I Dunno Quotes

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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?

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.

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.

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.

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!’

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.

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.

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?

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.

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

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

I dunno, Ralph. We just got to go on, that’s all. That’s what grown-ups would do.

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 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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Too late to point out that he would be better off with someone smart and sweet and—okay—awkward than with Chelsea. Someone who could make him laugh. Someone like, oh, I dunno, me!

He’s a great mysterious Bodhisattva I think maybe a reincarnation of Asagna the great Mahayana scholar of the old centuries.” “And who am I?” “I dunno, maybe you’re Goat.

I dunno what the hell's in there, but it's weird and pissed off, whatever it is." -The Thing, 1982, Directed by John Carpenter

I dunno, I don't speak caveman

Would you carry my heart like a jewel in a box?” “I dunno. Would you carry my head around in a basket if I got decapitated by pirates?

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.

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.

I dunno, remember when we were in East St. Louis with George, and Jack you said you'd love those beautiful dancing girls if you knew they would live forever as beautiful as they are?" (p. 173)

... what makes things break up like they do?" Piggy rubbed his glasses slowly and thought. When he understood how far Ralph had gone towards accepting him he flushed pinkly with pride. "I dunno, Ralph. I expect it's him." "Jack?" "Jack." A taboo was evolving round that word too. Ralph nodded solemnly. "Yes," he said, "I suppose it must be.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Open places make you consider yourself?" "Yeah," said Cooper. "Like the plains." "And the stars?" "Uh-huh. And the sea and the desert too, Pa says. But I dunno why that is." Peter shrugged. "Perhaps it's because they make us feel small." "No. They make me feel bigger, Peter.

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.

I never said this was your fault, Woods. But when did you become the Angel of Drama?” Smiling, he stares at his crossword book. “What’s a five-letter word for polo participant?” “I dunno, man…a shirt? Like a polo shirt?” •••

I don't know how my mom was so unstoppable despite all that stuff happening. I dunno. Maybe it's anticipation. Hope. The anticipation that the God who listens in love will one day speak justice. The hope that some final fantasy will come to pass that will make everything sad untrue.

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.

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?

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.

Hey, Jimmy.” “Yeah.” “You ever think about how long we’re going to live?” “No,” he says. “Not really.” “Well, why not?” “I dunno. Guess I’m too busy livin’ it to think about it.

I dunno, maybe you’re Goat.

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 met someone special today,” I told her. “His name is Lawson Gale.” She wagged her tail at me. “I dunno, Rosie, but if there’s any such thing as perfect for me, he just might be it.

hair; had taught her birdsongs, star names, how to steer the boat through saw grass. “Ma’ll be back,” he said. “I dunno. She’s wearin’ her gator shoes.” “A ma don’t leave her kids. It ain’t in ’em.

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.

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...

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.

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.

There wasn't even enough meat to make proper fun of [....] I keep waiting for somebody else to come on TV, maybe a cabinet member, to read the real speech, the one that tells us ... I dunno ... stuff. Seriously, sorority girls have done the Walk of Shame home from frat parties feeling more satisfied.

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.

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.

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?

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.

Well now, I dunno

Would any of you like to share your career aspirations within the class? Jim? I dunno, to be honest, I was just hoping to be able to keep the demons away...

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.

There are no trees in Iceland," - "We have a joke, do you know it?" She took a breath, then said, "What do you do if you get lost in a forest in Iceland?" I shook my head. "I dunno." "Stand up.

Tillie: "I think I might do something with art." Victoria: "You've always liked it, haven't you?" Tillie: "I dunno. I don't feel this huge passion. It's just ... [sic.] when I start a drawing, I want to finish it.

-Why are you interrogating me? What's going on here? -Iwant to get to know you. -Is this how you normally get to know people, by interrogating them? -Well ... not really. -So how do you get to know people? - I dunno, by spending time with them I guess [...] -So in the time we've spent together what would you say you've learned about your dad? -Nothing. All I know is that you're extremely secretive. -You see you're getting to know me already.

‘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?

What are your success metrics then?" I frowned at Tola, and she shrugged. "I dunno ... being comfortable in your skin, having loads of adventures, living with purpose, being happy, having good people in your life, taking risks?

. . . Strike explained about his failed attempt to buy Robin perfume, the previous December. ' . . . so I asked the assistant, but he kept showing me things with names like . . . I dunno . . . "Shaggable You" . . . ' The laugh Robin failed to repress was so loud that people turned to look at her . . . ' . . . and I panicked,' Strike admitted . . .

Not sure if I can see him as a sparrow. Too... delicate' 'So what kind of bird would he be?' 'Dunno. The sort that smacked into a window trying to have a go at its own reflection.

I'm half white," I said, folding my arms. "Hrrm. Which half?" I blinked. "Uh...dunno. Let's just say it's from the waist down." Chief Shouting Bear nodded. "Deal. I only hate your legs.

Fox Jung...I dunno why I get so hungry whenever I see you. Just once...if I could swallow you up in one bite, just once...I'd never need anything else." "Now, I'm really scared...that one day, I'll open my eyes and find myself inside your stomach.

Trip cackled. “That’s so wrong!” “You laughed. If you laugh, then you think it’s true.” “Who said that?” “Everyone.” He huffed. “People laugh at the truth because if they didn’t laugh, they’d… I dunno. Cry or vomit.” Trip laughed loud and long at that.

People invariably ask Carefree Scamps, “Where did you get that jumper?” or, “Where did you get that dress?” The answer is quite possibly Camden Market, but they won’t be able to remember. They’ll simply answer something like, “I dunno, I’ve had it for ages.

So that’s how you de-Forkle!” Dex said. “I should’ve guessed it was callowberries. My dad uses them in his anti-inflammatory ointments. They smell like flareadon poop.” “Taste like it too,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “So all we need to do is crush a few of those into your breakfast, and bam! Instant Forkle-reveal?” Keefe asked. “I’ve been consuming callowberries for thirteen years, Mr. Sencen. Do you honestly think I wouldn’t notice the smell?” “I dunno—I’m really good at hiding things in people’s food.” Mr. Forkle ignored him,

Ted shrugged. “Dunno. We got sent off to find you three while McGonagal was stil getting everybody together. I assume she meant to meet him herself. She was looking pretty peaked about it if you ask me.

A father can tell. Gregor's a good lad. A bright, fresh-air mind. Always helps his mother around the house without being asked, but he's a wee bit ..." The man paused as though he couldn't find the correct word. "Artistic. T'chut. Do ye know what I mean by that?" Mungo gave a small nod. He wasn't sure if what the man meant, and what he understood, were the same thing. "Forgive me if I've read you wrong, David. But would I be right in thinking ye are a wee bit artistic yourself?" Calum didn't wait for an answer. "See, I know lots of men would be bothered by that. But I have no problem with ye if you are. I'm just saying ... Och, well, I dunno. I say the wrong thing sometimes.

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.” Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back, and the sunlight caught in his fair hair. “I could if I liked naps.” I opened my eyes and gave him a look of disbelief. “You don’t like naps? What’s wrong with you? Who hurt you as a child?” He snorted a laugh. “That will take a few hours to unpack.

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?

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.

that. But the more we meet up, the harder it gets. Every time I see him, I dunno . . . it just gets harder. I mean, it’s good when we’re together. But after . . . I don’t know how to explain it. ‘Dead inside’ is a little too dramatic. I just feel hard and numb, like some part of me is losing all feeling. I can’t stand being alone. I know this is my own doing, but it makes me really sad. It’s hard to put my finger on it, but I know it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

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.

what will you do if you go home? i dunno stuff grows out of the ground if you put stuff in it so maybe ill do that farming? yeah go home and put stuff in the ground and no one will take the girls i like and i hope you all die in this stupid war you don't mean that you don't mean your face what? leave me alone

Why is God considered an explanation for anything? It’s not—it’s a failure to explain, a shrug of the shoulders, an ‘I dunno’ dressed up in spirituality and ritual. If someone credits something to God, generally what it means is that they haven’t a clue, so they’re attributing it to an unreachable, unknowable sky-fairy

New Rule: If the guy who makes up the poll questions at CNN doesn't want to do it anymore more, he should just quit. This is an actual recent poll question: "Would you like to live on the moon?" And the shocking results: No, as it turns out, we would not like to live on the moon. This is the cable news equivalent of being in a dead-end relationship with an idiot. "What are you thinking?" "I dunno, honey, I guess I was just wondering how many Americans would like to live on the moon.

Supposedly you could kill them by saying their name but a)how would you find it out in the first place,and b) its a little hard to talk when your lungs are slowly filling up with water. Still,legend had it they were occasionally benign,giving music lessons and even marrying mortals every now and again. I didn't get the impression this one had any intentions of taking vows. "So you aren't going to be best friends." "I dunno-he could be fun at a pool party. Assuming you hated everyone you invited.

Leo scratched his head. “Well, I dunno about Enchiladas—” “Enceladus,” Piper corrected. “Whatever. But Old Potty Face mentioned another name. Porpoise Fear, or something?

Do you know what history is?” Peter asks. “History?” “Yeah.” “I dunno,” Frankie says, “it’s things that happened.” “No,” Peter says, “it’s what people say happened.

She shrugged. “I 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.

So, who’s going with whom?” Linh asked, careful to keep her voice hushed. “I dunno,” Keefe whispered back, “but I call ‘not it’ for Team Fitzphie.

You go away when you're high. You get closer when you're drunk. When you're both? I dunno, just kinda feels like you're empty.

Why. Won’t. You. Die?” “I dunno. You. Suck. At. Murder?” I grinned back at her,

- Does that not break your heart? - Well... If it's true, I might sort of feel bad for you, but... I dunno...

I do a quick check-in with the devil on my shoulder, who says, Shit, kid. I dunno. This is fucking weird.

I freaked out on Brian the other night. I feel so…weak? Crazy? Psychotic? I dunno. Broken. I feel broken. It’s like I’ve broken him, too.

trail. And he never had the opportunity to explain things. “Hey, you still with me?” Kenny said, observing Jett, assessing him. “Why did she leave?” “I dunno. Ask me something

What have you done?” Shadow asked her, his eyes alive with fear. “I dunno, but I wish I hadn't.

But you know how I am with big crowds. I don’t do well with mixed energies. It just … I dunno. Disturbs my inner peace.

Imagine if we had locally supported, collectively organized agriculture, where our apples were grown in--I dunno--Kent, and if you lived in Kent you could buy and eat those apples in Kent. And then someone turned up and said "I've got a better idea! Let me take over yourr orchard and all orchards like it, fly their produce around the globe to be spruced up and then we'll give em back to ya! Sound like a plan?" We'd tell em to fuck off, wouldn't we? Well it has happened, and we didn't because nobody explained it to us. The reason they don't explain this to us is that they know if we find out the extraordinary lengths that they're going to to fuck us over we will overthrow the current system and replace it with something fair. That is why all this important stuff is made to seem inaccessible, boring, and abstract. That is why our participation in politics has been sanded down into an impotent nub: Stick your X into this box and congratulate yourself on being free.

If I told you I want to run away from here, somewhere really far, like…I dunno, Kansas far, what would you say?” Her big blue eyes hold mine like my eyeballs are about to fall off. “We ride at dawn, bitch.

Elgin himself looked ten years younger, now that he’d cast the die, but I thought exuberance had got the better of him when he strode into the saloon later, threw The Origin of Species on the table and announced: "It’s very original, no doubt, but not for a hot evening. What I need is some trollop." I couldn’t believe my ears, and him a church-goer, too. "Well, my lord, I dunno,” says I. "Tientsin ain’t much of a place, but I’ll see what I can drum up —" "Michel’s been reading Doctor Thorne since Taku," cried he. "He must have finished it by now, surely! Ask him, Flashman, will you?" So I did, and had my ignorance, enlightened.

When you gonna come over and watch the Penguins with me again?” “I dunno,” I said. “I get tired of watching handicapped people play hockey after a while. Now if you got interested in a good team, like the Flyers—

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.

I dunno. Me, I don’t like fights, right or wrong. I smile and say ‘Yes’ to the boss at work and ‘Yes’ to Carrie and ‘Yes’ to my folks when they was alive. I slide by.” “I can’t do that, Dad.” “I know. You’ll pay for it, honey. Tears and bitterness, ’cause you’ll be out there fighting all by yourself. Most people are cowards, like me. And if you try to get them to fight they’ll turn on you, bad as the people you originally fightin’ with. You’ll be all alone.

Hunt game? With pearl-handled revolvers?” I asked, incredulous. “Isn’t that a bit…I dunno…fancy? Do I just run out into the forest with my pearl-handled revolvers, or do I invite some deer to a cocktail party and then gun them down?

I dunno,” Mercy said, putting a little more pressure on the frail sternum beneath his boot sole. “Too many people tell the truth, and I’ll be out of a job. If he lies” – a wide smile for Fisher’s benefit – “then I get to go to work.

clown wakes up one morning and decides to visit his doctor. His doctor takes one look at him and asks, ‘So what’s the problem? Why are you here?’ To which the clown replies, ‘I dunno, doc, I woke up this morning and I just felt funny.

Patronuses can change, though, can’t they?” said Ron. “Tonks’s changed, didn’t it?” “Yeah, but if Dumbledore was alive, why wouldn’t he show himself? Why wouldn’t he just hand us the sword?” “Search me,” said Ron. “Same reason he didn’t give it to you while he was alive? Same reason he left you an old Snitch and Hermione a book of kids’ stories?” “Which is what?” asked Harry, turning to look Ron full in the face, desperate for the answer. “I dunno,” said Ron. “Sometimes I’ve thought, when I’ve been a bit hacked off, he was having a laugh or—or he just wanted to make it more difficult. But I don’t think so, not anymore. He knew what he was doing when he gave me the Deluminator, didn’t he? He—well,” Ron’s ears turned bright red and he became engrossed in a tuft of grass at his feet, which he prodded with his toe, “he must’ve known I’d run out on you.” “No,” Harry corrected him. “He must’ve known you’d always want to come back.

Riley stared at him. "How do you just say that stuff?" "What do you mean? How do I just say shit without thinking about it? I dunno. I just do. It's not that hard. Just try it sometime." "Okay," Riley said, and then he said, "I love you.

Okay,” I said, “so what does all that have to do with his dead mistress, her dead ex-boyfriend with the dirty pictures or the entire Rossetti crime family?” Trixie shrugged. “I dunno, let’s go ask him.” “Ask who?” I said, a little lost. “Roger Mayfield,” she said simply. “Isn’t that what I wanted to do at nine o’clock in the morning?” I asked, annoyed. “Nine thirty-seven,” she reminded. “And there’s a difference.” “Which is?” I asked. “When you wanted to do it, it was a stupid idea,” she said with a smile.

Whatever happened to you being Mr. Control, and me just keeping my pretty mouth shut?” “Guess I like what comes out of your mouth, as much as I care about what might go in.” I smacked his arm and he laughed. “I dunno,” he said, shrugging. “I like the way you fuck. You’re even more fun when I let you do stuff.” “Well, well.” “I like how you’re all . . . grabby. Physical. Like we’re scrapping, sometimes. But not always,” Kelly murmured, starting to kiss my neck. I cupped his head, welcoming the contact.

Say how much does a woman cost in New York?” “I dunno, expensive I guess. . . . I’m not going ashore to raise hell; I’m going to get a good job and work. Cant you think of nothing but women?” “What’s the use? Why not?” said Congo and settled himself flat on the deck again, burying his dark sootsmudged face in his crossed arms. “I want to get somewhere in the world, that’s what I mean. Europe’s rotten and stinking. In America a fellow can get ahead. Birth dont matter, education dont matter. It’s all getting ahead.

Seems like moose can smell Massachusetts on a man or a woman. Or maybe it’s just all those new clothes from L. L. Bean’s they smell—I dunno. I’d like to see one of those animal husbandry students from the college do a paper on it, but I s’pose none ever will.

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!

He’s a good-looking son of a bitch, it’s a shame about his personality. “Yeah, and how’s it feel to be a toy?” he snaps. I arch my eyebrow at that, leaning back as I sip my beer. “I dunno, how does it feel? You act like a walking, talking dick, so you must be a dildo.

I’m gay.” There was a long pause after my revelation, then. “Are you sure?” “Of course I’m fucking sure. Why else would I say it? I’m a nance, a poof, a queer, a shit stabber.” There was an embarrassed silence. “Don’t worry. It isn’t catching.” I struggled out of the deckchair. “You don’t have to be friends with me anymore.” “Sorry, Gil. I dunno what to say.” He raked at his hair. “Do you fancy me then?” “No.” “Why not?” “Cos you’re fucking ugly. Look, Lee. Being gay doesn’t mean you fancy every lad you clap eyes on. You don’t fancy every lass you meet.

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.

How do you know them?” “School, I dunno,” Jack said. “Some from out here.” “High school friends?” “Elementary school, too.” That continuity seemed nearly impossible to Alex: imagine the thread staying the same, the world remaining static. Would it be stifling, punishing, or was it the reason why all these people had this peculiar certainty about who they were, confidence that their identity had a context? In her hometown, there was context, but the context was negative, a vortex. The arc of your life was already determined, its limits already visible. This was something else.

Was she pretty?” he asked. “I dunno. I reckon. It’s a scary thing for a slave to think such things.” “Why is that?” “Jest the way the world is.” “You think this here river is pretty?” Huck asked. “I reckon I do,” I said. “Then why you cain’t say if my mama was pretty?” “River ain’t a white woman.

Joe hid his grin. "A little grab-ass is not accosting." At the worst of times, Luna could amuse him. And now he finally had her where he wanted her. ... Her mesmerizing eyes shone with annoyance and disbelief. "I barely knew you, Joe. I brought you a sandwich, and half a minute later you had your hands all over me." Despite his aches and pains, the memory warmed Joe. Locking onto her gaze, he said in his defense, "You have that kind of bottom, honey. All round and soft." Her color deepened. "Of all the stupid, sexist--" "It's irresistible," Joe insisted, and meant it. "It begs for a man's hands. It--" There looked to be an explosion imminent, so Joe wisely let that go for now and instead distracted her. "And for your information, no. I didn't get beat up by a woman." He snorted. "How absurd is that?" "I dunno." Her body vibrated with tension. "I'm ready to beat you up." -Joe and Luna

I’ve seen it time and time again. Some fella from Saugus or Milton or Weston up a tree, yelling about a herd of moose, every damn one of em as big as a motorhome. Seems like moose can smell Massachusetts on a man or a woman. Or maybe it’s just all those new clothes from L. L. Bean’s they smell—I dunno.

You know she made me a list, don’t you?” “What do you mean?” “A list. Chelsea made me a list of questions to ask Mike.” Violet laughed, pulling herself up. It was too ridiculous to believe. But it was Chelsea, so of course it was true. “What did you do with it? You didn’t give it to him, did you?” Violet asked, her eyes wide with shock. Jay sat up too and grinned, and Violet was sure that he had. And then he shook his head. “Nah. I told her if she really wanted the answers, she’d have to give it to him herself.” Violet relaxed back into the couch. “Did she?” Jay shrugged. “I dunno. You never know with Chelsea.” He leaned forward, watching Violet closely as he ran his thumb down the side of her cheek. “Anyway,” he said, switching the subject, “I get off work at six tomorrow; maybe we can hook up after that.” He moved closer, grinning. “And you can tell me how much you missed me.” He kissed her, at first quickly. Then the kiss deepened, and she heard him groan. This time, when he pulled back, there was indecision in his eyes. Violet wanted to say something sarcastic and sharp-witted to lighten the mood, but with Jay staring at her like that, any hope of finding a clever response was lost. She could feel herself disappearing into the depths of that uncertain look.

I dream I'm a wolf sometimes, and when I wake up, I'm panting and my fur's on alert and I'm feeling Yeah, the world could hurt me, but I could hurt the world right back even harder. Like there's a dangerous, hard part of me chained inside, struggling to go free and just, I dunno, get even. Then I go see what's for breakfast.

If Dave can master his powers, he'll be able to see attacks before they're coming, and no one will be able to defeat him in battle." "I dunno," said Alex, "what if there was a ravager the size of the mountain, and it could shoot other ravagers out of its mouth, and those ravagers were on fire. Would Dave still be able to defeat that?

Have you ever dreamed out loud?” She looked at me through her eyelashes, confusion written on her face. “Huh?” “Dreamed out loud. It’s…I dunno… like feeling you’re in a dream, only you’re wide awake? “Where are you going with this? After another minute passed, I managed to whisper, “I feel like I’m dreaming with my eyes open when I look at you.

By the way, you haven’t seen an alien around here, have you? About six foot eight with a face like a cross between a boar and an upturned crab. Probably carrying a spear and a bag full of severed heads.’ Parker shrugged. ‘I dunno. It gets busy here.’ ‘He’s got quite an unusual laugh.’ ‘Oh, that bloke? He’s down the bottom of the ramp. You know him, then?

There was a rap on the common room door and every Ravenclaw froze. From the other side, Harry heard the soft, musical voice that issued from the eagle door knocker: “Where do Vanished objects go?” “I dunno, do I? Shut it!” snarled an uncouth voice that Harry knew was that of the Carrow brother, Amycus. “Alecto? Alecto? Are you there? Have you got him? Open the door!

The thought of the president trying to concentrate on his delivery as gobbledygook whirred by his eyes made me sick with worry — for him and me. This screwup might not have been my fault, but it was my responsibility. ‘This is the worst thing that’s ever happened,’ I muttered. ‘I dunno,’ replied Mike Feldman, the vice president’s aide, ‘the Holocaust was pretty bad.’ Very funny.

I heard that "discretion is the better part of valor" from someone. Dunno exactly what that means but if it means not gettin' my fool haed blowed off then I'm all for it. -- Merle Johnson (Chicago Chase)

Hey, what do you think the best way to train Willpower is?” “Willpower? Uhh...” Suri trailed off. “I dunno. Playing chess?” “That's more Int, I think.” “Willpower is all about resisting stuff, right?” Suri shrugged. “You probably train it through resisting temptation, defeat, stuff like that.” “Resisting temptation, huh?” I scratched the stubble on my jaw. “Guess I'm starting up No-Nut November.” “Well, yeah.

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.

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?

He stared at her again and then smiled a big, goofy smile. “I didn’t really think of it like that.” He looked lost in thought for a minute and finally, a mischievous grin formed on his face. “Wait here a minute.” He got up and left. He returned a few minutes later and handed her something. A piece of paper, folded too many times. “What’s this?” She took it from him, amused and smiling with curiosity. He sat down next to her and shrugged. “I dunno, some guy asked me to give it to you.” She tentatively started unfolding, looking up at him with each bend of the paper. Just before the last fold, she could see the crude handwriting inside, as if it were written by a child. She lifted the sheet, opening it up fully and stared at it. Danarya, will you go with me? Please mark the box Yes [ ] or No [ ] Paul “Oh my gosh!” she squealed with delight. She burst out laughing. “I haven’t received one of these since fifth grade.

I missed you." A humorless laugh closed his eyes. When he opened them, the redness had turned them deep mossy green. "Sorry." Trip's own eyes welled up. "Not like, gosh-I-wonder-what-Trip-is-doing missed you. I meant I actually started to feel like I'd survived some horrible amputation and part of me had been hacked off and lost in a haunted warzone being gnawed by the walking dead. I missed you because you were missing. I actually spent weeks trying to imagine what you were doing at any given Moment... obsessing, really." He didn't wipe his wet cheeks. "Trip must be seeing the new Superman this weekend. I wonder if Trip's asleep. I wish I could swallow Trip's load right this second. Trip needs to stop and eat now, something not dyed or in plastic. I even went to watch the Big Dog office doors a couple of times, like the Little Match Queer, when I knew you had pages due, just to make sure, you were okay, but then you... I dunno: vanished.

I dunno…After seeing him this summer at the beach, maybe Mama’s onto something. I mean, let’s face it--the boy’s hot. You could do worse. Much worse.” “Yeah, well…there’s more to it than looks,” I grumble. “Right. There’s also intelligence--check. Talent--check. Character--check.” She ticks each one off on her fingers. “As far as I can tell, he’s got it all--the total package. I mean, okay, so he’s the boy next door, and Mom and Laura Grace have been bugging you two about each other since forever. But seriously, what more do you want?

she sighs and turns to face me. “He’s not very tough, this one. This is the fifth time he’s passed out on me.” “To be fair, you did gouge out—” “Pluck, Rowan. I plucked his eyes out.” “You did pluck out his eyes. Though I dunno, Blackbird … that eye hole on the left looks a little gouge-y.” She leans toward Thorsten with a scowl, scrutinizing the empty eye sockets as I bite down on a grin. “His left? Or my left?” “His left.” “Fuck off, it does not look gouge-y,” she says. Her doubt turns into a scowl as she looks back over her shoulder and catches the amusement in my eyes. “Dick.

I don’t even want to think about all the animals--livestock, pets, strays--left out to battle the elements. The very idea makes my heart hurt. “You okay?” Ryder asks me. “Yeah, why?” “I dunno.” He shrugs. “You just looked…sad or something.” I’m shocked at how well he can read me. “I was just thinking about anyone--anything--stuck out there in this. You know, dogs, cats, horses. Cows,” I add, sighing heavily. “We’ve got cows!” Rider quips, quoting that old movie about tornadoes--you know, the one with Bill Paxton. I admit, it makes me smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Ryder says.

Emilio quit making exaggerated leering faces at Boyd and opened the door. "Hey sexy," he drawled, grabbing Owen's shirt and hauling him into the apartment. "Boyd is here, so I'll have to teach you about dick sucking another time. Actually, I dunno, maybe he wants to watch." Owen looked startled while Boyd rolled his eyes. "I could probably teach you pointers on that one," Boyd drawled to Emilio. "I don't need to watch anything." Emilio shoved Owen in another step and kicked his door closed as he released what had once been his typical loud, charismatic laugh. "Believe me, baby, I sure as fuck know that," he said with a wink. "But I was talking about pointers for Owen here. I'm no joke at the trade myself." "Whoa, whoa," Owen said, lifting his hands. "Information to place in the 'deleted' folder and recycled, man. Give a guy some notice." Even so, he didn't seem too bothered by the topic as he immediately perked up when he saw the coffee table. "Oh! Score, is that food? Well, obviously it is. Hey, can I have some?" He was already walking over as he asked. "Unless Sir Sucks A Lot is sharing his shit, you better back off mine or I'll shoot you in the face," Emilio said as he flipped the locks to his door. "And why the fuck are you here, anyways?

Jack, who apparently always had to be moving in some way, had made up for the missing knife by grabbing a half loaf of French bread and methodically ripping it into tiny pieces. “What,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Why don’t faeries like bread?” “Hmm?” Jack looked up, then shrugged. “I dunno.” Lend picked up a piece, crumbling it. “My dad said he thought it was because it was the staff of life for people.” “Nasty stuff tastes like mold,” Jack said. “I tried a piece once a while ago when I was still trying to force myself to eat normal food so I could stay here. It was like a shock to my whole system.” He shuddered at the memory.

If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions--his private library, his magical instruments, and other personal effects--were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?” “I…dunno,” said Ron. “I…when I say we weren’t close…I mean, I think he liked me…” “You’re being modest, Ron,” said Hermione. “Dumbledore was very fond of you.” This was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as Harry knew, Ron and Dumbledore had never been alone together, and direct contact between them had been negligible.

Simon stirred in the dark. “Go on being chief.” “You shut up, young Simon! Why couldn’t you say there wasn’t a beast?” “I’m scared of him,” said Piggy, “and that’s why I know him. If you’re scared of someone you hate him but you can’t stop thinking about him. You kid yourself he’s all right really, an’ then when you see him again; it’s like asthma an’ you can’t breathe. I tell you what. He hates you too, Ralph—” “Me? Why me?” “I dunno. You got him over the fire; an’ you’re chief an’ he isn’t.” “But he’s, he’s, Jack Merridew!” “I been in bed so much I done some thinking. I know about people. I know about me. And him. He can’t hurt you: but if you stand out of the way he’d hurt the next thing. And that’s me.

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. The truth is, there aren’t any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world.” She thought for a moment. Then she smiled. “Except for Granny, of course.

Yes, it was,’ said Ginny. ‘It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it.’ Ron and Ginny went off for baths after dinner; Harry and Hermione returned to the busy Gryffindor common room and their usual pile of homework. Harry had been struggling with a new star-chart for Astronomy for half an hour when Fred and George turned up. ‘Ron and Ginny not here?’ asked Fred, looking around as he pulled up a chair, and when Harry shook his head, he said, ‘Good. We were watching their practice. They’re going to be slaughtered. They’re complete rubbish without us.’ ‘Come on, Ginny’s not bad,’ said George fairly, sitting down next to Fred. ‘Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us.’ ‘She’s been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren’t looking,’ said Hermione from behind her tottering pile of Ancient Rune books. ‘Oh,’ said George, looking mildly impressed. ‘Well – that’d explain it.’ ‘Has Ron saved a goal yet?’ asked Hermione, peering over the top of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms. ‘Well, he can do it if he doesn’t think anyone’s watching him,’ said Fred, rolling his eyes. ‘So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday.’ He got up again and moved restlessly to the window, staring out across the dark grounds.

ZACK: Dunno, lass. It’s pretty, but it’s hard to review clothes without seeing them on someone.  LAYLA: Okay, hang on. I’m wearing one right now. (Muffled sound of clothing) What do you think?  JOSH: Jesus. LUKE: Layla! Put your shirt back on.  ZACK: This is the best day of my effing life.  LAYLA: Thanks. Review, please.  ZACK: Um. Yeah. Your tits look huge. Five stars. Would recommend.

You two sure are sleeping late for grown-ups. Did you stay up praying again last night?" "Praying?" Jamie asked with a frown. "What do you mean praying?" Reggie was one of the most deep-thinking children he had ever met, so figuring out what Reggie was talking about always required total concentration. "I heard you the other night." Searching the annals of his memory, Jamie came up with nothing. He bit his lip to stop it from twitching at the frustrated look Reggie threw him when he shook his head in confusion. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes that made him look even more like a miniature Luke, Reggie elaborated in his best 'my god, you're actually my teacher?' voice. "You know… Daddy kept saying oh God and you shouted Jesus a lot. You even said Jesus Luke," Reggie said with a shrug. "I dunno why. Everyone knows it's Jesus Christ.

Did I ever tell you what the definition of insanity is? Insanity is doing the exact... same thing... over and over again expecting... shit to change... That. Is. Crazy. The first time somebody told me that, I dunno, I thought they were bullshitting me, so, I shot him. The thing is... He was right. And then I started seeing, everywhere I looked, everywhere I looked all these pricks doing the exact same thing... over and over and over and over again thinking 'this time is gonna be different' no, no, no please... This time is gonna be different, Hey, do you think I am bullshitting you, do you think I am lying? ha ha ha ha It's okay, man. I'm gonna chill, I'm gonna chill... Alright, the thing is I killed you once already... and it's not like I am crazy. It's like water under the bridge. Did I ever tell you the definition... of insanity?

Who’s worse, soldier, you or him? Dunno, sir! It’s a trick question, soldier. Well, him, obviously. 1 mean I’m sitting here loung-ing; he’s practically dying out there. I expected more from you, son. How? You’re a smart kid. You should be able to see when somebody’s faking. And soldier— Yes. —Good job out there. I’m glad you’re still on board. I don’t feel any better. Life’s not about feeling better; it’s about getting the job done.

So anyway. If I let Corey take me out again, he’s got this buddy – Kyle maybe? Dunno – anyway, he’s single. Maybe you could come along and we could go doubles.” Lisa thought being involved in a shop class accident sounded more fun, but she managed a somewhat pleasant expression, or so she hoped. “Isn’t Kyle the one who spent a week in ICU after he tried to jump over a UPS truck with his bike?” “I think so. Why?” Lisa sighed. “If I have to explain it…

who were under seventeen entering the Tournament. ‘Who’s this impartial judge who’s going to decide who the champions are?’ said Harry. ‘Dunno,’ said Fred, ‘but it’s them we’ll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Ageing Potion might do it, George …’ ‘Dumbledore knows you’re not of age, though,’ said Ron. ‘Yeah, but he’s not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?’ said Fred shrewdly. ‘Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he’ll choose the best from

knew she wanted to know the reaction of the casting director. She was always so anxious after it was over: “So? How did it go? What’d they say?” Most of the time I didn’t even look at her. Occasionally I threw her a bone and say flatly, “I dunno. They said, ‘Thanks, fine, good.’ ” Sometimes I put on the shy act instead. It was my way of selfishly doing what I wanted and showing my parents I was in charge by not talking—exactly what some married couples do. If I don’t talk, then I win. I’ve got the power! What a jerk! Why did I do that? I think it was partly a way of punishing her for taking me away from my friends. Partly it was a control thing. It was my way of being in charge, of being the boss. I can do what I want, it silently conveyed. What could she do to me? I was so awful to her, yet I don’t remember her ever getting frustrated with me. She tirelessly drove me an hour each way—sometimes longer in traffic—and waited hours for me to finish. I was so unappreciative of all she did.

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 on, 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 had 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?" "Tripled 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.

I need to go home.” He nods. “Okay. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.” “What? God, no. What if someone sees us together? Everyone’ll go all hashtag crazy. I’m fine.” Esben rises to a stand and shakes his head. “It’s late, and there is no way I’m letting you walk across campus alone.” “Okay,” I agree as I step tipsily into the hallway and send Steffi a quick text. “But walk twenty feet behind me.” “So it looks like I’m stalking you?” “Yes.” I giggle. “I mean, no. Just be casual, and don’t look crazy. Don’t pull out a knife. Or a bow and arrow or whatever.” I start toward the stairwell. “A bow and arrow?” he asks with a laugh. “I dunno. Like Robin Hood.” My footsteps echo as I go down the stairs, and then I hear Esben begin the descent. “Because I steal from the rich and give to the poor?” Esben asks from behind me. “Because, knowing you, you’d still look good in tights.” I shove open the dorm door. The evening air is chilly, and I cross my arms for warmth. The sound of his chuckle dances in the night. “Thank you, I guess?

All I wanted to say,” bellowed the computer, “is that my circuits are now irrevocably committed to calculating the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything.” He paused and satisfied himself that he now had everyone’s attention, before continuing more quietly. “But the program will take me a little while to run.” Fook glanced impatiently at his watch. “How long?” he said. “Seven and a half million years,” said Deep Thought. Lunkwill and Fook blinked at each other. “Seven and a half million years!” they cried in chorus. “Yes,” declaimed Deep Thought, “I said I’d have to think about it, didn’t I? And it occurs to me that running a program like this is bound to create an enormous amount of popular publicity for the whole are of philosophy in general. Everyone’s going to have their own theories about what answer I’m eventually going to come up with, and who better, to capitalize on that media market than you yourselves? So long as you can keep disagreeing with each other violently enough and maligning each other in the popular press, and so long as you have clever agents, you can keep yourselves on the gravy train for life. How does that sound?” The two philosophers gaped at him. “Bloody hell,” said Majikthise, “now that is what I call thinking. Here, Vroomfondel, why do we never think of things like that?” “Dunno,” said Vroomfondel in an awed whisper; “think our brains must be too highly trained, Majikthise.” So saying, they turned on their heels and walked out of the door and into a life-style beyond their wildest dreams.

Listen,” said Aurora, hands up, like a policeman halting traffic. “Everyone stop saying cat.” The men went silent. Aurora took a deep breath. “Do you know why we have the Australia Cards? The universal basic income?” “Dunno,” said Jack. “Charity, I suppose.” “Yes,” said Minh. “Why?” “Well—you ever notice the biggest supporters of a universal wage aren’t charities or churches?” “Nah,” said Tommy. “It’s those rich bastards.” “Exactly. Silicon Valley. The banks. You know why? They need customers for the businesses they own, and they own bloody everything. They need our disposable income. But there’s no jobs anymore, the automation they invented took them all. Forty percent unemployment, half the rest working part-time gigs. So: they lobbied the government to give out free money.

get out on the rocks or the fields or the water and spout them." Captain Jim had come up that afternoon to bring Anne a load of shells for her garden, and a little bunch of sweet-grass which he had found in a ramble over the sand dunes. "It's getting real scarce along this shore now," he said. "When I was a boy there was a-plenty of it. But now it's only once in a while you'll find a plot—and never when you're looking for it. You jest have to stumble on it—you're walking along on the sand hills, never thinking of sweet-grass—and all at once the air is full of sweetness—and there's the grass under your feet. I favor the smell of sweet-grass. It always makes me think of my mother." "She was fond of it?" asked Anne. "Not that I knows on. Dunno's she ever saw any sweet-grass. No, it's because it has a kind of motherly perfume—not too young, you understand—something kind of seasoned and wholesome and dependable—jest like a mother. The schoolmaster's bride always kept it among her handkerchiefs. You might put that little bunch among yours, Mistress Blythe. I don't like these boughten scents—but a whiff of sweet-grass belongs anywhere a lady does." Anne had not been especially enthusiastic over the idea of surrounding her flower beds with quahog shells; as a decoration they did not appeal to her on first thought. But she would not have hurt Captain Jim's feelings for anything; so she assumed a virtue she did not at first feel, and thanked him heartily. And when Captain Jim had proudly encircled every bed with a rim of the big, milk-white shells, Anne found to her surprise that she liked the effect.

Lester.” Reyna sighed. “What in Tartarus are you saying? I’m not in the mood for riddles.” “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 creek bed 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.

Nah. That is na what I see." He pulled her hair away from her neck and kissed the thin edge of her ear. "Ya look deceptively fragile, like a deer, but yer solid muscle, a perfect predator. Yer agile and graceful, and ya do na walk anywhere, but glide, as if the ground gives way ta ya. Yer skin is as pale as fresh snow, and yer hair, it's like some metal I've never seen, white, shiny, and priceless. Yer eyes." He chuckled. "Ya dunno how many times I've thought it'd be worth it. Ya'd put me in the ground, but it'd be so worth it ta just get lost in yer eyes. They are na completely white, ya know? They're like clouds, hints of color reflected back ta me. And I love yer nose. Humans always look like someone hit them in the head with a pipe. Ya don't. Yer nose," he chuckled again. "Yer face is sleek and elegant, like a work of art, kitten. Ya look like someone sculpted ya." "And didn't finish," Sal said. "And got it right," he corrected.” ― Auryn Hadley, Instinctual

Deprive a cat of sleep and it would die in two weeks. Deprive a human and he would become psychotic. His work was killing people. How was he supposed to frighten these guys? Run up behind them in a halloween mask and shout boo? He never saw the point of views -- what did it matter if it was an ocean or a brick wall you were looking at? People travelled hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles to commit suicide someplace with a beautiful view. Did a view matter when oblivion beckoned? They could put him in a garbage bin after he was gone, for all he cared. That's all the human race was anyway. Garbage with attitude. A cutting word is worse than a bowstring. A cut may heal but a cut of the tongue does not. The Sakawa students were all from poor, underprivileged backgrounds. Sakawa was a mix of religious juju and modern internet technology. They were taught, in structured classes, the art of online fraud as well as arcane African rituals -- which included animal sacrifice -- to have a voodoo effect on their victims, ensuring the success of each fraud. of which there was a wide variety. The British Empire spend five hundred years plundering the world. The word is 'thanks'. 'That's what it is, Roy! He won't come out, he has locked the doors! What if he self-harms, Roy! I mean -- what if he kills himself?' 'I will have to take him off my Christmas list.' "Any chance you can recover any of it?' 'You sitting near a window, Gerry?' 'Near a window? Sure, right by a window?' 'Can you see the sky?' 'Uh-huh. Got a clear view.' 'See any pigs flying past?' To dream of death is good for those in fear, for the death have no more fears. '...Cleo took me to the opera once. I spent the whole time praying for a fat lady to come on stage and start singing. Or a heart attack --whichever come sooner.' '..there is something strongly powerful -- almost magnetic -- about internet romances. A connection that is far stronger than a traditional meeting of two people. Maybe because on the internet you can lie all the time, each person gives the other their good side. It's intoxicating. That's one of the things which makes it so dangerous -- and such easy pickings for fraudsters.' He was more than a little pleased that he was about to ruin his boss's morning -- and, with a bit of luck, his entire day. ..a guy who had been born angry and had just got even angrier with each passing year. '...Then at some point in the future, I'll probably die in an overcrowded hospital corridor with some bloody hung-over medical student jumping up and down on my chest because they couldn't find a defibrillator. 'Give me your hand, bro,' the shorter one said. 'That one, the right one, yeah.' On the screen the MasterChef contestant said, 'Now with a sharp knife...' Jules de Copland drove away from Gatwick Airport in.a new car, a small Kia, hired under a different name and card, from a different rental firm, Avis. 'I was talking about her attitude. But I'll tell you this, Roy. The day I can't say a woman -- or a man -- is plug ugly, that's the day I want to be taken out and shot.' It seems to me the world is in a strange place where everyone chooses to be offended all the time. 'But not too much in the way of brains,' GlennBranson chipped in. 'Would have needed the old Specialist Search Unite to find any trace of them.' 'Ever heard of knocking on a door?' 'Dunno that film -- was it on Netflix?' 'One word, four letters. Begins with an S for Sierra, ends with a T for Tango. Or if you'd like the longest version, we've been one word, six letters, begins with F for Foxtrot, ends with D for Delta.' No Cop liked entering a prison. In general there was a deep cultural dislike of all police officers by the inmates. And every officer entering.a prison, for whatever purposes, was always aware that if a riot kicked off while they were there, they could be both an instant hostage and a prime target for violence.