Dresden Files Storm Front Quotes

Paranoid? Probably. But just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there isn't an invisible demon about to eat your face.

I'd made the vampire cry. Great. I felt like a real superhero. Harry Dresden, breaker of monsters' hearts.

Have you ever felt despair? Absolute hopelessness? Have you ever stood in the darkness and known, deep in your heart, in your spirit, that it was never, ever going to get better? That something had been lost, forever, and that it wasn't coming back?

I think that men ought to treat women like something other than weaker men with breasts.

Smiling always seems to annoy people more than actually insulting them. Or maybe I just have an annoying smile.

Kids. You gotta love them. I adore children. A little salt, a squeeze of lemon—perfect.

Harry," Bob drawled, his eye lights flickering smugly, "what you know about women, I could juggle.

A technicality I'm prepared to hide wildly behind.

EASTER HAS BEEN CANCELED—THEY FOUND THE BODY

You don't go walking into the proverbial lion's den lightly. You start with a good breakfast.

Where instinct fails, intellect must venture.

When I'm in turmoil, when I can't think, when I'm exhausted and afraid and feeling very, very alone, I go for walks. It's just one of those things I do. I walk and I walk and sooner or later something comes to me, something to make me feel less like jumping off a building.

HARRY DRESDEN—WIZARD Lost Items Found. Paranormal Investigations. Consulting. Advice. Reasonable Rates. No Love Potions, Endless Purses, Parties, or Other Entertainment

I don't want to live in a world where the strong rule and the weak cower. I'd rather make a place where things are a little quieter. Where trolls stay the hell under their bridges and where elves don't come swooping out to snatch children from their cradles. Where vampires respect the limits, and where the faeries mind their p's and q's. My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure by it at your own risk. When things get strange, when what goes bump in the night flicks on the lights, when no one else can help you, give me a call. I'm in the book.

Thank God for wisecracks.

Here had lived someone else who knew that the only thing waiting at home was a sense of loneliness. Sometimes it is comforting. Most often, it isn't.

There is no truer gauge of a man's character than the way in which he employs his strength, his power.

I was seducing shepherdesses when you weren't a twinkle in your great-grandcestor's eyes. I think I know what I'm doing.

Have you ever been approached by a grim-looking man, carrying a naked sword with a blade about ten miles long in his hand, in the middle of the night, beneath the stars on the shores of Lake Michigan? If you have, seek professional help. If you have not, then believe you me, it can scare the bejeezus out of you.

Do you have a little white dress? I've had this deep-seated nurse fantasy about you, Murphy.

At the moment I was mad enough to chew up nails and spit out paper clips.

A pure heart and mind only takes you so far - sooner or later the hormones have their say, too.

My head was throbbing, and my hands were shaking, but I went down the ladder to my workroom - and started figuring out how to rip someone's heart out of his chest from fifty miles away. Who says I never do anything fun on a Friday night?

They say we wizards are subtle. But believe you me, we've got nothing, nothing at all, on women.

Maybe my values are outdated, but I come from an old school of thought. I think that men ought to treat women like something other than just shorter, weaker men with breasts. Try and convict me if I’m a bad person for thinking so. I enjoy treating a woman like a lady, opening doors for her, paying for shared meals, giving flowers–all that sort of thing.

A man's magic demonstrates what sort of person he is, what is held most deeply inside of him. There is no truer gauge of a man's character than the way in which he employs his strength, his power. I was not a murderer. I was not like Victor Sells. I was Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. I was a wizard. Wizards control their power. They don't let it control them. And wizards don't use magic to kill people. They use it to discover, to protect, to mend, to help. Not to destroy.

Faeries like pizza?" I asked. "Oh, Harry," Toot said breathlessly. "Haven't you ever had pizza before?" "Of course I have," I said. Toot looked wounded. "And you didn't share?

It is the prerogative of wizards to be grumpy. It is not, however, the prerogative of freelance consultants who are late on their rent, so instead of saying something smart, I told the woman on the phone, "Yes, ma'am. How can I help you today?

The cold rain came down in buckets. I was shaking, shivering, and naked, and more soap was getting into my eyes. But hey. At least I was clean.

Magic. It can get a guy killed.

Never let it be said that Harry Dresden is afraid of a dried, dead bug. Creepy or not, I wasn't going to let it ruin my concentration. So I scooped it up with the corner of the phone book and popped it into the middle drawer of my desk. Out of sight, out of mind. So I have a problem with creepy, dead, poisonous things. So sue me.

I had to maintain a fine balance between going in ready for trouble and going in asking for trouble.

She studied my face for a long minute. "Are you going to help my mom?" It was a simple question. But how do you tell a child that things just aren't that simple, that some questions don't have simple answers--or any answer at all?

Science, the largest religion of the twentieth century, had become tarnished by images of exploding space shuttles, crack babies, and a generation of complacent Americans who allowed the television to raise their children. People were looking for something - I think they just didn't know what. And even though they were once again starting to open their eyes to the world of magic and the arcane that had been with them all the while, they still thought I must be some kind of joke.

She's going to do nothing but try to trick information out of me that I shouldn't be giving her, Mac," I said. "Ungh," Mac agreed. "Why did I say yes?" Mac shrugged. "She's pretty," I said. "Smart. Sexy." "Ungh." "Any red-blooded man would have done the same thing." "Hngh," Mac snorted. "Well. Maybe not you." Mac smiled a bit, mollified. "Still. It's going to make trouble for me. I must be crazy to go for someone like that." I picked up my sandwich, and sighed. "Dumb," Mac said. "I just said she was smart, Mac." Mac's face flickered into that smile, and it made him look years younger, almost boyish. "Not her," he said. "You.

My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure by it at your own risk. I'm a wizard. I work out of an office in midtown Chicago. As far as I know, I'm the only openly practicing professional wizard in the country. You can find me in the yellow pages, under "Wizards." Believe it or not, I'm the only one there. My ad looks like this: HARRY DRESDEN — WIZARD Lost Items Found. Paranormal Investigations. Consulting. Advice. Reasonable Rates. No Love Potions, Endless Purses, Parties, or Other Entertainment You'd be surprised how many people call just to ask me if I'm serious.

Science, the largest religion of the twentieth century, had become somewhat tarnished by images of exploding space shuttles, crack babies, and a generation of complacent Americans who had allowed the television to raise their children.

The vampire’s true appearance was grotesque--but it wasn’t as bad as some of the things I had seen in my day. Some demons were a lot worse, and some of the Elder Things could rip your mind apart just by letting you look at them

You know, sometimes I think Someone up there really hates me.

The world is getting weirder. Darker every single day. Things are spinning around faster and faster, and threatening to go completely awry. Falcons and falconers. The center cannot hold. But in my corner of the country, I'm trying to nail things down. I don't want to live in Victor's jungle, even if it did eventually devour him. I don't want to live in a world where the strong rule and the weak cower. I'd rather make a place where things are a little quieter. Where trolls stay the hell under their bridges and where elves don't come swooping out to snatch children from their cradles. Where vampires respect the limits, and where the faeries mind their p's and q's. My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure by it at your own risk. When things get strange, when what goes bump in the night flicks on the lights, when no one else can help you, give me a call. I'm in the book.

I’ve often wished that I had some suave and socially acceptable hobby that I could fall back on in times like this. You know, play the violin (or was it the viola) like Sherlock Holmes, or maybe twiddle away on the pipe organ like the Disney version of Captain Nemo. But I don’t. I’m sort of the arcane equivalent of a classic computer geek. I do magic, in one form or another, and that’s pretty much it. I really need to get a life, one of these days

An honest man is a rare treasure.

Magic came from life itself, from the interaction of nature and the elements, from the energy of all living beings, and especially of people. A man's magic demonstrates what sort of person he is, what is held most deeply inside of him. There is no truer gauge of a man's character than the way in which he employs his strength, his power.

I thought I told you I didn't want to talk to you, Mr. Dresden." "I like women who play hard to get.

If she were in a race for her life, that roar was the starter pistol. If God were the referee, He had just shouted Go.

I listened. Listening isn’t hard to do. No one has practice at it, nowadays, but you can train yourself to pay attention to your senses if you work at it long enough.

I have a problem with creepy, dead, poisonous things. So sue me.

Děti. Musíte je mít rádi. Já se jich nemůžu nabažit. Trošku soli, pokapat citronem - dokonalé.

She was furious that I had seen her true form, horrified and embarrassed that I had stripped her disguise away and seen the creature beneath. And she was afraid that I could take away even her mask, forever, with my power.

My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure by it at your own risk.

It is the prerogative of wizards to be grumpy.

You're supposed to be a spirit of intellect. I don't understand why you're obsessed with sex." Bob's voice got defensive. "It's an academic interest, Harry." "Oh yeah? Well maybe I don't think it's fair to let your academia go peeping in other people's houses." "Wait a minute. My academia doesn't just peep -" I held up a hand. "Save it. I don't want to hear it." He grunted. "You're trivializing what getting out for a bit means to me, Harry. You're insulting my masculinity." "Bob," I said, "you're a skull . You don't have any masculinity to insult." "Oh yeah?" Bob challenged me. "Pot kettle black, Harry! Have you gotten a date yet? Huh? Most men have something better to do in the middle of the night than play with their chemistry sets.

but all the things Science had promised us hadn't come to pass. Disease was still a problem. Starvation was still a problem. Violence and crime and war were still problems. In spite of the advance of technology, things just hadn't changed the way everyone had hoped and thought they would.

Well. You've got me cornered, don't you? I'm at your mercy." Her lips quirked. She took a drag of her cigarette. "And I like a man who just won't stop.

I mean, a lot of teenage guys fail in their first relationships. Not many of them murder the girl involved.

I am pure of heart and mind,” I told her. “I cannot be corrupted.

I shied away from that line of thought, lest it bring up too many old memories.

The last thing I had expected to use that cleaning spell for when I had laboriously been forced to learn it was a tide of poisonous scorpion monsters, but any port in a storm.

We wizards are terrific at brooding.

It’s an old place, but it sings in the darkness and is, in its own quirky little way, alive. It’s home.

When I look into someone’s eyes, into their soul, their innermost being, they can see mine in return—the things I had done, the things I was willing to do, the things I was capable of doing.

Time, time,” Toot complained. “Is that all you mortals can ever think about? Everyone’s complaining about time! The whole city rushes left and right screaming about being late and honking horns! You people used to have it right, you know.

Susan’s fingers wandered, and her eyes sparkled. “Your mouth says no,” she purred, “but this says yes.” I went up on my toes, and swallowed, trying to keep my balance and get her hand off me at the same time. “That thing is always saying something stupid,” I told her.

I thought about my father. I usually do, when I get that low. He was a good man, a generous man, a hopeless loser.

Describing something helps to define it, to give it limits, to set guardrails of understanding around it.

Names are unique sounds and cadences of words that are attached to one specific individual-sort of like a kind of theme music.

I do magic, in one form or another, and that’s pretty much it. I really need to get a life, one of these days.

Mister went to his spot before the fireplace and demanded that it be made warm.

and several bulging bookshelves which I really will organize one day.

Wizardry aside, it’s tough to beat a gun for discouraging men with baseball bats.

Maybe I should have listened to Murphy. Maybe I should have stayed home and played with some nice, safe, forbidden black magic instead.

The best magic comes from the inside.

I guess seeing a wizard cut loose can do that to you.

I looked, noted details mechanically, and quietly shut the door on the part of my head that had started screaming the second I entered the room.

A man’s magic demonstrates what sort of person he is, what is held most deeply inside of him. There is no truer gauge of a man’s character than the way in which he employs his strength, his power.

It was worse than murder. It was twisted, wretched perversion, as though someone had bludgeoned another person to death with a Botticelli, turned something of beauty to an act of utter destruction.

I react badly to fear. I don’t usually have the good sense to run, or hide—I just try to smash whatever it is that is making me afraid. It’s a primitive sort of thing, and one I don’t question too much.

He died in his sleep one night. An aneurysm, the doctors said. I found him, cold, smiling. Maybe he’d been dreaming of Mother when he went. And as I looked at him, I suddenly felt, for the very first time in my life, utterly, entirely alone. That something was gone that would never return, that a little hole had been hollowed out inside of me that wasn’t ever going to be filled again.

I think that men ought to treat women like something other than just shorter, weaker men with breasts. Try and convict me if I’m a bad person for thinking so. I enjoy treating a woman like a lady, opening doors for her, paying for shared meals, giving flowers—all that sort of thing.

My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure by it at your own risk. I’m a wizard. I work out of an office in midtown Chicago. As far as I know, I’m the only openly practicing professional wizard in the country. You can find me in the yellow pages, under “Wizards.” Believe it or not, I’m the only one there.

Wizardry is all about thinking ahead, about being prepared. Wizards aren’t really superhuman. We just have a leg up on seeing things more clearly than other people, and being able to use the extra information we have for our benefit. Hell, the word wizard comes from the same root as wise. We know things. We aren’t any stronger or faster than anyone else. We don’t even have all that much more going in the mental department. But we’re god-awful sneaky, and if we get the chance to get set for something, we can do some impressive things.

The phone rang again almost the instant I put it down, making me jump. I peered at it. I don’t trust electronics. Anything manufactured after the forties is suspect—

Maybe my values are outdated, but I come from an old school of thought. I think that men ought to treat women like something other than just shorter, weaker men with breasts.

Magic came from life itself, from the interaction of nature and the elements, from the energy of all living beings, and especially of people.

He had no frame of reference, and couldn’t read—most faeries were studiously averse to print.

Subtle and quick to anger?” “Not so subtle.

several bulging bookshelves which I really will organize one day.

They say screwy things, make odd choices which, in retrospect, they feel amazingly foolish for making.

Crap,” I said. I’m quite eloquent in times of crisis

And wizards don’t use magic to kill people. They use it to discover, to protect, to mend, to help. Not to destroy.

The world is getting weirder. Darker every single day. Things are spinning around faster and faster, and threatening to go completely awry. Falcons and falconers. The center cannot hold.

When I started, I was pretty sure I was going to be writing some goofy little wizard novels that might make me some part-time money and would hopefully lead to something I could do better.

Raw power doesn't determine all that you can do with magic. Focus matters, too. The better your focus is, the better you are at putting your power in one place at the same time, the more you can get done.

I don’t trust electronics. Anything manufactured after the forties is suspect—and doesn’t seem to have much liking for me. You name it: cars, radios, telephones, TVs, VCRs—none of them seem to behave well for me.

My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure by it at your own risk. When things get strange, when what goes bump in the night flicks on the lights, when no one else can help you, give me a call. I’m in the book.

If I'd realized how rabid he was to catch me slipping, I wouldn't have added more fuel to his fire by hitting him in the mouth. Okay. I probably still would have hit him in the mouth. But I wouldn't have done it quite so hard.

And as I looked at him, I suddenly felt, for the very first time in my life, utterly, entirely alone. That something was gone that would never return, that a little hole had been hollowed out inside of me that wasn’t ever going to be filled again.

I’ve often wished that I had some suave and socially acceptable hobby that I could fall back on in times like this. You know, play the violin (or was it the viola?) like Sherlock Holmes, or maybe twiddle away on the pipe organ like the Disney version of Captain Nemo.

But a sick feeling had settled into me, as I looked on this darkling house, with all of its stinking lust and fear, all of its horrid hate worn openly upon it to my Sight, like a mantle of flayed human skin on the shoulders of a pretty girl with gorgeous hair, luscious lips, sunken eyes, and rotting teeth. It repulsed me and it made me afraid.

As I walked toward the front door, a little motion to the left caught my eye. Jenny Sells stood in the hallway, a silent wraith. She regarded me with luminous green eyes, like her mother’s, like the dead aunt whose namesake she was. I stopped and faced her. I’m not sure why. “You’re the wizard,” she said, quietly. “You’re Harry Dresden. I saw your picture in the newspaper, once. The Arcane.” I nodded. She studied my face for a long minute. “Are you going to help my mom?” It was a simple question. But how do you tell a child that things just aren’t that simple, that some questions don’t have simple answers—or any answer at all? I looked back into her too-knowing eyes, and then quickly away. I didn’t want her to see what sort of person I was, the things I had done. She didn’t need that. “I’m going to do everything I can to help your mom.” She nodded. “Do you promise?” I promised her. She thought that over for a moment, studying me. Then she nodded. “My daddy used to be one of the good guys, Mr. Dresden. But I don’t think that he is anymore.” Her face looked sad. It was a sweet, unaffected expression. “Are you going to kill him?” Another simple question. “I don’t want to,” I told her. “But he’s trying to kill me. I might not have any choice.” She swallowed and lifted her chin. “I loved my Aunt Jenny,” she said. Her eyes brightened with tears. “Momma won’t say, and Billy’s too little to figure it out, but I know what happened.” She turned, with more grace and dignity than I could have managed, and started to leave. Then said, quietly, “I hope you’re one of the good guys, Mr. Dresden. We really need a good guy. I hope you’ll be all right.” Then she vanished down the hall on bare, silent feet.