Dark One Liners Quotes

A lantern can give you light only when you light it

I have never battled a gargoyle before.” Zacharel shook his head, a dark lock of hair tumbling into one emerald eye. Damp from the melting snow, the hair stuck to his skin. He didn’t seem to notice. “But I am certain these will murder Paris before willingly carrying him inside.” As if he were the only intelligent life form left in existence, William splayed his arms. “And the problem with that? He’ll still be inside, exactly where he wants to be. And by the way,” he added, blinking at Paris with lashes so long they should have belonged to a girl. “Your new permanent eyeliner is very pretty. You’ll make a good-looking corpse.” Do not react. He did, and the teasing about his ash/ambrosia tattoos would never end. “Thanks.” “I prefer the lip liner, though. A nice little feminine touch that really makes your eyes pop.” “Again, thanks,” he gritted. He wants us! Stupid demon. William grinned. “Maybe we can make out later. I know you want me.” Tell him yes! Not another word out of you, or— “Paris? Warrior?” Zacharel said. “Are you listening to me?” “No.” Zach nodded, apparently not the least offended. “I enjoy your honesty, though I believe you suffer from what the humans call ADD.” “Oh, yeah. I definitely have attention deficient demon.

It was only in quiet moments like this that the sadness came through. Because that was the thing about Logan, under the sharp one-liners and incredulous glares, there was always a sadness that felt so deep, Ashley thought she could fall into it and never reach the bottom. It was a sadness Logan had sewn into her chest, that she’d fashioned into a piece of her personality.

I look in the jewelry box where Joanie found the drugs. She showed me a miniature Ziploc bag filled with a clear, hard rock. “What is this?” I said. I never did drugs, so I had no idea. Heroin? Cocaine? Crack? Ice? “What is this?” I screamed at Alex, who screamed back, “It’s not like I shoot it!” A plastic ballerina pops up and slowly twirls to a tinkling song whose sound is discordant and deformed. The pink satin liner is dirty, and other than a black pearl necklace, the box holds only rusty paper clips and rubber bands noosed with Alex’s dark hair. I see a note stuck to the mirror and pick up the jewelry box and move the ballerina aside. She twirls against my finger. The note says, I wouldn’t hide them in the same place twice. I let out a short breath through my nose. Good one, Alex. I close the jewelry box and shake my head, missing her tremendously. I wish she never went back to boarding school, and I don’t understand her sudden change of plans. What did they fight about? What could have been so bad?

Loneliness is one of the most universal human experiences, but our contemporary Western society has heightened the awareness of our loneliness to an unusual degree. During a recent visit to New York City, I wrote the following note to myself: Sitting in the subway, I am surrounded by silent people hidden behind their newspapers or staring away in the world of their own fantasies. Nobody speaks with a stranger, and a patroling policeman keeps reminding me that people are not out to help each other. But when my eyes wander over the walls of the train covered with invitations to buy more or new products, I see young, beautiful people enjoying each other in a gentle embrace, playful men and women smiling at each other in fast sailboats, proud explorers on horseback encouraging each other to take brave risks, fearless children dancing on a sunny beach, and charming girls always ready to serve me in airplanes and ocean liners. While the subway train runs from one dark tunnel into the other and I am nervously aware where I keep my money, the words and images decorating my fearful world speak about love, gentleness, tenderness and about a joyful togetherness of spontaneous people.

Eddie looked at him-old long, tall, and ugly, who'd done God knew how many ugly things in the name of reaching his Tower-and wondered if Roland had any idea at all of how much that hurt. Just that casual admonition not to behave like a child, grinning and cracking jokes, now that their lives were at wager. He opened his mouth to say something-an Eddie Dean Special, something that would be both funny and stinging at the same time, the kind of remark that always used to drive his brother Henry dogshit-and then closed it again. Maybe long, tall, and ugly was right; maybe it was time to put away the one-liners and dead baby jokes. Maybe it was finally time to grow up.

Oh looka that, you dumb dork!” The Kid exclaimed. His tone was one of great outrage. Suddenly the .45 was pointed at Trash, its bore as big and dark as an ocean liner’s smokestack. Trashcan felt his groin go numb. He thought he might be pissing himself, but had no way of telling for sure. “I’m gonna venilate your thinkin-machine for that,” The Kid said. “You done spilt the beer. If it was any other kind I wun’t do it, but that was Coors you spilled. I’d piss Coors if I could, you believe that happy crappy?” “Sure,” Trashcan whispered. “And do you think they’re makin any more Coors these days, Trash? That seem very fuckin likely to you?” “No,” Trashcan whispered. “Guess not.” “You’re fuckin right. It’s a dangered spee-shees.

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What is a terrorists’ favorite tea? TNT.

What is an emo person’s favorite kind of coffee? Depresso.

The more you play Rubik’s Cube the more it gets harder. Do you know what else does the same?

What did the teacher say that made the Jewish kid upset when he answered the question correctly? You get a

Don’t you think you should go now, or did you not start enough trouble to feed your rebelled soul?” “Baby girl.” He pushes closer. “You know nothin’ about my soul, and if you call that trouble, your little world here must be as lame as it looks.” “If you’re not a fan of this little world.” I give a small shrug. “Go back to your own.” He silently stares but there’s a question floating around in those dark eyes of his, one he refuses to ask. He makes no move, so I add, “Seriously, you should go, at least off campus.” “Rushin’ me, little Bishop?” he tsks. “Not a fan of quickies.” I frown. “If one-liners like that are what the girls you spend your time with find cute or even a little bit appealing, then I feel bad for you.” “Oh yeah, and why’s that?” “Because that would mean you know nothing about actual effort, and that’s a shame. Someone with the world at their fingertips should be far more than a bag of jokes and heavy fists.

Sitting in the subway, I am surrounded by silent people hidden behind their newspapers or staring away in the world of their own fantasies. Nobody speaks with a stranger, and a patroling policeman keeps reminding me that people are not out to help each other. But when my eyes wander over the walls of the train covered with invitations to buy more or new products, I see young, beautiful people enjoying each other in a gentle embrace, playful men and women smiling at each other in fast sailboats, proud explorers on horseback encouraging each other to take brave risks, fearless children dancing on a sunny beach, and charming girls always ready to serve me in airplanes and ocean liners. While the subway train runs from one dark tunnel into the other and I am nervously aware where I keep my money, the words and images decorating my fearful world speak about love, gentleness, tenderness and a joyful togetherness of spontaneous people.

You’re at the captain’s table, so to speak. The Berkeleys are here, as well as the big donors and some from the administration.” When Holly heard the name Berkeley, her heart sank. Just my luck, she fumed, can I never get my time in the sun without Ivy stealing all the limelight? As she sat down, she noticed she was seated directly opposite Ivy. Ivy was already enjoying the soup, and Holly looked at her with chagrin. She looked breathtakingly beautiful in a dark blue dress with large diamond drop earrings. As she looked up to her father to tell him how much she enjoyed her soup, Holly caught sight of her face. She had on the most flawless makeup, far more advanced than Holly’s attempt earlier. Next to Ivy, Holly felt like a grubby orphan who hadn’t seen a washcloth in years. “She even has on lip liner,” Holly said under her breath in a mixture of admiration and bitterness. “Holly, Holly. Earth to Holly. Holly, the server wants to know your drink order, baby. Please tell him.” She realized the server must have asked her a question, and she was so lost in thought about Ivy that she hadn’t heard. “Iced tea, please, light ice, thank you.” “Yes, ma’am.” Holly waited until the server left, and then whispered into William’s ear. “I feel so ugly. She’s so beautiful. This is the worst thing that could happen. Being seated opposite her, and so now you’ll be admiring her perfection all dinner long. Just kill me now,” Holly finished with a sigh. “Where’s Ivy?” “She’s right across from me, silly!” “Where? I don’t see her?” “She’s over . . .” Holly broke off and looked into William’s eyes. His eyes told her everything she needed to know. They were warm and loving, and she knew he was trying to let her know that he only had eyes for her. “I don’t care about Ivy. Not one microscopic millimeter. It’s you I love. So, please try to enjoy yourself and forget about her. It’s a big night here, and I have a lot to do with the donors later. Please don’t make me distracted and worried about you and your jealousy of her. I am yours, and that’s the end of it.” She gave him a loving smile of thanks and decided to eliminate Ivy from her thoughts. She turned to her left and was delighted to find Heather sitting next to her.

Bridget - I like my tea like I like my men. Strong, sweet and dark. Joan - I like my tea like I like my men too. Still warm.