Insignia Sj Kincaid Quotes

Come on, Beamer! I beheaded you for your own good.

What's being crazy like?" Wyatt blurted. "That depends, Enslow. What's being tactless and completely inappropriate like?

She needs a proper supervillain name. Man Hands isn't doing it for me." "You're right. How about 'Evil Wench from the Darkest Reaches of Mordor'?

Die slowly, Tom.

Those are some of the most powerful people in the world, and you swamped them in sewage! If you had real friends, they'd have told you that you're an idiot for even thinking about doing that!" Tom bristled, indignant. "My friends do tell me I'm an idiot. All the time!

We thought you fell down a hole and died somewhere." "Close. I was with Blackburn.

Nigel Harrison Nigel Harrison'ed me?

He likes her." "Yuri, no!" Vik said. Yuri turned redder, confirming it. "Yuri, come on, man," Tom cried. Yuri gave a helpless shrug. "Divisions cannot divide human hearts." "Oh God," Vik cried, clapping hands over his ears. "He's even spouting cheesy lines now. Make him stop, Tom!" "I can't!" Tom told him. "My ears... They're bleeding. Bleeding!" "It's a brain hemorrhage! He's murdered us!" Vik said. "Murderer!" Tom cried, fake collapsing onto the ground. Yuri shook his head. "This is not very mature.

There's a dead guy on our floor," Tom pointed out. "Yeah, that's Beamer, our neighbor." Vik stepped over Tom's bed, and kicked open a drawer beneath the mattress. He swept down and yanked out a bundle of fabric. "Here's your uniform." "There's a dead Beamer on our floor," Tom said again.

If I met a horse that looked like you, I’d find that horse attractive.

You're a spelling bee champ, aren't you, White Fang? How do you spell, 'If I don't learn to speak to my betters with more respect, I'm going to get my face smashed in'?" Tom laughed, unable to resist. "That one's easy. It's K-A-R-L.

Tom just stood there, sword in hand, a huge grin on his lips. He stared at Medusa and Medusa stared at him, and in this moment that made his dreams come true, Tom could only think of one thing to say. "How's it going?

Is that the only way?" Tom asked her. "Vik and I tried net-sending with a thought interface during Programming once, but I couldn't concentrate on just one thing at a time." Vik nodded. "His programming questions were always like, 'Vik, how do steak boobs function?

And he'd definitely never expected to ever have to tell someone, "All right, no killing and eating me, okay? I'm ready to go.

Oh, and I died horribly at your hands. Gruesome murder is always a foundation for a beautiful friendship!

There really was nothing firm, nothing certain. Even here, even at this place where he thought he’d found something permanent—everything could change in a day. Everything could be lost so quickly.

I know this is asking a lot, but try to stop humiliating yourselves.

Tom became distracted by the sight of his own boobs. He reached down to grab them. Wyatt cleared her throat. "What?" Tom said defensively. "They're mine." "You aren't seriously planning to just sit there groping yourself in front of me, are you? That's kind of rude." Tom dropped his hands, a bit sheepish. "What, come on. You've got some new equipment, too. You're not curious?" Wyatt's armor clanked as she shifted awkwardly in her seat. "It's not like I haven't played sims as men before." "Right." Tom grinned. "So you've already done the groping thing." "That's not what I said!

Whenever he closed his eyes, he still saw her flying, fighting with ferocious genius. He still remembered that kiss.

People kill over money and power and love, but no one kills over gnomes.

Is there a way to to contact someone's computer with yours?" "Yes. It's called email," Wyatt replied.

You’ve downloaded this information,” Cromwell said briskly, “so let’s make sure you understand it. We’ve been examining the evolution of combat, weaponry, and tactics. History has shown one simple fact: people are people. Period. All the technology and progress in the world can’t change the fundamentals of human nature. There will always be war as long as human beings are capable of envy, hatred, and fear.

Your head could fit in the muzzle of this thing," Vik said, awestruck. "Seriously. Come on and let's see." "I'm not sticking my head in a cannon thing. Stick your own head in." "I have highly temperamental hair. It'll get nestlike. You don't care when your hair gets nestlike, Tom. You can't possibly.

Are you guys seriously messing around with real weapons?" she exclaimed. "It's like you want Darwin Awards!" Tom flushed, and set his gun back on its hook. "It's not like we were going to start a dynastic war or something." "Yeah," Vik said guiltily, returning his own weapon.

That smile of hers could seriously crash planes.

Yes, I'm a hypocrite. It doesn't change anything.

Sorry, Tim," Yuri said, regret in his voice. “Normally I would not push you around, but I must because you have become such a pansy.

Who's chasing you? Genghises. Large, angry Genghises.

Tom finally understood why his father saw humanity as worthless. It was hard to see much fundamental value in anything when the bad guys always won. Maybe this was simply what it was like to grow up.

He felt like anything was possible around her, like his life meant more, like he meant more.

That's lucky?" Tom repeated bitterly. "Lucky now means 'worst case scenario ever,' then. That's great. Good to know." "Sir," Blackburn corrected. "You outrank me. You shouldn't call me 'sir.'" "Raines, you'll address me as 'sir' or I will stick you back down in that cell next to the census device until 'sir' is the only word you remember." Tom bristled. He'd never hated someone so much. "Sir, yes, sir. I'll use 'sir,' sir. Is that all, sir?" "Oh, I'd say that's all. Get into the simulation with the others." Blackburn jabbed at his forearm keyboard. "It irritates me just looking at you." Back at you, Tom thought.

Medusa's lips split with that challenging smile, and for a second he recognized her somehow, he knew her on some primal level, the same way he'd recognized he behind the face of Brunhilde, the helmet of Achilles, or in hat ship maneuvering in space ,and then she flickered away. The simulation darkened around him. Tom pulled out his neural wire, Medusa's dangerous smile lingering in his brain.

If there was a horse and the horse looked like you, I would find that horse attractive.

Son, you are now a man,’ then he gave me a scented candle and told me how babies are made.

Ow, that hurts! It hurts like being in Connecticut!

Oh no, young Skywalker. The ugly is strong in that one.” Wyatt glared at him. “Or perhaps she has a classified identity? You know, the same way we do?” “Nah. Ugly. Face it, Tom,” Vik said, “no girl who fights like that can be hot, too. It would cause a huge imbalance in the cosmos that would unravel the space-time continuum and make the universe implode. And she won’t show you. That’s a red flag. Big, bright, waving red flag.

And I want you to know something: Medusa, if I met a horse that looked like you, I’d find that horse attractive.” She stared at him. “And I’d be worried,” Tom added quickly, seeing her confusion. “See, it’s a horse. See? I mean, I’d really be, like, ‘uh-oh’ and ‘this sucks,’ if it looked like you because I’d be into that horse. Which is messed up, due to the horse thing. But it would solely be because it resembled you. You know what I mean?” She backed away from him slowly. “I think I really need to leave now.

People kill over money and power and love, but no one kills over gnomes.

...The question is, Tom, do you want to be one of us?" She leaned closer, her eyes gripping his. "Do you want to be somebody important?" And there it was. There it was. Tom leaned back in his seat and tipped his drink to Heather—and the man who had just won this match. Because, more than anything, Tom wanted to do something. Something other than move from casino to casino, something other than turn into his dad. He'd give anything to be important.

You can say it's naive or say it's foolish. But please never say it's impossible