Humour Sarcastic Quotes

If money’s the god people worship, I’d rather go worship the devil instead.

Are you kidding? He's arrogant, sarcastic, likes to intimidate people, and—oh." Okay. Maybe she had a point.

What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?” “Oh no, Ron,” came Fred’s voice, very sarcastically. “No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up.

His habit of reading isolated him: it became such a need that after being in company for some time he grew tired and restless; he was vain of the wider knowledge he had acquired from the perusal of so many books, his mind was alert, and he had not the skill to hide his contempt for his companions' stupidity. They complained that he was conceited; and, since he excelled only in matters which to them were unimportant, they asked satirically what he had to be conceited about. He was developing a sense of humour, and found that he had a knack of saying bitter things, which caught people on the raw; he said them because they amused him, hardly realising how much they hurt, and was much offended when he found that his victims regarded him with active dislike. The humiliations he suffered when he first went to school had caused in him a shrinking from his fellows which he could never entirely overcome; he remained shy and silent. But though he did everything to alienate the sympathy of other boys he longed with all his heart for the popularity which to some was so easily accorded. These from his distance he admired extravagantly; and though he was inclined to be more sarcastic with them than with others, though he made little jokes at their expense, he would have given anything to change places with them.

You were lookin’ at me like you wanted to kiss me.” I force a laugh. “Yeah, right,” I say sarcastically. “Nobody’s watchin’ if you want to, you know, try it. Not to brag, but I’m somewhat of an expert.

Women strive to be the change they want to see in the mirror.

She bared her teeth at me. “Screw you, shifter!” “Ah, is our honeymoon period over so quickly? You wanted to jump my bones just a second ago.

You can make fun of yourself and people will laugh at you. If you’re smart, you’ll end up as a comedian. If you’re not, you’ll end up as a clown.

Don't think that people hate you, strongly dislike is a better word for it.

Every single person I've seen in the past few days asks me about the Leg. How is it? How's the Leg? The Leg is attached. Thanks for asking. There's The Leg right there. It's on display, always outside of the sheets and blanket, although the whole thing is still so wrapped up it looks like I borrowed The Leg from some ancient Egyptian mummy. How's The Leg? It seems a bit mummyish, thanks.

Shithead Boss Man, eh? You know, Dylan, I really lucked out in the assistant department. The other partners in the firm have ended up with someone awful, who soothes them, is at their beck and call and agrees with them all the time. I got one who is sarcastic, argumentative, scruffy, rarely where he should be, and calls me Shithead Boss Man rather than Sir.” Jude laughs at him, before reaching out and swiping one of the prawns from my carton of sweet and sour. “He’d call you Sir if you spanked him.

He cleared his throat. “You need to pick a safe word.” “What on earth is a safe word?” He smothered a sigh. This was proving to be more work than he thought it’d be. “It’s a word you use when you want things to stop.” “How about I use the word ‘stop’?” She sounded sarcastic. “That’s not how it works. You need a word that you wouldn’t normally use during sex.” “Fine. How about ‘dumbass’?” “I don’t think you’re getting into the spirit of this.” “Really? You think?” “Fine. Dumbass it is.” There was no dealing with her when she was in this mood. “If you use your safe word, everything stops.” “Good.” She took a deep breath. “Dumbass,” she shouted. Andrew wasn’t sure what to do next. This was not going the way it did in the books.

He has an interview going on, so if anyone asks you anything about anything, smile and lie." "So, if they ask how it feels to spend our evenings filing briefings from three years ago, we should say it's great? Atticusa asked sarcastically, as he pulled out the files he needed to work on next.

Elizabeth often wondered which had developed first: her mother’s nervous disposition or her father’s sarcastic humour,

In the battle of DNAs, your DNA will always win against the DNA of your father.

Blazepaw tipped his head. 'Perhaps the sun is shining in ThunderClan territory.' Strikestone curled his lip. 'The sun always shines on ThunderClan,' he mewed sarcastically.

Snub-nosed? You're a pig. Overweight? You're a hippo. Goofy teeth. You're... well, goofy. And she, with sticky-out ears? An elf. Secondary school radiates kindness from its very walls.

Halt glared at his friend as the whistling continued. 'I had hoped that your new sense of responsibly would put an end to that painful shrieking noise you make between your lips' he said. Crowley smiled. It was a beautiful day and he was feeling at peace with the world. And that meant he was more than ready to tease Halt 'It's a jaunty song' 'What's jaunty about it?' Halt asked, grim faced. Crowley made an uncertain gesture as he sought for an answer to that question. 'I suppose it's the subject matter' he said eventually. 'It's a very cheerful song. Would you like me to sing it for you?' 'N-' Halt began but he was too late, as Crowley began to sing. He had a pleasant tenor voice, in fact, and his rendering of the song was quite good. But to Halt it was as attractive as a rusty barn door squeaking. 'A blacksmith from Palladio, he met a lovely lady-o' 'Whoa! Whoa!' Halt said 'He met a lovely lady-o?' Halt repeated sarcastically 'What in the name of all that's holy is a lady-o?' 'It's a lady' Crowley told him patiently. 'Then why not sing 'he met a lovely lady'?' Halt wanted to know. Crowley frowned as if the answer was blatantly obvious. "Because he's from Palladio, as the song says. It's a city on the continent, in the southern part of Toscana.' 'And people there have lady-o's, instead of ladies?' Asked Halt 'No. They have ladies, like everyone else. But 'lady' doesn't rhyme with Palladio, does it? I could hardly sing, 'A blacksmith from Palladio, he met his lovely lady', could I?' 'It would make more sense if you did' Halt insisted 'But it wouldn't rhyme' Crowley told him. 'Would that be so bad?' 'Yes! A song has to rhyme or it isn't a proper song. It has to be lady-o. It's called poetic license.' 'It's poetic license to make up a word that doesn't exist and which, by the way, sound extremely silly?' Halt asked. Crowley shook his head 'No. It's poetic license to make sure that the two lines rhyme with each other' Halt thought for a few seconds, his eyes knitted close together. Then inspiration struck him. 'Well then couldn't you sing 'A blacksmith from Palladio, he met a lovely lady, so...'?' 'So what?' Crowley challenged Halt made and uncertain gesture with his hands as he sought more inspiration. Then he replied. 'He met a lovely lady, so...he asked her for her hand and gave her a leg of lamb.' 'A leg of lamb? Why would she want a leg of lamb?' Crowley demanded Halt shrugged 'Maybe she was hungry

They'd had to empty their pockets and turn over Aunt Val's purse to the security guard. That way, I wouldn't be tempted to try to kill anyone with her lip gloss and her travel-size pack of tissues.

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character.

Kelly was not going to remove her glasses. No matter what the television said about it being safe to do during the 'totality'. The television also told her she wouldn't age if she bought expensive creams and pills.

We left the nursery in silence, Ma smoking a roll-up, looking like she hadn’t slept in a week or maybe like she had slept for a whole week. When the nursery was just a grubby finger smudge behind us Ma looked down at me and said in her poshed-up telephone voice: “Will you speak to Janie about swearing? Fuckin’ busybody!” I laughed and swung our linked hands. “Aye, fuckin’ busybody.” Pleas of laughter escaped us and spiraled up into the hot, blue Scottish sky. We laughed all the way home

Listen, I'm sorry to bother you when you're obviously busy with, uh, important things, " B. J. Says. He sounds sarcastic. "But you remember a few months ago, when we scored that pot for Brian Turner?" "Sort of, " I say, wondering if it would be going too far to call B. J. "pookie" or "schmooper. " I want Courtney to be jealous, but I also don't want her thinking I'm a pussy. Which is really fucked up, since, you know, I'm the one that broke up with her.

- Sometimes on the phone he was his old self: complaining about parking tickets, or calling Nathan sarcastic names like ‘Mr Salary’. They hated each other and I mediated their mutual hatred in a way that made me feel successfully feminine. Other times, Frank was replaced by a different man, a blank and somehow innocent person who repeated things meaninglessly and left protracted silences which I had to try and fill. I preferred the first one, who at least had a sense of humour.

Levin had been his [Oblonsky's] comrade and friend in early youth, and they were fond of one another as friends who have come together in early youth often are, in spite of difference in their characters and tastes. Yet as often happens between men who chosen different pursuits each, while in argument justifying the other's activity, despised it in the depth of his heart. Each thought that his own way of living was real life, and that the life of his friend was --illusion. Oblonsky could not repress a slightly sarcastic smile at the sight of Levin. How many times he had already seen him arriving in Moscow from the country, where he [Levin] did something, though what it was Oblonsky could never quite understand or feel any interest in. Levin came to Moscow always excited, always in a hurry, rather shy and irritated by his own shyness, and usually with totally new and unexpected views about things. Oblonsky laughed at all this, and yet liked it. Similarly, Levin in his heart despised the town life his friend was leading and his official duties which considered futile and ridiculed. But the difference was that Oblonsky, doing as every one else did, laughed with confidence and good-humour, while Levin laughed uncertainly and sometimes angrily.

it seems politicians projected the powerful brand called Ambedkar, rather than his ideologies. Like the ad says 'name is enough.

Caleb jerked me into the room and quickly shut the door as he flipped on the lights. “Well, that was just great,” he said sarcastically. “I’m sure she’s seen your cute behind before,” I told him as I went to my suitcase. “I’m sure she changed plenty of your diapers.” He grimaces. “I don’t want to think about it.” I just laughed at him more

So much for a “Happy Halloween!” I thought sarcastically. I should wear a huge sign around my neck from now onwards that reads: ‘Stay clear of me if you want your party to survive the night’!

Say (silently to yourself), ‘Thanks mind!’, ‘Thanks for sharing!’, ‘Is that right?’, ‘That’s amazing!’, ‘That’s so informative!’ Don’t do this sarcastically or aggressively, but do it with warmth, humour, and genuine appreciation for the incredible storytelling ability of your mind. This simple act of noticing and acknowledging the thoughts or stories will start to reduce their power.

Oh, gee, I'm sorry, did I mess up your diabolical plans to rule the world? They must not have been very f-ing good if one girl could mess them up so easily.

Ivy’s taken me to her parent’s house... I was originally lured into her car with the promise of a burrito. Ivy did not mention going to her parent’s house at all. She had only said, “Hop in Jane, we’re getting burritos.” Blinded by my affection for burritos, I jumped into the car like an unwitting pig on its way to a slaughterhouse.

When it comes to sarcasm, you pay for what you get.

The flat was situated on a snatch of land on the periphery of the Merry Hill shopping complex. The third-storey property was blessed with views of the entrance to the Food Court to the west and the busy Pedmore Road dual carriageway to the east. Kim couldn't help her curiosity at the marketing strategy.

Great. Just flipping fantastic. He’s like a warm English fire after being caught in the rain, and I’m like a hillbilly tractor stuck in the mud.

And lastly, you must always remember to cover your crystal ball with a dark cloth when it’s not in use.” Hermione uncharacteristically snorted again. “I suppose it’s to keep the spirits from gaining a foothold in the land of the living,” she sarcastically added. Professor Trelawney slowly turned her shawl clad frame to the Gryffindor and gave her a stern look. “It’s because the ball is crystal and if the light hits it just right, the prisms will filter it and burn your house down…

No Girl No pain, Know Girl Know pain.

Do you know what irony is, de Leon? They make swords out of it, don't they? Mix it with coally and hit it with a hammery?

She was all sarcasm with a tongue that could cut through you faster than a hot knife in butter.

Don't worry. Life goes on. With or without you. So, live it, while it's given you.

When everyone tells me it’s not worth trying, should I listen to those people or my heart? At the end, I am answerable to my heart first. I can explain to other people, survive their sarcastic humour & “I told you so” comments, but I can't ignore the heart. A win or a loss, at least my heart will be free from the regret of not giving it a try.

She was sharp, and acrid of temperament; and in her speech she was sarcastic at most times, and when angry, incisive and severe. Her words at such times fell like nettles upon those at whom she thrust them.

There it is, forming behind us: The Fat Blue Phalanx. All the smug self-satisfied maleness you can drink, and free refills at the station house. It's all I can see in cops, that patriarchal bullshit that will never yield to a contract of mutual respect. That grunting fuck-obsessed inability to deobjectify you and treat you as a person, it’s a subclass of male that will never, ever change, no matter what. There they are with their uniforms and their discipline, an abstract and codified representation of all the construction workers who ever whistled at you and there you were, too polite to pee in their toolboxes in retaliation, too polite to challenge them, walking away red-faced because the worst part of it is that you were wondering whether they were really whistling like they’d whistle at Caprice or if they were just being sarcastic and were even now laughing at you with your short skinny legs and flat ass. Besides you’re not supposed to let it get to you. You’re supposed to have a sense of humour: they do. See them waving their cocks at each other and farting? You aren’t allowed to break the rules of their society which say that you are a cold uptight lesbian bitch if you don’t like their hohoho aggressive male ways so just hold your head high from your position of moral superiority and go home and tell your boyfriend (if you have one, which I don’t) who if you’re lucky will offer to go beat them up knowing you won’t take him up on it because you know perfectly well he’d probably get his ass kicked, most of the boys you know are highly ass-kickable because they’ve been brought up nicely. They were brought up in the luxury of knowing the money power of the military-industrial complex would protect them from the dirt and the grime of uneducated testosterone. its thanx to our weak boyfriends that we have cops at all, surrogate cock and balls to maintain ‘order’, whatever that is. Or was. And where does it really leave you as a prisoner of the suburbs? Fuming over some tiny incident that the aggressors have already forgotten about, but you have the sinking feeling you've just sniffed the true underbelly and the aroma was not what you get in Calvin Klein ads. Scratch 'n' sniff, scratch 'n' sniff, peel the onion... will you ever get down to the reality of what this place is about? And I know I shouldn't brand individual cops with the big blue brush but in my mind these guys are a symbol of the whole iron-cage Boy system that makes me always a victim, no matter what I do, it's a cage I can't escape. I'm the little princess. They dominate, they aggress, they protect.

Lucia herself relied largely on psychic bids: in other words, whenever she announced a high contract in any suit, her partner had to guess whether she held, say, a positive tiara of diamonds, or whether she was being psychic. If he guessed wrong, a frightful disaster might result, and Elizabeth Mapp-Flint had once been justifiably sarcastic on the conclusion of one of these major debacles. 'I see, dear,' she said, 'when you declare four diamonds, it means you haven't got any and want to be taken out. I shall know better another time.