Lynch Funny Quotes

Adam's response was buried in the sound of the first-story door falling open. Noah slouched in. In a wounded tone, he said, "He threw me out the window!" Ronan's voice sang out from behind his closed door: "You're already dead!

Noah had wandered down the aisle, but now he gleefully returned with a snow globe. He stood behind Ronan until he pushed off the shelf to admire the atrocity. "Glitter," whispered Noah reverentially, giving it a shake.

Gansey's phone buzzed. "Gansey, man, is this diseased tree cutting into your digital time?" Ronan asked. The fact was the digital time was cutting into his diseased tree time.

Jassaline's little potion seems to have brought up every meal I've had in the past five years." said Locke. "Nothing left to spit up but my naked soul. Make sure it isn't floating around in one of those before you toss them, right?" "I think I see it," Jean said. "Nasty, crooked little thing it is too; you're better off with it floating out to sea.

Jean grinned down at her, and she handed him something in a small silk bag. 'What's this?' 'Lock of my hair, ' she said. 'Meant to give it to you days ago, but we got busy with all the raiding. You know. Piracy. Hectic life. ' 'Thank you, love, ' he said. 'Now, if you find yourself in trouble wherever you go, you can hold up that little bag to whoever's bothering you, and you can say, "You have no idea who you're fucking with. I'm under the protection of the lady who gave me this object of her favour. "' 'And that's supposed to make them stop?' 'Shit no, that's just to confuse them. Then you kill them while they're standing there looking at you funny.

Renton looks at her and sees her pain and anger. It cuts him up. It confuses him. Kelly has a great sense of humour. What's wrong with her? The knee–jerk thought: Wrong time of the' month is forming in his head when he looks about and picks up the intonations of the laughter around the bar. It's not funny laughter. This is lynch mob laughter. How was ah tae know, he thinks. How the fuck was ah tae know?

What's happening here?" This last bit was hissed to Ronan and Noah. "Noah took a personal day." "I lost..." Noah struggled for words. "There wasn't air. It went away. The - the line!" "The ley line?" Gansey asked. Noah nodded once, a sloppy thing that was sort of a shrug at the same time. "There was nothing ... left for me." Releasing Ronan, he shook out his hands. "You're welcome, man," Ronan snarled. He still couldn't feel his toes. "Thanks. I didn't mean to ... you were there. Oh, the glitter." "Yes," Ronan replied crossly. "The glitter.

Endure for another day, Mister Tannen, and you'll have all the foul black misuse of water you can drink.

Don Lorenzo and 'Master Eccari' fenced pleasantries for a few moments thereafter; Galdo eventually let himself be skewered with the politest possible version of 'Thanks, but piss off.

Ronan, the middle brother, defended his safety by being as frightening as possible. Like the other Lynch brothers, he was a regular churchgoer, but most people assumed he played for the other team.

Ah, the beautiful Celine,” Desmund said, earning a smile from her. “Did I ever tell you that you remind me of a courtesan I knew once in King George’s court? She was stunning to look upon and much sought after.” Celine toyed with her hair. “You flatter me, Desmund. Was she someone of noble birth?” “No, but I believe she serviced a duke or two.” I choked on my water. Tristan reached over to pat my back, while smiling graciously at the outraged woman.

Get used to gaps in your comprehension,” said Sabetha. “The rest of us certainly have.

The doorbell rang, making me and Roland jump. Nikolas opened the door to admit Chris whose good-natured smile did not falter even when he saw our grim faces. Then he saw Remy. I didn’t think I had ever seen someone’s eyes go that round before. Roland shoved a glass of Nate’s whiskey into Chris’s hand while Nikolas brought him up to speed on all he had missed.

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.

If you mean the ease with which you drop coins when you're off a-cunting, you're right. You're a one-man charity ball for the whores of Camorr, you are

If what Locke is doing were larking about, corpses could get jobs as acrobats.

But the funny thing about all this, Marcus didn’t know Louise had been looking at him for a week already. If he had, I doubt if he would have wanted Louise. Because, you see, he wanted her only for revenge. He wanted to get to her, not her getting to him. He wanted to clown for her, he probably would have stood on his head for her, probably would have walked on his hands for her—until he got into those drawers. Then that would have been the end. If they lynched him after, it wouldn’t have meant a thing. Because, you see, they couldn’t take away what he had got. No, he probably would have laughed at his lynchers.

Heavens," said Galdo in a deep, dramatic voice, "only one man living could have squeezed forth such a gleaming brown jewel-- this is the work of Squatting Calo, the Midnight Shitter!

Amateur,” Kavinsky said. “This is the way to dream back Gansey’s balls for him.” “Is this going to be a thing?” Ronan demanded. He was angry, but not as angry as he would’ve been before he started drinking. He put his fingers on the door handle, ready to get out. “Like, is this going to be what’s funny to you? Because I don’t want this that bad. I can figure it out myself.” “Sure you can,” Kavinsky said. He cocked a finger at him. “Give him that pen. Write him a little note with it. In fucking George Washington letters, ‘Dear Dick, drive this, ex-oh-ex-oh. Ronan Lynch.

He says, "It's just a hat." But it's not just a hat. It makes Jess think of racism and hatred and systemic inequality, and the Ku Klux Klan, and plantation-wedding Pinterest boards, and lynchings, and George Zimmerman, and the Central Park Five, and redlining, and gerrymandering and the Southern strategy, and decades of propaganda and Fox News and conservative radio, and rabid evangelicals, and rape and pillage and plunder and plutocracy and money in politics and the dumbing down of civil discourse and domestic terrorism and white nationalists and school shootings and the growing fear of a nonwhite, non-English-speaking majority and the slow death of the social safety net and conspiracy theory culture and the white working class and social atomism and reality television and fake news and the prison-industrial complex and celebrity culture and the girl in fourth grade who told Jess that since she--Jess--was "naturally unclean" she couldn't come over for birthday cake, and executive compensation, and mediocre white men, and the guy in college who sent around an article about how people who listen to Radiohead are smarter than people who listen to Missy Elliott and when Jess said "That's racist" he said "No,it's not," and of bigotry and small pox blankets and gross guys grabbing your butt on the subway, and slave auctions and Confederate monuments and Jim Crow and fire hoses and separate but equal and racist jokes that aren't funny and internet trolls and incels and golf courses that ban women and voter suppression and police brutality and crony capitalism and corporate corruption and innocent children, so many innocent children, and the Tea Party and Sarah Palin and birthers and flat-earthers and states' rights and disgusting porn and the prosperity gospel and the drunk football fans who made monkey sounds at Jess outside Memorial Stadium, even though it was her thirteenth birthday, and Josh--now it makes her think of Josh.

Special Super Bowl Wisdom of the Ages: "Marshawn Lynch" Not really shy. Still extremely embarrassed he believed you can't be charged for beating up on large groups of people-as long as you are carrying a football.

A man in Florence once had a heart attack when he saw the Birth of Venus, if you can believe it,” said a voice beside him. “Palpitations are more common, though. That’s what Stendhal had. Couldn’t walk, he reported, after seeing a particularly moving work of art. And Jung! Jung decided it was too dangerous to visit Pompeii in his old age because the feeling—the feeling of all that art and history round him, it might kill him. Jerusalem… Tourists in Jerusalem sometimes wrap themselves in hotel bedsheets. To become works of art themselves, you know? Part of history. A collective unconscious toga party. One lady in the holy city decided she was giving birth to God’s son. She wasn’t even pregnant, before you ask. Funny what art will do to you. Stendhal Syndrome, they call it, after our lad with the palpitations, though I prefer its more modern name: Declan Lynch.

Ronan’s bedroom door burst open. Hanging on the door frame, Ronan leaned out to peer past Gansey. He was doing that thing where he looked like both the dangerous Ronan he was now and the cheerier Ronan he had been when Gansey had first met him. “Is Noah out here?” “Hold on,” Gansey told Adam. Then, to Ronan: “Why would he be?” “No reason. Just no reason.” Ronan slammed his door. Gansey asked Adam, “Sorry. You still have that suit for the party?” Adam’s response was buried in the sound of the second-story door falling open. Noah slouched in. In a wounded tone, he said, “He threw me out the window!” Ronan’s voice sang out from behind his closed door: “You’re already dead!

This week I was watching the Rachel Maddow Show (you'd love her: she's funny and brilliant and just happens to be a stunning butch), and she was interviewing the outgoing attorney general, Loretta Lynch, about the country's post election future. The entire show was like a burst of hope so bright I almost had to put on sunglasses. The African American attorney general, prim and plump, sat perched on a barstool talking to a white butch lesbian who has her own national television news show! The event was being recorded in the Stonewall Inn, the site of one of the first places where queer people fought back against police violence! (I was so nervous about being a lesbian in 1969, I hid the tiny newspaper clipping from you.) Simply that the interview was happening made me remember that there are people in the world who are not such egotistical, political careerists as to believe that human rights don't matter. Then, as if just showing up wasn't enough, Attorney General Lynch spoke a truth that is hard to remember from our short-lived perspective: "History is bigger than one turn of the electoral wheel." During your eighty-eight years on this plane, you saw numerous turns of the wheel, and many of them did not land on a prize. Still, toward the end of your life, you took me in and bestowed not just a roof and clothes and food but the gift of your history and the knowledge that we find hope inside ourselves.

The music from inside drowned out every other sound. It was the sort of music Ronan heard all the time when he was at Aglionby, the stuff that made him feel as if he truly were nothing like other people, not because he was gay or because his father had been murdered or because he could take things out of his dreams, but because he couldn't bring himself to sing along to the shit other students sang along to. Funny how a handful of people loving a song you couldn't stand could make you feel inhuman.

Oh, sure, they all went through the motions. For almost two weeks, they paraded out witnesses and experts and walked us through a chain of custody and exhibits A to Z, all of which I guess gave legitimacy to what was already a foregone conclusion. I was guilty. Hell, as far as the police and the prosecutor and the judge and even my own defense attorney were concerned, I was born guilty. Black, poor, without a father most of my life, one of ten children—it was actually pretty amazing I had made it to the age of twenty-nine without a noose around my neck. But justice is a funny thing, and in Alabama, justice isn't blind. She knows the color of your skin, your education level, and how much money you have in the bank. I may not have had any money, but I had enough education to understand exactly how justice was working in this trial and exactly how it was going to turn out. The good old boys had traded in their white robes for black robes, but it was still a lynching.

You sound off,” he said. “Why are you whispering? I thought you and Ana were having dinner together.” I bit my lip. “It’s kind of a funny story, but you have to promise not to yell.” “Why would a funny story make me yell?” he asked warily. “Well,” I drawled. “I was on my way to meet up with Ana, and there was this truck parked in an alley that didn’t look right. So, I left my bike on the street and went to check it out.” “Jordan.” I didn’t need to see him to know he was pinching the bridge of his nose, something he’d been doing a lot in the last few months. “Don’t worry. They didn’t see me.” His tone sharpened. “Who didn’t see you?” “The Gulaks. They were too busy loading the girls into the back.” I paused as the truck slowed going around a curve. “I slipped on without them having a clue I was there.” He swore. “Do not tell me you climbed into a truck with a bunch of Gulak slavers.” I scoffed softly. “Of course not. Give me some credit. I’m on the roof of the truck.” He growled something, and I heard another male laughing. It sounded like Mario, one of the warriors we were working with on this job, along with his mate, Ana. We’d been in Panama for two weeks, at the request of the government, to locate and shut down a human trafficking ring. But this one was a lot more sophisticated than any other Gulak operation we’d encountered, and they’d managed to evade us completely. Until now. “This is not a funny story,” he said in an exasperated voice.

Funny, ain’t it? My cousin-in-law over to Marco, the one helped lynch that colored feller some years back cause they give him a white man’s job in the clam cannery? That cousin never missed a meal till the mornin he never come down to eat his breakfast. Died peaceful in his sleep at home after a nice long life. How do you figure that one, Colonel? You reckon God just thundered down, ‘All is forgiven, Boy, cause you ain’t nothin but a redneck idjit that never knowed no better. It’s them ones like your cousin Bill that knowed better and turned away that I am abominatin in My sight.’ ” Bill shook his head. “I never did commit a crime against a black man and darn glad of it but I never done nothin for ’em neither, not even when I had the chance. You reckon that’s why I feel so bad about Henry? Because I knew better?” House lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the westering sun that fired the windshield.

Funny, ain’t it? My cousin-in-law over to Marco, the one helped lynch that colored feller some years back cause they give him a white man’s job in the clam cannery? That cousin never missed a meal till the mornin he never come down to eat his breakfast. Died peaceful in his sleep at home after a nice long life. How do you figure that one, Colonel? You reckon God just thundered down, ‘All is forgiven, Boy, cause you ain’t nothin but a redneck idjit that never knowed no better. It’s them ones like your cousin Bill that knowed better and turned away that I am abominatin in My sight.’ ” Bill shook his head. “I never did commit a crime against a black man and darn glad of it but I never done nothin for ’em neither, not even when I had the chance. You reckon that’s why I feel so bad about Henry? Because I knew better?

Then and there, I vowed to lose weight so I might have a chance of actually being like my mom when I grew up. But then I got hungry and sad and just wanted pizza. Beauty was my mom's domain. Pizza was mine

The memory of Nikolas’s hands cradling my face as his mouth covered mine made my stomach do those funny little somersaults again. I’d never understood why other girls made such a big deal over kissing, but now I got it. Just thinking about it made my pulse jump and my breath catch in my throat. Were all kisses that amazing, or was that one special because of Nikolas? “I

Yes, I told you it was." They are walking through daffodils near Aira Point, where Wordsworth escorted his sister Dorothy, and Xavier is telling Zac about the way fish think. Zac finds it funny. Whatever his grandpa tells him is the truth.

That's how it was supposed to be, and you really prefer things to be the way they are supposed to be. Funny, when you find things to be not to your liking you try to force them to be otherwise.

Streisand, the day-trading diva, personified the way people abuse Lynch’s teachings. In 1999 she burbled, “We go to Starbucks every day, so I buy Starbucks stock.” But the Funny Girl forgot that no matter how much you love those tall skinny lattes, you still have to analyze Starbucks’s financial statements and make sure the stock isn’t even more overpriced than the coffee.

Funny old world,’ said Chains. ‘Three farmers became three soldiers; three soldiers became one farmer, one baron and one thieving priest.

I don’t think you were even with us that night we used ropes, to get up Lady de Marre’s tower at that horrible old estate of hers…Calo and Galdo and I nearly got pecked to bloody shreds by pigeons working that one. Must’ve been five, six years ago.” “Oh, I was with you, remember? On the ground, keeping watch. I saw the bit with the pigeons. Hard to play sentry when you’re pissing yourself laughing.” “Wasn’t funny at all from up top. Beaky little bastards were vicious!” “The Death of a Thousand Pecks,” said Jean. “You would have been legends, dying so gruesomely. I’d have written a book on the man-eating pigeons of Camorr and joined the Therin Collegium. Gone respectable. Bug and I would’ve built a memorial statue to the Sanzas, with a nice plaque.” “What about me?” “Footnote on the plaque. Space permitting.” “Hand over the rope or I’ll show you the edge of the cliff, space permitting.