Dunno Quotes

Well?" Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. "How was it?" Harry considered it for a moment. "Wet," he said truthfully. Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell. "Because she was crying," Harry continued heavily. "Oh," said Ron, his smile faded slightly. "Are you that bad at kissing?" "Dunno," said Harry, who hadn't considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. "Maybe I am.

Why do you need to gallop while you fly?" "Why do humans have to sway their arms while they walk? I dunno boss, but it just feels right.

Fred and George turned to each other and said together, 'Wow, we're identical!' 'I dunno though, I think I'm still better looking,' said Fred, examining his reflection in the kettle.

CALVIN: This whole Santa Claus thing just doesn't make sense. Why all the secrecy? Why all the mystery? If the guy exists why doesn't he ever show himself and prove it? And if he doesn't exist what's the meaning of all this? HOBBES: I dunno. Isn't this a religious holiday? CALVIN: Yeah, but actually, I've got the same questions about God.

Hey!" said the guy in the video. "Greetings from your friends at Camp Half-Blood, et cetera. This is Leo. I'm the..." He looked off screen and yelled: "What's my title? Am I like admiral, or captain, or-" A girl's voice yelled back, "Repair boy." "Very funny, Piper," Leo grumbled. He turned back to the parchment screen. "So yeah, I'm...ah..supreme commander of the Argo II. Yeah, I like that! Anyway, we're gonna be sailing towards you in about, I dunno, an hour in this big mother warship. We'd appreciate it if you'd not, like, blow us out of the sky or anything. So okay! If you could tell the Romans that. See you soon. Yours in demigodishness, and all that. Peace out!

I never knew that missin somebody could hurt, I says. But it does. Deep inside. Like it's in my bones. We ain't never bin apart till now. Never. I dunno how to be without him. It's like... I ain't nuthin.

Leo scratched his head. “Well I dunno about Enchiladas—” “Enceladus,” Piper corrected. “Whatever. But Old Potty Face mentioned another name. Porpoise Fear, or something?” “Porphyrion?” Piper asked. ”He was the giant king, I think.

I believe there's a hand that guides us. It just isn't always a gentle one. Or one that seems fair at the time. But I dunno, I try to trust in it now. When I freak, I just try to... shit, I guess trust in it. Because at the end of the day, what else can you do? Choice only gets you so far. Reasoning and planning too. The rest... it's up to someone else. Where we end up, who we know, what happens to the people we love... we don't have a lot of control over any of it.

Could you do a glamour and turn into something smaller?" I asked it. "Preferably not a chain, since it's no longer the 1990s?" The sword didn't reply (duh), but I imagined it was humming at a more interrogative pitch, like, Such as what? "I dunno. Something pocket-size and innocuous. A pen, maybe?" The sword pulsed, almost like it was laughing. I imagined it saying, A pen sword. That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard.

Hey, why do pegasi gallop as they fly, anyway?" Blackjack whinnied. Why do humans swing their arms as they walk? I dunno, boss. It just feels right.

I was in Nashville, Tennessee last year. After the show I went to a Waffle House. I'm not proud of it, I was hungry. And I'm alone, I'm eating and I'm reading a book, right? Waitress walks over to me: 'Hey, whatcha readin' for?' Isn't that the weirdest fuckin' question you've ever heard? Not what am I reading, but what am I reading FOR? Well, goddamnit, ya stumped me! Why do I read? Well . . . hmmm...I dunno...I guess I read for a lot of reasons and the main one is so I don't end up being a fuckin' waffle waitress.

What do I taste like?” “Well, like honey and cream and … I dunno, bread?” I scrunched up my nose. “Bread?” “Yes. Sexy bread that I could eat all the time because you are so delicious and full of wholegrain goodness.

Dunno much about art." "You don't have to. That's the wonderful thing about it. It's about reacting to it. Feeling it, if you like. It's not really anything to do with knowledge

Use your head, Sep. Loads of wolverines. Hanging around waiting for super. Gtting excited. eating mint blasts. so what do you think they do?' it must be here. they can't have eaten that... i dunno, Nik, what do they do?' POO.

Saw you out there in the garden. Looked so damn...fine," he said, quietly. "Was like I hadta have ya, right then. Bubbled up like...I dunno, puke or somethin'." Jack chuckled. "You sure have a way with words, D.

I'm a chess piece. A pawn,' she said. 'I can be sacrificed, but I cannot be captured. To be captured would be the end of the game.

You wanna-I dunno-get coffee or something sometime?" Justin smiled "Not coffee. But yes." "Not Coffee it is, then." "Yes, Not Coffee.

It doesn't have any effect on your life. What do you care?! People try to talk about it like it's a social issue. Like when you see someone stand up on a talk show and say, "How am I supposed to explain to my children that two men are getting married?... I dunno. It's your shitty kid. You fuckin' tell 'em. Why is that anyone else's problem? Two guys are in LOVE and they can't get married because you don't want to talk to your ugly child for five fuckin' minutes?

Books! I dunno if I ever told you this, but books are the greatest gift one person can give another.

Who was this women?' asked Harry. 'I dunno, some Ministry hag.' Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled. 'Little women. Bow on top of er' head.' He frowned and then added, 'Looked like a toad.' Harry dropped his wand. Harry looked up and saw his own shock reflected in Ron and Hermione's faces. The scars on the back of right hand seemed to be tingling again.

There's no way y'all have been around for thousands of years without there being one person not fitting into the 'men are this, women are that' bullshit." Julian sounded so convinced, so sure. His obsidian eyes locked onto Yadriel's. "Maybe they hid it, or ran away, or I dunno, something else, but there's no way you're the first, Yads.

Before I know what he's up to, he grabs my hand. Hey! I try to pull it away but he holds it even tighter. Saba, he says, I dunno what happy star sent you lookin fer me but I'm mighty thankful it did. If you hadn't of turned up, I'd be dead by now.

You’re probably wondering: why were Medusa’s kids a golden warrior and a winged horse? And how had they been stuck in Medusa’s body all those years?Heck, I dunno. I’m just telling you how it was. You want stuff to make sense, you’re in the wrong universe

Percy: "Hey, why do pegasi gallop as they fly, anyway?" Blackjack: "Why do humans swing their arms as they walk? I dunno, boss. It just feels right.

Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he’s still out there, bidin’ his time, like, but I don’ believe it.

I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping as we all should. I dunno. You don't live that long. It doesn't matter.

He turns around, all impatient. Now what? I wanna say something to you. I wanna say . . . I dunno . . . more. I could bust apart with all I'm feelin inside of me right now. What with fightin off the hellwurms an gittin my shoulder tore open, an how I felt when I woke up an seen you an, now, here I am, being so close to findin Lugh an I dunno what's gonna happen an-- Jack's lookin at me, frowning. What's the matter with you, Saba? he says. I grab his face an kiss him on the lips.

From Hamlet. That’s what he reminded me of.” “Oh,” he said. “Not sure I can see him as a sparrow. Too . . . delicate.” “So what sort of bird would he be?” “Dunno. The sort that smacked into a window trying to have a go at its own reflection.

Leo scratched his head. Well, I dunno about enchiladas- "Enceladus" Piper corrected. Whatever. But Old Potty Face mentioned another name. Porpoise Fear, or something?

i dunno," i said, "but i have an idea that people who don't think too much tend to look younger longer

I did start out in witchcraft to get boys, to tell you the truth.' 'Think I don't know that?' 'What did you start out to get, Esme?' Granny stopped, and looked up at the frosty sky and then down at the ground. 'Dunno,' she said at last.'Even, I suppose.

War, Nobby. Huh! What is it good for?" he said. "Dunno, Sarge. Freeing slaves, maybe?" "Absol—well, okay." "Defending yourself against a totalitarian aggressor?" "All right, I'll grant you that, but—" "Saving civilization from a horde of—" "It doesn't do any good in the long run is what I'm saying, Nobby, if you'd listen for five seconds together," said Fred Colon sharply. "Yeah, but in the long run, what does, Sarge?

What would you study, Percy?” “Dunno,” he admitted. “Marine science,” she suggested. “Oceanography?” “Surfing?” he asked. She laughed, and the sound sent a shock wave through the water. The wailing faded to background noise. Annabeth wondered if anyone had ever laughed in Tartarus before—just a pure, simple laugh of pleasure. She doubted it.

I dunno…maybe everyone has to feel guilty. Everyone! Forever!

I smack myself in the forehead. “Holy priceless collection of Etruscan snoods, they’re not moving!” I exclaim. There’s a choking noise over my head somewhere. “Etruscan snoods?” I glow quietly inside. Some accomplishments mean more than others. I am officially the Shit. Now and forever. “Dude, watch your question marks. I just pried one out of you.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Admit it, you lost your eternal fecking composure.” “You have an obsession with a delusion about how I end my sentences. What the fuck are Etruscan snoods?” “Dunno. It’s just another of Robin’s sayings. Like, ‘Holy strawberries, Batman, we’re in a jam!’ ” “Strawberries.” “Or, ‘Holy Kleenex, Batman, it was right under our nose and we blew it!’

I replied with an Avenian accent. "Is the priest of this church still here?" "No." He squinted at me. "Never seen you before. You from out of town?" "I've never seen you before either," I said. "So maybe you're the one from out of town." That amused him. "My name is Fink. Well, that's not really m name, but it's what everyone calls me." "What's your name, then." "Dunno. Everyone just calls me Fink." "Don't you have anywhere else to go?" "Not really. Why d'you want the priest?" "A doctrinal question. What punishment does the Book of Faith recommend for a kid who's being too nosy?

Pixieboy adjusts the ridiculous little hat on his head. “I look like a fool. It is too tight. How am I supposed to fight in this?” “I dunno. Sexily?

In my next life, I’d like to be a bookstore cat. Sunlight and books and naps.” “I dunno, I think you could do that in this life.

Everyone's scared. So scared they can't sleep sometimes. Or eat. Or keep their weight on." "Then why bother playing?" I asked. It was a whisper, this question. "Because. You love the game. You love the people you play with. You love winning, maybe. You love that one moment when you get it right . . . I dunno. Why do you play?" "Because," I whispered, "it's who I am." Sounds like a good reason to me.

P.S. I still dunno if it's art. Go to Hell yourself.

For the moment we might very well can them DUNNOS (for Dark Unknown Nonreflective Nondetectable Objects Somewhere).

I really don't know. I guess I'm more interested in why people feel like they have to believe in God. Why can't it just be science? Science is wondrous. The night sky? Amazing. The inside of a human cell? Incredible. Something that tells us we're born bad and that people use to justify all their petty prejudices and awfulness? I dunno. I guess I believe in science. Science is enough.

No, you were certainly not trying to seduce me, more like trying to wound my ego, break my heart, I dunno. Did you like how you felt when you walked away? Do you prefer that emotion to this?

Check this out,” Nine says. He holds up a small purple stone and then places it on the back of his hand. The stone slides into his hand—through it. Nine turns his hand over just as the stone pops out in his palm. “Pretty cool, right?” he asks me, waggling his eyebrows. “Uh, but what is it supposed to do?” Eight asks, looking up from his own Chest. “I dunno. Impress girls?” Nine looks over at me. “Did it work?” “Um . . .” I hesitate, trying not to roll my eyes too hard. “Not really. But, I’ve seen guys teleport so I’m kind of hard to impress.” “Tough crowd.

Could you do a glamour and turn into something smaller?” I asked it. “Preferably not a chain, since it’s no longer the 1990s?” The sword didn’t reply (duh), but I imagined it was humming at a more interrogative pitch, like, Such as what? “I dunno. Something pocket-size and innocuous. A pen, maybe?” The sword pulsed, almost like it was laughing. I imagined it saying, A pen sword. That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

dunno. I think it’s what all alkies want anyways.” She shivered. “To die, I mean. Some are just taking the slow road to it.

Don't get me started on the whole Doctor-Amy-Rory thing. It's kind of like... I dunno. Suppose you'd always fancied Ryan Reynolds. That's fine, yeah. You meet someone else, who is maybe not Ryan Reynolds, but perhaps he's got the same goofy smile. And you think, 'Yeah, that's it, I'm happy.' Then Ryan Reynolds himself roars up in a camper van and says 'Hey guys! Let's all go on a road trip. Bring the boyfriend! It'll be fun.' Only Ryan Reynolds doesn't save the universe. Well, not at weekends. So I guess that's my life. Crammed in a camper van, sneaking the odd glance at Ryan, squeezing the hand of my lovely husband...

Young Noah: Will you go out with me? Young Allie: What? No. Young Noah: No...? Young Allie: No. Young Noah: Why not? Young Allie: I dunno, because I don't want to. Young Noah: OK, then you leave me no other choice. Young Allie: AHHHH Young Noah: I'm gonna ask you one more time, will you or will you not go out with me? I think my hand's slipping. Young Allie: OK, OK. Fine I'll go out with you Young Noah: No, don't do me any favors. Young Allie: No, no I want to. Young Noah: Say it. Young Allie: I wanna go out with you. Young Noah: Say it again. Young Allie: I WANNA GO OUT WITH YOU! Young Noah: All right, all right we'll go out.

Werewolves never joke about age,” he said solemnly. “Why not?” Connor shrugged, a smile teasing his lips. “I dunno,” he finally admitted. “I just thought it sounded good.

Your dad said you stopped playing right after I left.” He did? “My dad talks too much.” “Why, Tru?” “I dunno.” I shrug. “He just does.” “No.” Jake smiles, coming over to me. “Not why does your dad talk too much. Why did you stop playing after I left?” “When you left, I guess the music left with you.

Maybe we're on the wrong side of some metaphorical bridge where the grass is crusty and not grass at all, but sharp little spines of glass. I dunno, Moritz. But the one little speck of green that I get is your letters, so please never stop writing me. You got that? Never stop. Because you'll never meet me and it's the closest we can get.

You know, if I were a negative person, I would be seriously annoyed right now. (Talon) You sound annoyed to me. (Wulf) No, this isn’t annoyed. This is mild perturbance. Besides, you should see these guys. ‘Hey, Gorgeous George, I think I smell a Dark-Hunter.’ ‘Oh no, Dick, don’t be a dick. There’s no Dark-Hunter here.’ ‘I dunno…’ ‘Wait, I smell tourist. Tourist with big…strong soul.’ (Talon) Would you stop? (Wulf) Talk about inkblots. (Talon)

I read the first chapter of A Brief History of Time when Dad was still alive, and I got incredibly heavy boots about how relatively insignificant life is, and how compared to the universe and compared to time, it didn't even matter if I existed at all. When Dad was tucking me in that night and we were talking about the book, I asked if he could think of a solution to that problem. "Which problem?" "The problem of how relatively insignificant we are." He said, "Well, what would happen if a plane dropped you in the middle of the Sahara Desert and you picked up a single grain of sand with tweezers and moved it one millimeter?" I said, "I'd probably die of dehydration." He said, "I just mean right then, when you moved that single grain of sand. What would that mean?" I said, "I dunno, what?" He said, "Think about it." I thought about it. "I guess I would have moved one grain of sand." "Which would mean?" "Which would mean I moved a grain of sand?" "Which would mean you changed the Sahara." "So?" "So? So the Sahara is a vast desert. And it has existed for millions of years. And you changed it!" "That's true!" I said, sitting up. "I changed the Sahara!" "Which means?" he said. "What? Tell me." "Well I'm not talking about painting the Mona Lisa or curing cancer. I'm just talking about moving that one grain of sand one millimeter." "Yeah? If you hadn't done it, human history would have been one way..." "Uh-huh?" "But you did do it, so...?" I stood on the bed, pointing one of my fingers at the fake stars, and screamed: "I changed the course of human history!" "That's right." "I changed the universe!" "You did." "I'm God!" "You're an atheist." "I don't exist!" I fell back onto the bed, into his arms, and we cracked up together.

Pigpen got excited because he made me grin when he told me that he thought PTSD stood for Probably There's Something wrong but Dunno what.

Amy: So. Are you proposing to someone? The Doctor: Sorry? Amy: I found this in your pocket. The Doctor: No. No no. That's a memory. Friend of mine. Someone I lost. Would you... mind. Amy: It's weird. I feel... I dunno, something. The Doctor: People fall out of the world sometimes but they always leave traces. Little things we can't quite account for. Faces in photographs. Luggage. Half-eaten meals. Rings. Nothing is ever forgotten, not completely. And if something can be remembered it can come back.

Cos I fancy you. I'm hoping that if I go to all this effort you'll look at me and think, 'Well, she might be a dumbass, but she tries'. And then, I dunno, maybe you'll flash me or something.

After a while the Senior Wrangler said, "Do you know, I read the other day that every atom in your body is changed every seven years? New ones keep getting attached and old ones keep on dropping off. It goes on all the time. Marvelous, really." The Senior Wrangler could do to a conversation what it takes quite thick treacle to do to the pedals of a precision watch. "Yes? What happens to the old ones?" said Ridcully, interested despite himself. "Dunno. They just float around in the air, I suppose, until they get attached to someone else." The Archchancellor looked affronted. "What, even wizards?" "Oh, yes. Everyone. It's part of the miracle of existence." "Is it? Sounds like bad hygiene to me," said the Archchancellor. "I suppose there's no way of stopping it?" "I shouldn't think so," said the Senior Wrangler, doubtfully. "I don't think you're supposed to stop miracles of existence." "But that means everythin' is made up of everythin' else," said Ridcully. "Yes. Isn't it amazing?

If I wanted to buy you off I'd, I dunno, give you a big gift certificate to Amazon or something.

I’m taking your cameo in my recurring nightmare as consent, but if I’m wrong… I dunno, like, jiggle in your frame or something.

Now, Doc—“ “Yes, Shiloh?” She interrupted with exaggerated sweetness, and fluttered her eyelashes. Shiloh grinned. “I dunno, I musta gone crazy there for a minute. I was actually going to try to talk you out of something. But don’t worry, I’m okay now.

It wouldn't be a unicorn without a horn. That's what the word means! Uni, for one. And then corn for, you know, horn. One-horned." "Yeah, but they're supposed to be all peaceful and nice. Why would a unicorn need a horn? What's it do with it?" Mini turned red. "I dunno. For shooting off magic and stuff." "Or they use it to maul things." "Thats horrible, Aru" They're unicorns. They're perfect.

It doesn't have any effect on your life. What do you care?! People try to talk about it like it's a social issue. Like when you see someone stand up on a talk show and say, 'How am I supposed to explain to my child that two men are getting married?' ... I dunno, it's your shitty kid, you fucking' tell 'em. Why is that anyone else's problem? Two guys are in love but they can't get married because you don't want to talk to your ugly child for fuckin' five minutes?

Nobody looks like what they really are on the inside. You don’t. I don’t. People are much more complicated than that. It’s true of everybody.' I said, 'Are you a monster? Like Ursula Monkton?' Lettie threw a pebble into the pond. 'I don't think so,' she said. 'Monsters come in all shapes and sizes, Some of them are things people are scared of. Some of them are things that look like things people used to be scared of a long time ago. Sometimes monsters are things people should be scared of, but they aren't.' I said, 'People should be scared of Ursula Monkton.' 'P'raps. What do you think Ursula Monkton is scared of?' 'Dunno. Why do you think she's scared of anything? She's a grown-up, isn't she? Grown-ups and monsters aren't scared of things.' Oh, monsters are scared," said Lettie. "That's why they're monsters. And as for grown-ups...' She stopped talking, rubbed her freckled nose with a finger. Then, 'I'm going to tell you something important. Grown-ups don't look like grown-ups on the inside either. Outside, they're big and thoughtless and they always know what they're doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age. Truth is, there aren't any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world.

Lennie rolled off the bunk and stood up, and the two of them started for the door. Just as they reached it, Curley bounced in. "You seen a girl around here?" he demanded angrily. George said coldly, "'Bout half an hour ago maybe." "Well, what the hell was she doin'?" George stood still, watching the angry little man. He said insultingly, "She said--she was lookin' for you." Curley seemed really to see George for the first time. His eyes flashed over George, took in his height, measured his reach, looked at his trim middle. "Well, which way'd she go?" he demanded at last. "I dunno," said George. "I didn't watch her go." Curley scowled at him, and turning, hurried out the door. George said, "Ya know, Lennie, I'm scared I'm gonna tangle with that bastard myself. I hate his guts. Jesus Christ! Come on. There won't be a damn thing left to eat.

Jus hold me a little longer, Jack. Tell me again that ya wanna be with me, fer real, cross yer heart 'n' let me know you ain't foolin', cause I dunno how or when it happen but somehow I come ta need ya like air, like blood. Touch me again like ya do with them gentle hands make me feel like somethin' precious. Say it again that ya love me, cause hearin' that was like openin' up some big bottomless well that ran dry years back and it cain't never be full enough now, I cain't never hear it enough, but once more, one more time and maybe I'll believe it a little more, and then a little more the next time, till someday I believe it fer true enough ta be able to say it back ta you like y'oughta hear it said cause God knows I love you more'n my own life, more'n anythin' in this world, but it cain't get outta me yet cause I still ain't the man I need ta be, the man who's gonna stand before you and declare.

I dunno." She sat on the bench and hugged the robe like a pillow. "I still think that Brett guy is cute." "Good luck getting him away from Bekka." Cleo gathered her silky black hair into a high pony and pink-dabbed Smith's Rosebud Salve on her lips. "She's got more grip than Crazy Glue." "More cling than Saran Wrap," Lala added. "More hold than Final Net." Cleo giggled. "More possession than The Exorcist," Lala managed. "More clench than butt cheeks," Blue chimed in. "More competition than American Idol," Frankie stuck out her chest and showed them her diva booty roll. The girls burst out laughing. "Nice!" Blue lifted her purple gloved hand. Frankie slapped it without a single spark. "I hate to be a downer..." Claudine shuffled back into the conversation wearing her slippers and robe. "But that girl will destroy you if she catches you with Brett." "I'm not worried," Frankie tossed her hair back. "I've seen all the teen movies, and the nice girl gets the boy in the end.

What do you think, little dhampir? I was pretty badass with that plant, wasn’t I? Of course, it would have been more badass if I’d, I dunno, helped an amputee grow a limb back. Or maybe separated Siamese twins. But that’ll come with more practice.

one night, they went down to the Village for dinner at an italian restaurant. most of the band had picked up young girls and had them hanging on their arms. janis was feeling lonesome and said, "goddamn, you guys have all these groupies and i don't have anybody." turning to mark, the youngest person in the crowd, she ordered, "go out on the street there and find the first pretty boy you see and bring him to me." aw, i dunno," mark said. go ahead," janis said. after a while, mark returned with a handsome, long-haired youth with a british accent. he was wearing a floor-length embroidered afghan wool coat. looking him over, janis nodded approvingly and said, "he's cute, mark!" turning to the young man, she said, "well! hi, honey! sit down! my name's janis joplin. have you ever heard of me?" yeah," he said, "i've heard of you." oh," she said, "what's your name?" eric clapton.

Man has been here 32,000 years. That it took a hundred million years to prepare the world for him is proof that that is what it was done for. I suppose it is. I dunno. If the Eiffel tower were now representing the world's age, the skin of paint on the pinnacle-knob at its summit would represent man's share of that age; and anybody would perceive that that skin what what the tower was built for. I reckon they would, I dunno.

They looked up. Someone with a face and apron that said ‘barman’ in seven hundred languages was standing over them, a wine jug in each hand. "No women in here," he went on. "Why not?" said Nobby. "No women asking questions, neither." "Why not?" “‘cos it is written, that’s why.” "Where’m I supposed to go, then?" The barman shrugged. “Who knows where women go?” "Off you go, Beti," said the Patrician. "And … listen for information!" Nobby grabbed the cup of wine from Colon and gulped it down. "I dunno," he moaned. "I’ve only been a woman ten minutes and already I hate you male bastards.

In the argument, y’know, between hate and love, it’s really up to each one of us. In our hearts or wherever. Each of us had to take a stand every single day and say which side we’re on. And I dunno for sure, but maybe the whole purpose of evil in this world is to get people who aren’t really good and who aren’t really bad to stand up and, y’know, be better. Maybe without evil, the just people of the world who happen to be just going along, living their lives and minding their own business…maybe without evil, they’d never find the courage to come forward and do the right thing.

Larry: i don’t really get this fascination that people have with the ocean Cheryl: no? Larry: i dunno. i mean i stare at it for ten minutes and i go okay i get it Cheryl: don’t you feel calmer? Larry: i feel aggravated that i am missing what other people are getting.

You're just not a soldier. You're a...you're a nerd. I mean, even the way you work out is nerdy. You don't have like a killer—" "What do you mean the way I work out is nerdy?" "How many calories have you burnt in the last five minutes?" "Um, I dunno. 17 or 18 probably." "Abe, that's not something normal people know.

Question." "Yes," Candace asked expectantly, eyes fixed on the dark street ahead. "Have you ever had to chose sides between a friend and a boyfriend?" Candace nodded. "Which side are you suppose to pick?" "The right one." "What if they're both right?" "They're not." "But they are," Melody insisted. "That's the problem." "No." Candace slowly rolled past a police cruiser. "They both think they're right. But who do you think is right? Which side represents the thing you think is worth fighting for?" Melody glanced out the window as though she was expecting the answer to be revealed on a neighbor's lawn. Every house except hers had the lights turned off. "I dunno." "You do," Candace insisted. "You just don't have the courage to be honest with yourself. Because then you'd have to do the thing you don't want to do, and you hate doing anything that's hard. Which is why you gave up singing and why you have no life and why you've always been a -" "Um okay! Can we get back to the part where you were sounding like Oprah?" "I'm just saying, Melly, what would you do if you weren't afraid? That's your answer. That's your side." She turned into the circular driveway and put the SUV in PARK. "And if you don't choose it, you're lying to yourself and everyone around you." She opened the door and grabbed her purse. "Oprah out!" The door slammed behind her.

Dudifer, you are saddest dude I have ever met.” Matthew told him. “It’s like you’re always wet. Seems to me that if I had to learn to be sad, you have to learn to be happy. Why don’t you draw a, I dunno, chinchilla or something, instead of that, uh, thing. Not that its not good.” ”What’s a chinchilla?” “You’re sort of a funny person,” Matthew told him. “You know a lot of stuff but you’re also pretty stupid.

George Harrison: Paul transformed me in my bedroom, and it was awkward, to say the least. It was like being on a blind date, complete with stilted conversation and elliptical innuendo. He said, "So." Then I said, "So." Then he said, "So." Then I said, "So." That went on for, I dunno, five minutes or something.

I’m back, Eddie! the asthma yelled gleefully. I’m back and oh, I dunno, this time I just might killya! Why not? Gotta do it sometime, you know! Can’t fuck around with you forever! Eddie’s chest surged and pulled. He groped for the aspirator, found it, pointed it down his throat, and pulled the trigger. Then he sat back in the tall Amtrak seat, shivering, waiting for relief, thinking of the dream from which he had just awakened.

Sometimes when we were hiding behind the breakers with the crowd, he'd hold me so tight, I'd think he's not just holding me, he's holding onto me, like I'm stopping him from falling off. I'd see him looking at me and his eyes were so full of...I dunno. Like he was about to cry. And, it's stupid, I know, but I think maybe he's hurting because he loves me and I don't love him, and this great lump used to come up into my throat and I'd hold him tight and try and squeeze him as tight as I could and try as hard as I could to fall in love with him the way he loved me. And then other times I'd think, it's just the way his face is that makes him look like that.

Okay, yes, I am a bit of a geek. I enjoy escapist entertainment. Listen, I’d rather watch a bunch of elves and wizards trying to save Middle Earth from the forces of evil than, I dunno, the Bachelorette or the Real Housewives of wherever getting their butt fat injected into their lips.

She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “He’s cute.” Gross. Whitney discussing my friends was straight-up creepy. Though he is cute. No denying that. “I dunno. Maybe.” “Would you like me to speak to his mother?” Whitney leaned close. “If you’re uncomfortable inviting a boy, we could arrange for him to ask you.” I wanted to punch her face. He already offered, you dolt. Everything’s not as simple as you are.

I guess I'm more interested in why people feel they have to believe in God. Why can't it just be science? Science is wondrous. The night sky? Amazing. The inside of a human cell? Incredible. Something that tells us we're born bad and that people use to justify all their petty prejudices and awfulness? I dunno. I guess I believe in science. Science is enough.

I flipped to the author’s photo in the Library of America edition of O’Connor’s collected works, and forked it over. Solitary examined the photo. “Okay,” she said, handing it back, “I’ll read it.” What in Flannery O’Connor’s countenance met with Solitary’s approval? “I dunno,” she said. “She looks kind of busted up, y’know? She ain’t too pretty. I trust her.

I said to John, “You know that if you walked around the world, your hat would travel thirty-one feet farther than your shoes?” John said, “I dunno, Dave, but before we make a bomb I have to shave half the dog.” I nodded. He got up, called to Molly and herded her into my bathroom. I wondered when the soy sauce would take effect.

None of the locals seemed to notice the huge Greek warship hovering over the piazza, or the fact that Jason and Leo had just flown down, Jason wielding a gold sword, and Leo…well, Leo pretty much empty-handed. “Where to?” Jason asked. Leo stared at him. “Well, I dunno. Let me pull my dwarf-tracking GPS out of my tool belt.… Oh, wait! I don’t have a dwarf-tracking GPS—or my tool belt!” “Fine,” Jason grumbled. He glanced up at the ship as if to get his bearings, then pointed across the piazza. “The ballista fired the first dwarf in that direction, I think.

This seemed to be happening more and more lately out in Greater Los Angeles, among gatherings of carefree youth and happy dopers, where Doc had begun to notice older men, there and not there, rigid, unsmiling, that he knew he'd seen before, not the faces necessarily but a defiant posture, an unwillingness to blur out, like everyone else at the psychedelic events of those days, beyond official envelopes of skin. Like the operatives who'd dragged away Coy Harlingen the other night at that rally at the Century Plaza. Doc Knew these people, he'd seen enough of them in the course of business. They went out to collect cash debts, they broke rib cages, they got people fired, they kept an unforgiving eye on anything that might become a threat. If everything in this dream of prerevolution was in fact doomed to end and the faithless money-driven world to reassert its control over all the lives it felt entitled to touch, fondle, and molest, it would be agents like these, dutiful and silent, out doing the shitwork, who'd make it happen. Was it possible, that at every gathering--concert, peace rally, love-in, be-in, and freak-in, here, up north, back east, wherever--those dark crews had been busy all along, reclaiming the music, the resistance to power, the sexual desire from epic to everyday, all they could sweep up, for the ancient forces of greed and fear? 'Gee,' he said to himself out loud, 'I dunno...

Neither of us is gonna be able to walk tomorrow." "Who needs ta walk? Dunno 'bout you but I ain't plannin' ta leave this bed." "What, we just lie here naked all weekend?" "Somethin' wrong with that?" "Might scandalize the marshals when they bring in my food." "Aw, who the fuck cares." Jack arched one eyebrow at him. "Who are you, and what have you done with D?

So he’s a bad guy.” “Everyone’s bad.” “No,” Bob said, “they’re not. Most people are okay.” “Yeah?” A smile of disbelief. “Yeah. They just, I dunno, make a lotta messes and then they make more messes trying to clean those first messes up and after a while that’s your life.” She sniffled and chuckled at the same time. “That’s it, uh?” “That’s it sometimes.

Greetings from your friends at Camp Half-Blood, et cetera. This is Leo. I’m the…” He looked off screen and yelled: “What’s my title? Am I like admiral, or captain, or—” A girl’s voice yelled back, “Repair boy.” “Very funny, Piper,” Leo grumbled. He turned back to the parchment screen. “So yeah, I’m…ah…supreme commander of the Argo II. Yeah, I like that! Anyway, we’re gonna be sailing toward you in about, I dunno, an hour in this big mother warship. We’d appreciate it if you’d not, like, blow us out of the sky or anything. So okay! If you could tell the Romans that. See you soon. Yours in demigodishness, and all that. Peace out.” The parchment turned blank.

But you believe in something?” She frowns, uncertain. “I really don’t know. I guess I’m more interested in why people feel like they have to believe in God. Why can’t it just be science? Science is wondrous. The night sky? Amazing. The inside of a human cell? Incredible. Something that tells us we’re born bad and that people use to justify all their petty prejudices and awfulness? I dunno. I guess I believe in science. Science is enough.

Let’s make a promise,” he says. “To find each other.” “How can we? We’ll probably end up in different places.” “I know.” “And my name will be changed.” “Mine too, maybe. But we can try.” Carmine flops over, tucking his legs beneath him and stretching his arms, and both of us shift to accommodate him. “Do you believe in fate?” I ask. “What’s that again?” “That everything is decided. You’re just—you know—living it out.” “God has it all planned in advance.” I nod. “I dunno. I don’t like the plan much so far.” “Me either.” We both laugh.

They stood in silence for a few moments with Ryan watching him carefully. He was fiddling with his t-shirt and scuffing his sneaker against the floor as he appeared to turn something over in his mind. His expression went through a variety of metamorphoses before he finally sighed and shook his head. "Y'know, I'm not a big expert on this stuff. I've never even been in a real relationship and I'm twenty-five, but like..." He trailed off for a minute, bit his lip and then shrugged before pressing on. "But I saw the way both of you guys were at the start of this whole thing, and if you two could have that kind of intense fire stuff considering the way you both were... I dunno, I wouldn't give up so easy. But then again, maybe I read too much fanfic.

Why are you doing this,' she asked. 'You know why.' I said. 'Because you like to help people?' 'Nah.' 'Because you believe in my platform?" 'God no,' I joked. She smirked. 'Why then.' 'Cause I fancy you. I'm hoping if I go to all this effort you'll look at me and think, well, she might be a dumbass but she tries. And then, I dunno, maybe you'll flash me or something.' She laughed out loud at that. 'That is not why.' 'It is,' I said earnestly. 'I think you'll flash me.' 'You do not.' 'I do.' 'You don't.' 'I really do.' 'You-' I cut her off with a kiss. I didn't think about it. I just leaned in and held the back of her head gently.

‘And what about a [band] name?’ said Tony [Iommi]. The three of us looked at each other. ‘We should all take a couple of days to think about it,’ I said. ‘I dunno about you two, but I’ve got a special place where I go to get ideas for important stuff like this. It’s never failed me yet.’ Forty-eight hours later I blurted out: ‘I’ve got it!’ ‘Must have been that dodgy bird you poked the other night,’ said Geezer. ‘Has your whelk turned green yet?’ Tony and Bill snickered into their plates of egg and chips. We were sitting in a greasy spoon caff in Aston. So far, everyone was getting along famously. ‘Very funny, Geezer,’ I said, waving an eggy fork at him. ‘I mean the name for our band.’ The snickering died down. ‘Go on then,’ said Tony [Iommi]. ‘Well, I was on the shitter last night, and...' ‘That’s your special place?’ spluttered Bill, blobs of mushed-up egg and HP sauce flying out of his mouth. ‘Where the f**k did you think it was, Bill?’ I said. ‘The hanging gardens of f**king Babylon?

Well,' Rydell said, trying to pick up his end, 'I was watching this one old movie last night-' Sublett perked up. 'Which one?' Dunno,' Rydell said. 'This guy's in L.A. and he's just met this girl. Then he picks up a pay phone, 'cause it's ringing. Late at night. It's some guy in a missile silo somewhere who knows they've just launched theirs at the Russians. He's trying to phone his dad, or his brother, or something. Says the world's gonna end in short order. Then the guy who answered the phone hears these soldiers come in and shoot the guy. The guy on the phone, I mean.' Suhlett closed his eyes, scanning his inner trivia-banks. 'Yeah? How's it end?' Dunno,' Rydell said. 'I went to sleep.

That maybe I’m the answer,’ I blurted. ‘To healing your heart. I could … you know, be your boyfriend. As Lester. If you wanted. You and me. You know, like … yeah.’ I was absolutely certain that up on Mount Olympus, the other Olympians all had their phones out and were filming me to post on Euterpe-Tube. Reyna stared at me long enough for the marching band in my circulatory system to play a complete stanza of ‘You’re a Grand Old Flag’. Her eyes were dark and dangerous. Her expression was unreadable, like the outer surface of an explosive device. She was going to murder me. No. She would order her dogs to murder me. By the time Meg rushed to my aid, it would be too late. Or worse – Meg would help Reyna bury my remains, and no one would be the wiser. When they returned to camp, the Romans would ask, What happened to Apollo? Who? Reyna would say. Oh, that guy? Dunno, we lost him. Oh, well! the Romans would reply, and that would be that. Reyna’s mouth tightened into a grimace. She bent over, gripping her knees. Her body began to shake. Oh, gods, what had I done? Perhaps I should comfort her, hold her in my arms. Perhaps I should run for my life. Why was I so bad at romance? Reyna made a squeaking sound, then a sort of sustained whimper. I really had hurt her! Then she straightened, tears streaming down her face, and burst into laughter. The sound reminded me of water rushing over a riverbed that had been dry for ages. Once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop. She doubled over, stood upright again, leaned against a tree and looked at her dogs as if to share the joke. ‘Oh … my … gods,’ she wheezed. She managed to restrain her mirth long enough to blink at me through the tears, as if to make sure I was really there and she’d heard me correctly. ‘You. Me? HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA.

Arnold started to investigate the charitable donations as they maneuvered his trolley through the slush and drifts. “Tastes…sort of familiar,” he said. “Familiar like what?” “Like mud and old boots.” “Garn! That’s posh grub, that is.” “Yeah, yeah…” Arnold chewed for a while. “You don’t think we’ve become posh all of a sudden?” “Dunno. You posh, Ron?” “Buggrit.” “Yep. Sounds posh to me.” The snow began to settle gently on the River Ankh. “Still…Happy New Year, Arnold.” “Happy New Year, Duck Man. And your duck.” “What duck?” “Happy New Year, Henry.” “Happy New Year, Ron.” “Buggrem!” “And god bless us, every one,” said Arnold Sideways. The curtain of snow hid them from view. “Which god?” “Dunno. What’ve you got?

It was a crude drawing of a smiling, female stick figure with red hair and a T-shirt that read “Kerry.” Above Kerry’s head was a yellow dog. Those two elements alone, of course, would not have caused a problem. Unfortunately, there was a third element to the drawing: a shower of large brown clumps raining down from the yellow dog’s rear onto Kerry’s face. And just in case the viewer wasn’t sure how Kerry felt about that, a thought bubble protruding from her head read, “I like it.” “It’s very upsetting,” my teacher said. “Why is the dog above her head? That doesn’t even make sense. How’d he get above her head?” he asked, turning to me. “I don’t know,” I said. “You have to draw a hill or something under the dog. A dog can’t just float up into the atmosphere and take a shit on someone’s head. I mean, I know you’re six or seven or whatever, but that’s pretty basic physics right there,” he said. “Mr. Halpern, that’s really not the issue,” my teacher said. “I dunno, seems like a pretty big issue to me. At least we know we can cross artist off the list,” he said.

its paradox ingredients gave it great strength. This rope is the same, only better!” “Paradox ingredients?” Blitz held up the end of the rope and whistled appreciatively. “He means things that aren’t supposed to exist. Paradox ingredients are very difficult to craft with, very dangerous. Gleipnir contained the footfall of a cat, the spittle of a bird, the breath of a fish, the beard of a woman.” “Dunno if that last one is a paradox,” I said. “Crazy Alice in Chinatown has a pretty good beard.” Junior huffed. “The point is, this rope is even better! I call it Andskoti, the Adversary. It is woven with the most powerful paradoxes in the Nine Worlds—Wi-Fi with no lag, a politician’s sincerity, a printer that prints, healthy deep-fried food, and an interesting grammar lecture!

What do you think magic is for?” “I dunno. Don’t answer a question with a question.” “I used to think about this a lot,” Quentin said. “I mean, it’s not obvious like it is in books. It’s trickier. In books there’s always somebody standing by ready to say hey, the world’s in danger, evil’s on the rise, but if you’re really quick and take this ring and put it in that volcano over there everything will be fine. “But in real life that guy never turns up. He’s never there. He’s busy handing out advice in the next universe over. In our world no one ever knows what to do, and everyone’s just as clueless and full of crap as everyone else, and you have to figure it all out by yourself. And even after you’ve figured it out and done it, you’ll never know whether you were right or wrong. You’ll never know if you put the ring in the right volcano, or if things might have gone better if you hadn’t. There’s no answers in the back of the book.

Anything Bunny wrote was bound to be alarmingly original, since he began with such odd working materials and managed to alter them further by his befuddled scrutiny, but the John Donne paper must have been the worst of all the bad papers he ever wrote (ironic, given that it was the only thing he ever wrote that saw print. After he disappeared, a journalist asked for an excerpt from the missing young scholar's work and Marion gave him a copy of it, a laboriously edited paragraph of which eventually found its way into People magazine). Somewhere, Bunny had heard that John Donne had been acquainted with Izaak Walton, and in some dim corridor of his mind this friendship grew larger and larger, until in his mind the two men were practically interchangeable. We never understood how this fatal connection had established itself: Henry blamed it on Men of Thought and Deed, but no one knew for sure. A week or two before the paper was due, he had started showing up in my room about two or three in the morning, looking as if he had just narrowly escaped some natural disaster, his tie askew and his eyes wild and rolling. 'Hello, hello,' he would say, stepping in, running both hands through his disordered hair. 'Hope I didn't wake you, don't mind if I cut on the lights, do you, ah, here we go, yes, yes…' He would turn on the lights and then pace back and forth for a while without taking off his coat, hands clasped behind his back, shaking his head. Finally he would stop dead in his tracks and say, with a desperate look in his eye: 'Metahemeralism. Tell me about it. Everything you know. I gotta know something about metahemeralism.' 'I'm sorry. I don't know what that is.' 'I don't either,' Bunny would say brokenly. 'Got to do with art or pastoralism or something. That's how I gotta tie together John Donne and Izaak Walton, see.' He would resume pacing. 'Donne. Walton. Metahemeralism. That's the problem as I see it.' 'Bunny, I don't think "metahemeralism" is even a word.' 'Sure it is. Comes from the Latin. Has to do with irony and the pastoral. Yeah. That's it. Painting or sculpture or something, maybe.' 'Is it in the dictionary?' 'Dunno. Don't know how to spell it. I mean' – he made a picture frame with his hands – 'the poet and the fisherman. Parfait. Boon companions. Out in the open spaces. Living the good life. Metahemeralism's gotta be the glue here, see?' And so it would go, for sometimes half an hour or more, with Bunny raving about fishing, and sonnets, and heaven knew what, until in the middle of his monologue he would be struck by a brilliant thought and bluster off as suddenly as he had descended. He finished the paper four days before the deadline and ran around showing it to everyone before he turned it in. 'This is a nice paper, Bun -,' Charles said cautiously. 'Thanks, thanks.' 'But don't you think you ought to mention John Donne more often? Wasn't that your assignment?' 'Oh, Donne,' Bunny had said scoffingly. 'I don't want to drag him into this.' Henry refused to read it. 'I'm sure it's over my head, Bunny, really,' he said, glancing over the first page. 'Say, what's wrong with this type?' 'Triple-spaced it,' said Bunny proudly. 'These lines are about an inch apart.' 'Looks kind of like free verse, doesn't it?' Henry made a funny little snorting noise through his nose. 'Looks kind of like a menu,' he said. All I remember about the paper was that it ended with the sentence 'And as we leave Donne and Walton on the shores of Metahemeralism, we wave a fond farewell to those famous chums of yore.' We wondered if he would fail.