Sarcastic Queen Quotes

I was so furious I was actually dizzy with it. There were so many bitchy, sarcastic observations to make, I was having a sarcasm stroke. "My God! You people! You're - you're so stupid you're making my eyeballs throb. They're throbbing, dammit!

I did what I have been told to do by my queen. In so doing, I fell into a trap I couldn't escape. I still can't." "The trap of LUUUUVVVV, I thought sarcastically. But he was too serious, too calm, to mock.

It's a sort of piss-take on culture, because a drag queen is a clown - a parody of our society. It's a sarcastic spoof on culture, which allows us to laugh at ourselves - but in a way that is inclusive of everyone.

Besides, there's no one way to be a girl, Tay. You don't need to fit yourself into what society tells us a girl should be. Girls can be whoever they want. Whether that's an ass-kicking, sarcastic, crime-solving FBI Agent or a funny, gorgeous, witty beauty queen--or both at the same time." She swings an arm around me and pulls me in. "Are you happy the way you are? Are you comfortable? Do you feel like yourself?" The corner of my mouth lifts into a half smile. "Yes. Yes. And yes." "Then that's all that matters. Fuck everything else.

This is awesome," Tsunami said. "I'm so excited." "Going to see my very favorite dragon in all of Pyrrhia." "Are you being Glory now?" Sunny asked. "Queen of Sarcasm?" "I can be sarcastic, too! "She doesn't get to be queen of everything," Tsunami grumbled.

Bitterblue took this information straight to the library. "Death?" she said. "Do we have birth records for the seven kingdoms for the year Leck would have been born? Will you review them for someone with a name that sounds like Eemkerr?" "A name that sounds like Eemkerr," Death repeated, peering up at her from his new desk, which was covered with smelly, scorched papers. "Lady Fire says that Leck told her that before his name was Leck, it was Eemkerr." "Which is a name she remembers from almost fifty years ago," Death said sarcastically, "spoken to her, not spelled, presumably not a name from her own language, and conveyed to you mentally fifty years later. And I'm to recall every instance of a name of that nature in all the birth records available to me from the relevant year for all seven kingdoms, on the extremely slim chance that we have the name right and a record exists?" "I know you're just as happy as I am," said Bitterblue. Death's mouth twitched. Then he said, "Give me some time to remember, Lady Queen.

Hermy, when she was not otter-hunting, could be very sarcastic, and he had a clear month of Hermy in front of him, without any otter-hunting, which, so she had informed him, was not possible in August. This was mysterious to Georgie, because it did not seem likely that all otters died in August, and a fresh brood came in like caterpillars. If Hermy was here in October she would otter-hunt all morning and snore all afternoon, and be in the best of tempers, but the August visit required more careful steering.

Nice, a dagger,” Piper scoffed. “It doesn't seem to be doing me much harm, though. Is this how you defend yourself? Showing off your useless weapons?

Seth twisted up his mouth and somewhat sarcastically waved his hand toward the couch and said, “Won’t you please sit down, Madam Queen?” “Thank you,” Tate said primly.

Oh, is little princey alive, then?” The second man let out a sinister laugh. “My, my, we all started to assume you were just . . .” His voice drifted off as he mimed his finger going across his neck. Apparently four years spent living in the woods had no effect on his royal appearance. “Rubbing my finger on my throat?” Stirling said flatly.

You did have a lot of footballs," I remarked, my expression deadpan. When she realized what I was implying, I had to duck to the side to avoid being socked on the arm. "I'll leave Ruler of Balls to one of you guys," she said dryly. I chuckled. "But Queen of Balls has such a ring to it." "Ding dong," she said sarcastically. "Okay," I said. "Queen of Ding dongs—" "No," she cut me off. She was laughing so hard now, tears ran down her cheeks. She dabbed at her running mascara and laughed harder still.

The old lady nodded sadly. “I’m afraid that’s what will happen. Based upon my studies of the Glitch Queen’s conquest of various worlds of the multiverse, she will be coming after your worlds within the next month. But if you can get the Staff of Dominion away from her, she will lose her power. At least, that’s what I hope will happen.” “Is that all?” said Carl. “It sounds like a lot to me,” said Biff, his voice quavering. “I was being sarcastic,” said Carl. “Oh.

Malef, relax,” said Evil Queen. “You’re going to pop a vein and that is a look no one can rock.” Cruella cackled. “Did her face just move?” Maleficent asked Cruella, pointing at Evil Queen. Cruella used her thumb and forefinger to indicate “a little bit.” “Someone alert the media!” said Maleficent. “Hilarious,” said Evil Queen sarcastically.

It must be exhausting being a hopeless romantic with a dirty mind and sarcastic mouth,

Owen watched as the king prowled around the hall, choosing victim after victim. Age did not spare anyone from his barbed wit. His words were feints and thrusts, always sharp and always ready to draw blood. This was what Owen had to look forward to every day. To be wheedled and teased by a sarcastic king who used children as his royal food tasters.

Yeah!” Quinn said defiantly. “And I’m about to destroy your sick little plan here! And when I’m done doing that, I’ll tell the humans how your people are planning to betray them --!” “As if that will make much difference,” said the general calmly. “Humans can’t agree on how to run individual countries, let alone their entire planet. When the harvest begins, they won’t stand a chance against us. I’ve already given Dr. Zorgone permission to execute his plans for abduction. He has also been given strict orders to return you to me alive. Both of you. You must simply walk outside. There is nothing to fear.” “Yeah, I bet,” Quinn muttered sarcastically.

Rhi stood in the doorway and watched Henry. He was a fighter. Maybe that’s why she saved him. There was also a slim chance it was because he helped the Kings. “It’s a good thing you called me,” Usaeil, Queen of the Light, said as she came to stand beside Rhi. Rhi could’ve brought Henry to Usaeil’s manor on the west coast of Ireland, but then it would reveal to one and all power she’s managed to keep hidden from them. That was something she wanted to keep to herself. So she got Henry out of the prison and to the outskirts of Dublin. From there, it was simply a matter of asking Usaeil for help. Now all Rhi had to worry about was finding out how much Henry remembered. If he recalled seeing her teleport him out, then she would need to convince him to lie for her. Although Usaeil would want to know how Henry got out of his prison and how Rhi found him. Usaeil hadn’t begun those questions yet. But they were coming. “I’m glad you agreed to help,” Rhi said. Usaeil shoved her black hair over her shoulders and adjusted the coral sheath dress she wore. “He’s aiding the Kings. Why wouldn’t I help him?” Rhi wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn’t. “We might be Light, but we also use humans as the Dark do.” “We don’t kill them.” “No, we sleep with them once and ruin them for any other mortal. We don’t hurt them at all,” she said sarcastically, giving Usaeil a cutting look. Usaeil slid her silver eyes to Rhi. “I can easily toss Henry North out on his ass.” “Do it. What do I care?” “I think you care more than you’re ready to admit. Why else would you want to help him?” Usaeil sighed. “Rhi, we all know you went through hell at Balladyn’s hands. We know it’s going to take time for you to heal, but you will heal.” Rhi wasn’t so sure. She could feel the darkness within her, coiling and shifting. She had to fight to remember what she should do, instead of what the darkness wanted her to do. “Henry is healing nicely,” Rhi said, changing the subject. Usaeil nodded slowly. “His injuries were extensive. Had you not found him when you did, the internal bleeding would’ve killed him in a few hours. By the way, how did you find him again?” This was what Rhi had been waiting for. Everyone knew she couldn’t lie without feeling tremendous pain. She sank her nails into her palms, held Usaeil’s gaze and lied. “I found him in Dublin. As I said, I don’t know how he got there.” “So very odd.” The pain was gut wrenching. It twisted her insides and squeezed her lungs so that she couldn’t breath. Pain exploded inside her head. She began to shake. It was time for Rhi to change the subject again. “You should tell Con we have him.” The queen twisted her lips. “If I do, Con will want to come here and finish healing Henry himself, or want us to bring Henry to him. I’m not in the mood for either.” “Henry will be finished healing soon. What then? You want him to remain? In a place full of Light Fae?” Thankfully, the pain began to dull enough that Rhi could breath easier. “No,” Usaeil said with a frown. “Already his appearance has sparked interest. They’re trying to get in to see him. He’s a mortal, so he’ll succumb to any Fae he encounters.” Rhi took exception to that. “He’s stronger than that.” “He’s human, Rhi. Not a single one can resist us. It’s a fact. Henry is no different.” Rhi didn’t argue, but she knew she was right. Henry was different. She’d seen it the first time she met him in Con’s office months ago. He took in the fact his friends at Dreagan were actually dragon shifters with a nod, his solemn hazel eyes seeing things anew. She bit back a grin as she recalled how he’d become a little flustered when he saw her and learned who she was. Henry’s smile was charming, sweet . . . honest. He looked at her as if she were the only woman on the realm. Even though Rhi understood that it was the fact she was Fae that intrigued him, enthralled him, she took an instant liking to the human who never backed down.

coughed. Granny, you know I love Meg very much, and I’ve decided that I would like to ask her to marry me, and I’ve been told that, er, that I have to ask your permission before I can propose. You have to? Um. Well, yes, that’s what your staff tell me, and my staff as well. That I have to ask your permission. I stood completely still, as motionless as the birds in my hands. I stared at her face but it was unreadable. At last she replied: Well, then, I suppose I have to say yes. I squinted. You feel you have to say yes? Does that mean you are saying yes? But that you want to say no? I didn’t get it. Was she being sarcastic? Ironic? Deliberately cryptic? Was she indulging in a bit of wordplay? I’d never known Granny to do any wordplay, and this would be a surpassingly bizarre moment (not to mention wildly inconvenient) for her to start, but maybe she just saw the chance to play off my unfortunate use of the word “have” and couldn’t resist? Or else, perhaps there was some hidden meaning beneath the wordplay, some message I wasn’t comprehending? I stood there squinting, smiling, asking myself over and over: What is the Queen of England saying to me right now? At long last I realized: She’s saying yes, you muppet! She’s granting permission. Who cares how she words it, just know when to take yes for an answer. So I sputtered: Right. OK, Granny! Well. Fabulous. Thank you! Thank you so much. I wanted to hug her. I longed to hug her. I didn’t hug her. I saw her into the Range Rover, then marched back to Pa and Willy.

but none seemed remotely interested in the black SUV. The only person paying any attention to it was a meter man from the Department of Parking Enforcement, who stormed toward it with the zeal of a Navy SEAL team, already writing a ticket. “You can’t park that here!” he barked. “It’s a red zone!” Courtney lowered her window and glared at him. “I’m not parked. I’m idling! That’s allowable.” “Not on my watch,” the meter man huffed. “According to District Code 46a, subsection D, there is to be no blocking of the red zone for any amount of time for any purpose at all. . . .” “How about national security?” David Stern asked, rolling down his window. “You see, I’m the president of the United States.” “And I’m the queen of Sweden,” the meter man declared sarcastically. Unaware that he was facing the actual president, he dramatically ripped off the ticket and handed it to Courtney.

I know we agreed not to tell anyone--” “Yes, we did,” he snapped, walking over to my desk, not meeting my eyes. This was so uncharacteristic of him that I knew I had to proceed very carefully. “Please listen. We agreed not to tell anyone, but she’s my mother. She won’t breathe a word.” “How can you be sure?” I almost laughed, confused as to how he could question that. “Because she’s my mother! She raised me, Narian. I’ve always been able to trust her. Just believe me.” I paused, expecting him to respond, but he did not. Instead he feigned interest in the papers lying atop my desk. “Would you please look at me?” I gently prodded. His eyes found mine, but they were steely, skeptical and almost defiant, as though I had challenged him. “Narian,” I murmured, hoping something in my voice would drive away whatever instinct had awakened. Again and again, I was forced to acknowledge the extent of the Overlord’s reach; his shadow fell on Narian even now. It wasn’t Narian’s fault, though it was easy to become discouraged by it; eighteen years of someone’s tyranny was not easy to overcome, and was impossible to forget. “I’m sorry if this bothers you,” I said, stepping closer to him. “But there’s really no danger in her knowing.” “There is danger in her knowing.” He walked past me to the hearth, increasing the distance between us. “There always is when the information itself is dangerous. You didn’t have to tell her, Alera. I don’t understand why you did.” I bridled, feeling like he was scolding me. “I’m not a fool. I would never knowingly put us or this kingdom at risk. Don’t speak to me like you’re the only one who understands the need for discretion. I made a decision that you obviously don’t agree with, but that doesn’t make it wrong.” We stared at each other, our postures stiff, neither of us breaking the hush that had fallen over the room. “I didn’t mean to imply,” he finally muttered, without change in his expression. I hesitated, unable to determine if he were being sarcastic or sincere. When he glanced to the floor, I knew it was the latter. He approached me, stopping a few feet away--just out of reach. “But I don’t understand it, Alera. I honestly don’t.” I closed the remaining gap between us, not letting him maintain either physical or emotional distance, then laid a hand upon his chest, lightly scrunching the fabric of his shirt. “Haven’t you ever wanted to confide in someone?” He didn’t reply, disconcerted. He had, in fact, shared confidences with me, but it was always a struggle against his nature--against his training--to do so. After a few moments, he nodded, still not understanding, but unwilling to prolong the argument. “Can I take that as agreement to accompany me to my mother’s tea?” I teased, bringing a slight smile to his face. “Now that she knows about us, your willingness to come would mean a great deal to her. When we are married, you will, in her eyes, become her son.” He sighed, then nodded once more. By my guess, he was perplexed and intrigued enough by this last notion to risk an hour or two in the former Queen’s presence.

You can’t park that here!” he barked. “It’s a red zone!” Courtney lowered her window and glared at him. “I’m not parked. I’m idling! That’s allowable.” “Not on my watch,” the meter man huffed. “According to District Code 46a, subsection D, there is to be no blocking of the red zone for any amount of time for any purpose at all. . . .” “How about national security?” David Stern asked, rolling down his window. “You see, I’m the president of the United States.” “And I’m the queen of Sweden,” the meter man declared sarcastically.

You can’t park that here!” he barked. “It’s a red zone!” Courtney lowered her window and glared at him. “I’m not parked. I’m idling! That’s allowable.” “Not on my watch,” the meter man huffed. “According to District Code 46a, subsection D, there is to be no blocking of the red zone for any amount of time for any purpose at all. . . .” “How about national security?” David Stern asked, rolling down his window. “You see, I’m the president of the United States.” “And I’m the queen of Sweden,” the meter man declared sarcastically. Unaware that he was facing the actual president, he dramatically ripped off the ticket and handed it to Courtney.

On radio, the character’s name was Michael Waring. Each show began with a telephone ringing. It was always a woman calling. Waring, whose smooth voice was laced with a hint of the British, usually addressed her as “angel,” or some other endearment; inevitably he had to beg out of a date, using such excuses as “I’ve got to teach some gangsters that you can’t get away with murder, especially since the murder they want to get away with is mine.” This preceded the opening signature. Waring’s methods crossed somewhere between Ellery Queen and Richard Diamond: he had a certain eye for detail but was frequently on the outs with the cops. The police were usually portrayed as stumblebums, and Waring was quick to point that out in snappy, sarcastic dialogue.

He'd always had a sarcastic edge to his tongue, never been someone to take a compliment gracefully, but it was as if there was something about Ty Blackthorn that reached into him and untied all the careful knots of protection holding him together. He wondered if that was what people meant when they said they felt undone.