Leverage Eliot Quotes

Needle in a haystack's easy - just bring a magnet." Eliot stared witheringly at Hardison. "You take the poetry out of everything." "Says the man who'd just punch the haystack.

You need to own your feelings. Get more comfortable expressing yourself." "How about I express you out the nearest window?

He's not dead, Parker." He clenched his jaw so hard she could see the muscles working in it. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better?" "No, I'm saying it to make myself feel better.

What is that *smell*?" Eliot shook his head. "I keep telling you, it's fresh air.

He was convinced that the purse was like that stupid phone booth thing on that TV show Hardison liked: bigger on the inside than the outside.

She's one you *really* care about, isn't she?" Eliot shook his head. "How can you read other people so well, and completely misread me?" Frowning, Sophie asked, "What do you mean?" Looking right into her eyes, Eliot said, "I care about *all* of them.

Maybe you've got the patience to work out some complicated, long-term, ironic way to get back at the people who've wronged you, but that's you.

Who the hell is Warren Ellis again?” Hardison gaped at the man. “Only one of the greatest comics writers in the past twenty years. Might as well ask who Alan Moore is, or Frank Miller, or Mark Waid, or Brian Michael Bendis, or Marv Wolfman, or Geoff Johns.” Eliot gave Hardison a blank look as they wove their way through the hall. Parker took the lead, toting a printed sign with her. Eliot and Hardison trailed in her wake. They made a point of striding right past Patronus’s booth. They didn’t turn to see if he noticed them. “No one?” Hardison said. “Nothing? Not even Kurt Busiek? Neil Gaiman?” “I have a life. I do things, active things. I date women.” “Stan Lee?” Eliot gave Hardison that one with a wag of his head. “Who hasn’t heard of Stan Lee?” “All right,” Hardison said with satisfaction. “You had me worried there, man.

Sure, I could have, no problem. The security they got around those room booking systems is like a kid’s playpen, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.” Eliot reached across Parker to grab Hardison by the front of his shirt, but Parker shoved her shoulder between the two men, foiling the effort. “That’s your thing, man,” Eliot said over Parker’s shoulder as Hardison backed away into the corner of the cab. “What’s stopping you?” Hardison shrugged, embarrassed. “All the people who come out here, they’re doing it for the sheer joy of being a geek about something. Might be the Avengers, Star Wars, Sailor Moon, or even them sparkly vampires, but hey, they took a week off work, saved up all their pennies for the badges—which sell out in about ninety minutes—and got their butts out there for the show. I—I just couldn’t do that to them.

You want some?” Cha0s said as he turned toward Eliot. “Come and get it!” “Why is it that men reduce themselves to one-liners and bad movie quotes whenever they get into a fight?” said Parker. “Is there some kind of script they’re supposed to follow when they get to this point? Or does the raging testosterone just shut down their higher brain functions?

You want us to take on a job about funny books?” “They’re graphic novels,” Hardison said in a grave tone. “And it’s a serious art form. They’re the most vibrant format for modern literature. And—and they make freaking great movies. I mean, have you seen The Avengers?

How did you get the badges?” Parker asked. “You didn’t steal a badge from a pro, did you?” “Of course not,” Hardison said. “Geek solidarity to the end.” “Then whose name is this on my badge? Who’s Diana Prince?” Hardison laughed. “That’s Wonder Woman’s secret identity.” Parker giggled at that. “And who are you? Carl Lucas?” “That’s Luke Cage’s original name.” “Who?” Eliot didn’t bother to conceal his irritation. “Luke Cage? You know, Power Man? Of Power Man and Iron Fist?” Hardison waited for a response that never came. “Sweet Christmas, what’s wrong with you people?” “We have lives. And just who am I supposed to be, huh? Batman’s secret sidekick?” “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Sophie said. Nate gave her a nudge with his elbow, and she fixed him with a mischievous smile. “Naw, man,” said Hardison. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I know how you feel about ‘fictional’ people.” “So who the hell is Warren Ellis?” “He’s a comic-book writer. Good one.” Eliot groaned. “For God’s sake, do I look like a comic-book writer?” “Hey, don’t knock Warren Ellis. He wrote all sorts of great stuff. Global Frequency, The Authority, Transmetropolitan. Good stuff.

But I don’t understand,” she said. “Why have you been following me all over the world? Why didn’t you just approach me before?” “I’ve wanted to,” he confessed. “But I kept chickening out. I meant to in Frankfurt, but then you spotted me and I lost my nerve. I didn’t want you to think I was some sort of creepy stalker.” “God forbid,” Eliot muttered. Larry looked nervously at Eliot. “Then your bodyguard took off after me and I just panicked. And then there was that scary blonde in the dog costume…” “Scary?” Parker reacted, her indignation coming through Sophie’s earbud loud and clear. “I was adorable.” “My personal assistant,” Sophie explained. “She’s a furry.