything else; any of them can be trained to talk as if virtue were funny. Among flippant people the Joke is always assumed to have been made. No one actually makes it; but every serious subject is discussed in a manner which implies that they have already found a ridiculous side to it. If prolonged, the habit of Flippancy builds up around a man the finest armour-plating against the Enemy that I know, and it is quite free from the dangers inherent in the other sources of laughter. It is a thousand miles away from joy: it deadens, instead of sharpening, the intellect; and it excites no affection between those who practice it,

And Each Time You Halt and Look Back, You’ll Realise Everything in Life was Planned and Nothing Ever was Accidental, it was Never A Coincidence it was Always Him. The Happiness, The Pain, The Lessons, The Blessings, The Lost Hopes and Forgotten Dreams, The Endings and Beginnings, Everything fell in your Lap as was His Design. And then You know, it was Never for Nothing, Everything meant Something that Probably will Make sense Someday. Until Then, Keep the Faith, Walk the Path and Wear Your Grace as Your Most Ornate Armour and Know in Your Heart, Nothing was Ever Accidental and Everything was A Part of His Plan and Always Will Be, and the Most Funny and Reassuring Truth, Your Soul Chose It All, Long Before you Took This Human Shell, Long Before You Knew the Wound of Pain and the Balm of Healing, Long Before this Human Halt, Long Before this Winter of Life that stands only for a while before the Spring walks in to remind you How Nothing Stays forever, not even the Pain or the lingering Halt of it all.