Daniel Craig Quotes

At a distance, they looked just boring enough to be important.

If the world is full of monsters, someone has to be keeping us safe. Someone has to be fighting for us out there.

The original games were gladiatorial fights to the death. We had to revise that after a few years because, well, people stopped signing up.

I wondered, for a brief instant, what a necromancer like Damien Ecko could do with the skeleton of a T. rex. I shrugged the idea off. Nobody’s that good.

I love working with fanatics. You just wind them up, and off they go.

I have rejected religion and society. What is left for me?

You have to excuse the girls,” Nicky said. “They’re a little, uh—” “Sociopathic?” I offered. “I was gonna say high-spirited, but sure, that works too.

You don’t rut with a pride demon; you hold up a mirror for him to stare into while he pleasures himself. I’m only slightly exaggerating.

Mob mentality is like wildfire. It spreads fast and hard, and suddenly you find yourself surrounded by really smart people making really bad decisions.

It’s never good to owe money to a guy with a cellar full of military hardware. Especially not when he rides with an outlaw biker gang.

According to Caitlin, he’d been on the throne since Hannibal discovered elephants, and he was so slippery he would orchestrate assassination plots against himself when he got bored, just to keep his wits sharp.

I’ve always felt that the mark of a man is his willingness to fight for his principles. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose. It doesn’t matter if you ever had a chance to win in the first place. Even if the deck is rigged and the game’s against you, you keep fighting until the bitter end.

Can you please stop talking so I can go back to enjoying Daniel Craig’s outrageously good body?” “That’s so gay,” JP said. “I’m a girl,” said the Duke. “It’s not gay for me to be attracted to men. Now, if I said you had a hot body, that would be gay, because you’re built like a lady.” “Oh, burn,” I said.

Why, play we, these games of mere men?

Now bottle your hatred and store it in your heart’s pantry for a thirstier day.

But it’s not about violence; it’s about doing what you can, whenever you can, to stand up for what you believe. You fight and you never, ever give up. That’s what makes a man.

In a week marred by death and pain, I’d found a single red rose growing in the ruins. I’d take the thorns as they came.

They were the gangster version of the guards at Buckingham Palace.

I realize you’re a politician, so this is a new concept for you. ‘Cooperating’ means actually doing what you’re supposed to, not just saying you will and then weaseling out.

When you fight, though, that badge means you’ve gotta keep your gloves on. I don’t. I use brass knuckles.

Daniel Craig is sitting on a carrot, Jude Law is sitting on Daniel Craig's head.

Bond is now the Bond Girl of the opening credits. It’s his silhouette we see – and nary a dancing naked babe in sight. Perhaps to compensate for this, in the actual film he gets his tits out a lot. He emerges from the sea glistening, showing off his pumped boobs, like Ursula Andress in ‘Dr No’ — save his nipples are more prominent. Bond has finally become his own Bond Girl.

Freedom. You humans do love to prattle on about freedom, and you barely understand the word. How much agency do you think you actually have? From the cradle to the grave, you’re bombarded with media, advertising, cultural and social pressure to conform…it’s amazing you can think at all.

She had personal details about my relationships that only my close friends should have known. “So you’ve got a stalker,” I said to my reflection in the rearview mirror. “And she eats people. Great.

There is no magic weight, no magic size, no magic number on the scale where, as soon as you hit it, confetti rains down and a band starts to play and hidden doors slide open and Daniel Craig walks through them to lift you in his arms (because, thin as you are, he totally can) and carry you into the life of uninterrupted bliss that you just know could be yours, if you only wore a size two dress.

Can you please stop talking so I can go back to enjoying Daniel Craig’s outrageously good body?” “That’s so gay,” JP said. “I’m a girl,” said the Duke. “It’s not gay for me to be attracted to men. Now, if I said you had a hot body, that would be gay, because you’re built like a lady.” “Oh, burn,” I said. The Duke raised her eyes at me and said, “Although JP’s a freaking paragon of masculinity compared to you.” I had no response to that. “Keun is at work,” I said. “He gets paid double on Christmas Eve.” “Oh, right,” said JP. “I forgot that Waffle Houses are like Lindsay Lohan’s legs: always open.

Can’t you get flowers from the evil flower shop?” “Yes,” I whispered, “but then they’d be evil flowers. C’mon, Bentley, try to keep up.” “You know that charming tic, Daniel, where you start making jokes in a dangerous situation, and we all pretend we don’t know you’re doing it in order to cover up how nervous you are?” “What about it?” I asked. “I was just asking if you were aware of it.” “Nope,” I said.

Everyone,” Caitlin said, cradling her wine glass, “is the hero of his own story. That goes double for fanatics. Some of the greatest horrors in history were perpetrated by people who insisted, all the way to damnation’s door, that they fought on the side of the angels.

Good. I need to arm up. All I’ve got is a gun with four bullets, and it’s a really embarrassing gun.

I knew a junkie when I saw one, and this guy was a long-term member of the heroin weight-loss program.

Daniel 12:3 "...and those who turn the many to righteousness will shine the stars forever.

it’s about doing what you can, whenever you can, to stand up for what you believe. You fight and you never, ever give up. That’s what makes a man.

Sounds ominous,” I said. “Do you get a cool code name, too?” “No, but I have handcuffs—” “Kinky.” “—and a gun.” I shook my head. “There you go, ruining the mental image.

He held out his hand. “Give it to me,” he hissed as his fingernails lengthened into claws. “If you insist,” I said. Then I shot him in the face.

My guys saw you on Fremont last week, Dan. You know what they saw you doing?” “Their mothers?” I replied. “Funny,” he said and turned back to Juliette.

Hope for the best, plan for the worst,

Agent Black wanted to put Lauren Carmichael in a ten-by-ten prison cell. I had a better idea: a hole out in the desert, three feet wide and six feet deep.

I’d never broken into a cemetery before. There’s a first time for everything.

magic was the cheat codes for the universe.

I could imagine I was on a college campus, if it weren’t for the fences, the gun towers, and the razor wire.

Oh, hey,” I said. “Looks like the whole Vegas Metro SWAT division is here. Plus the FBI, Homeland Security, and probably the IRS for good measure.

Well hello,” Caitlin said, eyeing the shepherd. “The last time I saw you, you were wearing your heart on your sleeve. Because I ripped it out and put it there.

And, uh, could I borrow somebody’s car? Mine’s impounded and I can’t reclaim it because I’m kinda legally dead right now.

Look at this writing. Can you read? What does it say?” “Happy…graduation, sir?” “It was for a funeral! Happy graduation? What’s he graduated to? Worm food?

Of course, the best lies are always wrapped in verifiable truth. It makes the filling easier to swallow.

I’m looking for a damsel in distress,” she said. “Seen any around?” I wriggled my fingers. “Right here.

Scott and Terry created a political theatre in which a Hanovarian English monarch could appear on the stage of Edinburgh to act the part of a Stuart king.

You see,” she said, “maybe you are stronger than me. But it doesn’t matter, and I’ll tell you why: because I’ve always been smarter than you.

Alchemist’s…clay? What is that?” “It’s a special kind of clay,” I said. “And it won’t set off the metal detectors?” I stared at him through the slot. “No,” I said. “Because it’s clay.

Spend enough time living on the wrong side of the law, magic powers or not, you grow a sixth sense for when things are about to go sideways. Think of it as Darwinism for criminals. You learn when to walk away, you stay in the game for another night. You don’t, well…the prisons are filled with guys who didn’t spot a setup until they were being hauled off in handcuffs.

You can’t take a life—good or bad, whether they’ve got it coming or not—you can’t take a life without burning out a little of the light in your heart. And you’ve only got so much light.

A happier occasion was in 2012 when the Queen agreed to take part in a spoof film for the opening ceremony of the London Olympic Games. She was seen walking along a corridor in Buckingham Palace accompanied by the actor Daniel Craig, aka James Bond. Also in the video were Her Majesty’s favourite corgi and ‘Big Paul’ Whybrew in his dark uniform complete with decorations.

You forgot your line, by the way.” “What line?” Meadow demanded. “When you rant about your master plan for world domination, you’re supposed to end with ‘but it’s too bad you won’t live to see it.’ I mean, if you’re gonna act like an asshole pulp villain, at least show some commitment to the part.” Her hands curled at her sides. “Funny. You won’t be laughing when—” I leveled the shotgun and blew her head off.

The world is full of good men who make bad decisions,” I told her. “Sometimes it works out. Sometimes it doesn’t. You just have to figure things out the best you can. Make the best choices you can. Choices you can live with.

Pix?” I said. “Pretend for a second that I’m not a hacker.” “I’m a jobber in a tag-team cage match against John Cena and The Rock. My partner just got laid out cold with a folding chair, and the referee is looking the other way.

Do you have the soul? Where is it now?” she asked, a little too urgently for my liking. “Stashed someplace safe,” I told her. That someplace was the trunk of my car parked out in the driveway, but I didn’t feel like sharing that much.

The key to walking around places where you’re not supposed to be is to look like you’re too important to be interrupted. Most people are non-confrontational by nature, and if you give them a good reason not to challenge you, they won’t. I

Why are they trying to kill me?” he squealed, cupping his hands over his head. “They’re not,” I told him. “They’re trying to kill me. So stay close.” “They’re trying to kill you, so I should stay close?” He gaped at me. “That’s terrible advice.

Nobody answered. I put my thumb on the hammer of my gun and cocked it back. A meaningless gesture on most modern pistols, but thanks to Hollywood it got the point across. “I’ve got four hostages here, and I only need one. If I don’t have an answer in five seconds, we start making staff cuts.

Seems to me you’ve got two choices: one, you can get in a gunfight with the United States government—because that always ends well—or you can run downstairs, get as many of your boys out through the emergency exits as you can, and order the rest to surrender. Your call, but bail money’s a lot cheaper than a tombstone.

It didn’t make much sense to me; as far as I was concerned, sex was one of the four essential food groups along with alcohol, red meat, and whatever the fourth one was. Coffee, probably. But that’s the thing about your friends: you don’t always have to understand them, you just have to respect them and love them for who they are.

She pointed at our hands. “Are you two rutting?” “That is so gross.” Justine stood next to her with her mouth agape. “You are so gross.” “No,” Caitlin said, grinning. “We’re holding hands. What I did with your father, that was rutting.” Justine made a strangled squeaking noise, like a cat had lodged in her throat and was trying to kick its way out. Juliette stammered incoherently as she dragged her sister away by the arm. I let go of Caitlin’s hand just long enough to hold up my open palm. “High-five me.” She slapped her palm against mine. We settled into a comfortable silence. “You didn’t actually—” I eventually asked, and Caitlin arched an eyebrow. “They’ll always wonder,” she said. “I do hope you’re not the jealous type, Daniel. I am a succubus. If you want me to list my lovers, we’re going to be here a while.” I shook my head. “Not even a little bit.” “Good. But for the record? Never. You don’t rut with a pride demon; you hold up a mirror for him to stare into while he pleasures himself. I’m only slightly exaggerating.

It’s you, Pix. You and everybody like you. Everybody who reaches out a hand when they don’t have to. Everybody who helps somebody get up on their feet, or gets in the way of a fist so somebody weaker doesn’t have to take the pain. Everybody who stands up in the face of evil and says ‘no more.’ Everybody who does what they can to make this shithole of a planet a little less miserable for everybody else. You are who’s fighting for us.

There’s no council of wizened wizards overseeing the world of magic, no hidden academies where bright-eyed and precocious youths learn the secrets of the unknown. What we do have is a collective desire, as a community, to keep anyone from fucking up our action. One of the first things any fledgling sorcerer is taught? Keep your mouth shut about magic, or someone will shut it for you, probably with a bullet or a corrective curb-stomping. Now

There are two answers to evil,” she said. “The first is to justify it. The evil that you do is for a good cause, you’ll be validated in the end, it needed to be done, etcetera, etcetera. Of course, once you start walking that road, it’s all downhill. I’m sure this Tony person didn’t start by drowning children. You have to work your way up to that kind of atrocity.” “And the second answer?” “You own it. Be truthful and accept your own nature.

Most confidence games depend on the mark not knowing they’re being conned. The Kansas City Shuffle depends on the mark knowing it. Not only do they have to see you coming, they have to figure out your entire plan before it happens.” “Problem being,” Corman said, “they’re working to stop the wrong con. You get ’em looking left, while you rob ’em blind on the right.” “We can’t take the coin out of the building,” I said, “but Royce can. So let’s give him a reason to do it.

I explained Crime 101 to the kid. “Guns escalate things. They’re only good for crowd control. We’re going in after closing hours, so we don’t need crowd control.” “Yeah,” Augie said, “but what about security? What if they start bustin’ caps?” Bustin’ caps. I wondered how many hip-hop posters he had on his bedroom wall. “Site’s handled by Gold Star Security Northwest,” I explained. “They don’t carry guns, just Tasers and pepper spray. They also make thirteen bucks an hour, and heroics are highly discouraged in their training manual. Their standing orders in case of a burglary are to retreat to safe ground and call the real cops. That gives us plenty of time to bug out if we get spotted and blow it.” “Cool,” Augie said.

Finally, he looked sideways at Vaughn. “So. I guess this is probably a good time to mention that Isabelle is pregnant.” That got a small chuckle out of Vaughn. “I kind of figured that already. I’ve had my suspicions for a few weeks.” Simon nodded. “Isabelle wondered if you knew.” “You could’ve told me, Simon,” Vaughn said, not unkindly. “I get why you might not want Mom to know yet, but why not talk to me about it?” Simon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I guess I didn’t think you’d understand.” “I wouldn’t understand that you want to marry the woman who’s pregnant with your child? I think that’s a concept I can grasp.” “See, that’s just it.” Simon gestured emphatically. “I knew that’s how you would see it. That I’m marrying Isabelle because I got her pregnant. And I don’t want you, or Mom, or anyone else to think about Isabelle that way—that she’s the woman I had to marry, because it was the right thing to do. Because the truth is, I knew I wanted to marry Isabelle on our second date. She invited me up to her apartment that night, and I saw that she had the entire James Bond collection on Blu-ray. Naturally, being the Bond aficionado that I am, I threw out a little test question for her: ‘Who’s the best Bond?’” Vaughn scoffed. “Like there’s more than one possible answer to that.” “Exactly. Sean Connery’s a no-brainer, right? But get this—she says Daniel Craig.” Simon caught Vaughn’s horrified expression. “I know, right? So I’m thinking the date is over because clearly she’s either crazy or has seriously questionable taste, but then she starts going on and on about how Casino Royale is the first movie where Bond is touchable and human, and then we get into this big debate that lasts for nearly an hour. And as I’m sitting there on her couch, I keep thinking that I don’t know a single other person who would relentlessly argue, for an hour, that Daniel Craig is a better Bond than Sean Connery. She pulled out the DVDs and showed me movie clips and everything.” He smiled, as if remembering the moment. “And somewhere in there, it hit me. I thought to myself, I’m going to marry this woman.

Thomas (his middle name) is a fifth-grader at the highly competitive P.S. 334, the Anderson School on West 84th in New York City. Slim as they get, Thomas recently had his long sandy-blond hair cut short to look like the new James Bond (he took a photo of Daniel Craig to the barber). Unlike Bond, he prefers a uniform of cargo pants and a T-shirt emblazoned with a photo of one of his heroes: Frank Zappa. Thomas hangs out with five friends from the Anderson School. They are “the smart kids.” Thomas is one of them, and he likes belonging. Since Thomas could walk, he has constantly heard that he’s smart. Not just from his parents but from any adult who has come in contact with this precocious child. When he applied to Anderson for kindergarten, his intelligence was statistically confirmed. The school is reserved for the top 1 percent of all applicants, and an IQ test is required. Thomas didn’t just score in the top 1 percent. He scored in the top 1 percent of the top 1 percent. But as Thomas has progressed through school, this self-awareness that he’s smart hasn’t always translated into fearless confidence when attacking his schoolwork. In fact, Thomas’s father noticed just the opposite. “Thomas didn’t want to try things he wouldn’t be successful at,” his father says. “Some things came very quickly to him, but when they didn’t, he gave up almost immediately, concluding, ‘I’m not good at this.’ ” With no more than a glance, Thomas was dividing the world into two—things he was naturally good at and things he wasn’t. For instance, in the early grades, Thomas wasn’t very good at spelling, so he simply demurred from spelling out loud. When Thomas took his first look at fractions, he balked. The biggest hurdle came in third grade. He was supposed to learn cursive penmanship, but he wouldn’t even try for weeks. By then, his teacher was demanding homework be completed in cursive. Rather than play catch-up on his penmanship, Thomas refused outright. Thomas’s father tried to reason with him. “Look, just because you’re smart doesn’t mean you don’t have to put out some effort.” (Eventually, Thomas mastered cursive, but not without a lot of cajoling from his father.) Why does this child, who is measurably at the very top of the charts, lack confidence about his ability to tackle routine school challenges? Thomas is not alone. For a few decades, it’s been noted that a large percentage of all gifted students (those who score in the top 10 percent on aptitude tests) severely underestimate their own abilities. Those afflicted with this lack of perceived competence adopt lower standards for success and expect less of themselves. They underrate the importance of effort, and they overrate how much help they need from a parent.

The ghost of Merle Haggard kept Sophia trapped in her house for two weeks. Every time she went to the door she’d see him standing on her lawn, clutching his guitar and wagging a disapproving finger at her. She knew her medication would probably make him go away, just like she knew the real Merle Haggard was alive and well in California, but she hated how the pills made her feel. Stuffy, slow, like scratchy wool was wrapped around her brain.

Eugene Planck wasn’t a danger to himself anymore, not since the day he’d chugged down a bottle of acid to burn the snake living in his stomach. He hadn’t overcome what the doctors called “delusional parasitosis”—he’d just realized that the snake couldn’t be killed. Twenty years later, his throat still burned, especially on hot, dry California days like this one. He stared through the wire-mesh window, watched the wispy clouds drift by, and waited to die.

* * * Back in my room at the Four Seasons, I gave them the grisly details. Not too grisly. Pixie didn’t need to hear that, and everyone else had a damn good idea of what Coop was going through. “That kind of zombie,” Margaux mused, “is easy to raise up, if you know what you’re doing. Even easier to put down. Remember those soul traps Lauren passed out to her followers? The little leather pouches? Same thing, it’s just that Coop’s own body is the pouch. Force his mouth open, his soul flies free.” Pixie sat beside her at the end table by the window, powering up her laptop. She glanced at Margaux over the screen. “That kind? How many kinds of zombies are there?” “There’s the kind that eat people, the kind that don’t eat people…” Margaux’s voice trailed off as she thought it over. “Two. Two kinds. Plenty of variations, but when you’re looking at a dead man walkin’ your way, that’s the one question you need answered fast.

apothecia? It’s the state of finding significance in random, meaningless data. It’s a very common flaw in the human brain.

Mama. I’m fucked up. Don’t know…some kind of curse. Never seen it before.

Number one—you pissed me off. Number two—the inside of my mind is a seriously fucked-up place, and I’ve got home court advantage.

Pizza and beer,” Corman said. “And if you want something with weird toppings, you’re paying for it yourself. No goddamn pineapple this time.

I thought she was the one. I mean, you always think that, but…I really believed it. Wedding bells, white picket fences, the real deal. Then one night the dream just died on me.” I paused, shaking my head. “I’m sad right now, and that’s okay. If I’m not sad I start getting angry, and I don’t want to be angry at her. I don’t want to twist it around in my head, change what we had into something ugly, you know? I owe her that much.

They hauled out two huge, blocky Jotun class mechs designed for deliberate, steady progress on a battlefield. One was their very own Cronus. The other was named Craig, and no one knew quite why.

Adrian stroked Ginny’s arm. “Come on, let’s do this,” he said. “Afterward, let’s drink rum and cola and discuss who is the best James Bond.” “It’s Daniel Craig,” she said, as she followed him toward the door.

Author and trainer Craig Ballantyne famously said, “Success is simple once you accept how hard it is.

making your own choices is only half of what it means to be an adult.” She gave me a dubious look. “What’s the other half?” “Doing stupid shit you hate.

It ain’t the succeedin’, sugar. It’s the tryin’.

There is a special kind of hypocrisy,” I said, “that comes from wisdom born of age. It works like this: I did really stupid shit when I was a kid, and I paid for it. I do not want you to have to pay for your stupid shit, so I intervene, knowing where your chosen road is headed.

I’m going to expose you for the craven weakling you really are.

Don’t worry about it,” Paolo said. “I’ll make him an accountant. Nobody wants to talk to an accountant about his job anyway.

That’s the problem with criminals,” I told him. “They tend to commit crimes.

Oh, wow, your glasses!” I heard Justine cry. “They’re amazing! You’re, like, a hipster. And hipster is totally dead as a fashion statement, which makes it ironic, which makes you totally hipster!

How do you like your pizza? You don’t get any weird toppings on it, do you?” “Is pineapple weird?” “I think you know the answer to that, and you should be ashamed of yourself.

The local cops don’t come after you for mail theft; the Postal Inspection Service does, and don’t let the name fool you. I don’t fuck with the Postal Inspection Service, and I’ve crossed the actual FBI before.

Sooner or later, we all get our turn on the anvil of the world. You bend or you break, but either way you don’t come back the same.

It wasn’t the hell he deserved, but it was the best we could do.

Whatever you’re thinking, rakshasi…stop thinking it.

The kid on the couch was maybe twenty. His Call of Duty T-shirt stretched over his bloated belly, and his cheeks bristled with a few days of rough blond stubble. He looked over, saw us, and waved. “Hey,” he said listlessly. “I’m Pete.

She lies without lying,

There is a special kind of hypocrisy,” I said, “that comes from wisdom born of age. It works like this: I did really stupid shit when I was a kid, and I paid for it. I do not want you to have to pay for your stupid shit, so I intervene, knowing where your chosen road is headed.” “So you just decided to ruin my night, because you care about me.” “That sounds about right,” I said. She didn’t speak to me for rest of the drive. Can’t say I blamed her.

When you can fake anything, nothing on video is real.

This one demon, her entire job is judging the souls of people who made bad musical adaptations on Earth.” “What if they don’t end up down here?” “Oh, no,” he said. “If you make a bad musical, you automatically go to hell. Iron-clad rule.

Daniel seems to rise above the moon with a brilliance in his eyes. He steps toward the sea and screams, more in defiance than rage. “Mortality; O wretched death and mortality! Decay is a demon dream, schemed in symmetry. O, that death crucified might halt its talons, for all will ascend from the grave! Remember the fallen, the slain; their dust is our foundation. Consider their suffering and pain; for there lies a new creation.

Daniel? Daniel...of what use are the bones of saints? Of what great interest to me are their dusted stories of day?” I stand at a dreadful distance. He speaks, “Silent stones of granite hue; enveloped now in sacred dew. Speak somber words of restless hope... of resurrection.” I hear the hushings of the wind in a rhythmic silence, and turn to see a friar’s lantern on a distant ridge.

Daniel,” I speak through weariness, “God has given me little hope and less strength. I hear only a voice saying ‘no’ from the wings of this circling stage.” “Ah, because we worship the gods of the arts in our wavering world; the mock souls and masked faces with painted-on peace. What do you expect of a forgery?” He pauses as he turns toward me. “Reality is no longer relevant.” Darkness chokes the moon as we rest on stirring sand.