Snark Quotes

You can park your snark at the gate, Omaha.

Spike (to Giles) : Oh, poor Watcher. Did your life pass before your eyes — 'Cuppa tea, cuppa tea... almost got shagged... cuppa tea'?

And pictures of perfection, as you know, make me sick and wicked.

Miss Fitt, you know curiosity gets men killed." I grinned. "Then I daresay it's good I'm a woman.

Venom’s pupils contracted the instant before he slid his sunglasses back on. She couldn’t help it. “Why isn’t your tongue forked?” “Why can’t you fly?” A smirk. “Those things on your back aren’t accessories you know.

I am very tired of this Government, which I have never seen, and which is always insisting that I must do disagreeable things, and does no good to anybody.

If the apocalypse comes...beep me!

A little snark, properly directed, can change the world.

All she could think of as she turned the key was, they were real. Jabberwockys and Bandersnatches and all the fucking Snarks. Boojums for sure. Maybe she had entered the Twilight Zone, but this shit was as real as real gets.

Johnny, he is bounce, effort, and snark. Mirren, she is sugar, curiosity, and rain. Gat, he was contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee. I could have looked at him forever.

You will never find me in trouble. You will find me in the library. If you can remember where that is.

What do you want, MacGuffin, a duel?” “No.” Julian held out both hands, one palm flat, the other held over it in a fist. “Rock, paper, scissors. Two out of three.” Ty rolled his eyes and held out his fist, apparently willing to play. Julian hit his palm three times, and Ty kept time with his fist in the air. But when Julian threw a paper, Ty reached into his jacket with his other hand and pulled his gun, aiming it at Julian. “Ty!” Zane said in exasperation from the front seat. “Glock, paper, scissors. I win.” “You are an ass,” Julian muttered.

How many kids are in the Graveyard?" "A bunch." "Who sends your supplies?" "George Washington. Or is it Abraham Lincoln? I forget." "How often do you receive new arrivals?" "About as often as you beat your wife.

Where would he go?” Liam asked as he led them through the hallways, looking for a back exit. “You’re asking us to think like Ty?” Owen snorted. “I don’t think that’s possible; my brain isn’t powered by squirrels on treadmills.

He is bounce, effort and snark.

Jeff Beachum, Sergeant of Snark, Wielder of Witticism, Dominator of the Double Entendre, completely ran out of things to say.

Public opinion, in its raw state, gushes out in the immemorial form of the mob's fear. It is piped into central factories, and there it is flavored and colored, and put into cans.

Way I figure it, if I'm forced to have a partner, might as well have one with benefits. If you're annoying me, fucking you will be more satisfying than punching you." Prophet grinned, then added slyly, "And I could punch you afterwards.

Yeah, Cardan should definitely trust you more. You seem really trustworthy. It's not like you're actually currently betraying him.

Why aren’t you dressed like a leopard with butterfly wings, or a unicorn?” A sliver of a grin. “Not even Legend could make me dress like a unicorn.” “But unicorns are magical, and then all the ladies would want to pet you.

You’ve missed a lot of things. But mostly I think you’ve missed several opportunities to leave. Let me assist you to the door so that you won’t miss this next one.

True cynics kill themselves. The rest are posers, trying to use clever sarcasm and snarky remarks to hide insecurity and the fear that if they put themselves out there, they will fail.

Hell, right now my only weapons were Obnoxious and Snark, and I intended to use them whenever possible.

For the snark was a boojum, you see.

Because I want to have sex with him--and because that's sinful--I'm blushing and flushing furiously under his scrutinizing scrutiny.

That's my girl," he murmured. "I'm not your girl." "Well," he said not bothering to hide his smile from her sightless eyes, "the good news is that the honey gave you back your sparkling personality." "And the bad news?" "The honey gave you back your sparkling personality.

Do you know where Jason is?” she asked Dmitri when they exited the morgue. Dmitri pressed the car remote to unlock the flame red Ferrari parked in the employees-only lot. “Tired of your Bluebell already?” A tendril of champagne circled around her senses, cut with something far harder. Never had she felt that harsh edge in Dmitri’s scent. She pitied the woman he took to his bed today. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m building a harem.

Cleverness is like rouge - liberal application makes a woman look common and desperate. Wit is knowing how to apply it.

People who use snark attacks confuse cleverness with cruelty.

Kate stood by the door with her arms crossed. That was an anti-Curran pose. What the hell was the Beast Lord doing here? I padded to the door. “First, you didn’t come home.” Curran’s voice held zero humor. “Second, I’m told that my mate is lingering in Raphael’s house. There can’t be any good reason for you to be here.” “Are you spying on me, Your Furriness?” Kate asked.

Want a closer look? (Tate) Like a screwdriver through my eye socket. Sure, let’s have a look-see. (Simone) Ooo, welcome back, Ms. Snark. I’ve missed you. (Tate)

I understand that you don’t want to marry me,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know why, since I’m simply delightful to be around. But to each his own taste.

He looked a bit more confused by Stevie and David, but nodded politely. “I’m a watch ad,” David said. “She’s a hipster grandpa. Together, we solve crime.

You don't have to make fun of it." "Actually I do," I said. "I make fun of almost everything.

So we say, “Maybe it’s safer to just stay here. Even if it’s not true enough, maybe it’s good enough.” But good enough is what makes people drink too much and snark too much and become bitter and sick and live in quiet desperation until they lie on their deathbed and wonder: What kind of life/relationship/family/world might I have created if I’d been braver?

Vampire Willow: "Bored now.

You going to let him talk to me like that?” Driggs said to Lex. “Defend my honor, woman.” “Defend your own honor,

Johnny, he is bounce, effort, and snark. Mirren, she is sugar, curiousity, and rain. Gat was contemplation and enthusiam. Ambition and strong coffee. My liars.

Hungry licked her spoon and then pointed it at me. 'Aren't you forgetting the dishes?' she asked. 'Absolutely not,' I said. 'I'll remember the dishes as long as I live. See you later, Hungry.

Like most people raised on American movies, I have poor access to my emotions, but can banter like a motherfucker.

If I had but the time and you had but the brain

Could you bite back your complaints? You're fucking with my run." "Your run is fucking with my ability to complain," Tom called back.

Once upon a time there was a king who had three beautiful daughters. No, no, wait. Once upon a time there were three bears who lived in a wee house in the woods. Once upon a time there were three soldiers, tramping together down the road after the war. Once upon a time there were three little pigs. Once upon a time there were three brothers. No, this is it. This is the variation I want. Once upon a time there were three Beautiful children, two boys and a girl. When each baby was born, the parents rejoiced, the heavens rejoiced, even the fairies rejoiced. The fairies came to christening parties and gave the babies magical gifts. Bounce, effort, and snark. Contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee. Sugar, curiosity, and rain. And yet, there was a witch. There's always a witch. This which was the same age as the beautiful children, and as she and they grew, she was jealous of the girl, and jealous of the boys, too. They were blessed with all these fairy gifts, gifts the witch had been denied at her own christening. The eldest boy was strong and fast, capable and handsome. Though it's true, he was exceptionally short. The next boy was studious and open hearted. Though it's true, he was an outsider. And the girl was witty, Generous, and ethical. Though it's true, she felt powerless. The witch, she was none of these things, for her parents had angered the fairies. No gifts were ever bestowed upon her. She was lonely. Her only strength was her dark and ugly magic. She confuse being spartan with being charitable, and gave away her possessions without truly doing good with them. She confuse being sick with being brave, and suffered agonies while imagining she merited praise for it. She confused wit with intelligence, and made people laugh rather than lightening their hearts are making them think. Hey magic was all she had, and she used it to destroy what she most admired. She visited each young person in turn in their tenth birthday, but did not harm them out right. The protection of some kind fairy - the lilac fairy, perhaps - prevented her from doing so. What she did instead was cursed them. "When you are sixteen," proclaimed the witch in a rage of jealousy, "you shall prick your finger on a spindle - no, you shall strike a match - yes, you will strike a match and did in its flame." The parents of the beautiful children were frightened of the curse, and tried, as people will do, to avoid it. They moved themselves and the children far away, to a castle on a windswept Island. A castle where there were no matches. There, surely, they would be safe. There, Surely, the witch would never find them. But find them she did. And when they were fifteen, these beautiful children, just before their sixteenth birthdays and when they're nervous parents not yet expecting it, the jealous which toxic, hateful self into their lives in the shape of a blonde meeting. The maiden befriended the beautiful children. She kissed him and took them on the boat rides and brought them fudge and told them stories. Then she gave them a box of matches. The children were entranced, for nearly sixteen they have never seen fire. Go on, strike, said the witch, smiling. Fire is beautiful. Nothing bad will happen. Go on, she said, the flames will cleanse your souls. Go on, she said, for you are independent thinkers. Go on, she said. What is this life we lead, if you did not take action? And they listened. They took the matches from her and they struck them. The witch watched their beauty burn, Their bounce, Their intelligence, Their wit, Their open hearts, Their charm, Their dreams for the future. She watched it all disappear in smoke.

Words cannot express my disappointment that I must pass on the invitation to once again witness your gelatinous buttocks swaying as you try to climb a greased pole naked in search of athletic glory. Sadly, the last occasion on which I witnessed this event had a deleterious effect on my psyche for which I am still seeking the attention of a therapist. A.C. Kemp as Lady Arabella Snark

My inner goddess confirms that staring at a beautiful/rich/powerful face is the basis of True Love.

Gabi glared. "If you want to add some variety to your sex life, why don't you just use your other hand?

You didn’t feed from her,” he said, and this was not a question. “Swill poison? Not my kind of fun, little brother.” One corner of Stefan’s mouth quirked up. He made no response to this, but simply looked at Damon with eyes that were... knowing. Damon bridled. “I told the truth!” “Going to take it up as a hobby?

You planning on having that god complex of yours looked at any time soon?” I snark. “Or are we all just supposed to live with it?” “Wow. You’ve been awake fifteen minutes and you’ve called me a drama queen and now accused me of having a god complex.” He raises his brows. “You sure you’re not mad at me?

The day you ever have that much control over my behavior, it will be because somebody's asking you, should she get the pine box or a plain white shroud?

Lindworms are a sign of a healthy ecosystem,” I said, straightening. “Now let’s get out of here before the healthy ecosystem eats us.

People who use snark attacks confuse cleverness with cruelty.

Oh god, what now? Are you in jail? Being held by the IRA? Stuck on a reef in the Caribbean?" "Wow," Kelly said. "That's uncalled for." Zane laughed. "I thought being engaged to Ty gave me some extra snark privileges.

Roger Ebert calls snarking “cultural vandalism.” He’s right. Snark makes culture impossible, or rather, it makes the conditions that make culture possible impossible. Earnestness, honesty, vulnerability: These are the targets of snark. “Snark functions as a device to punish human spontaneity, eccentricity, nonconformity, and simple error. Everyone is being snarked into line,” he wrote.

Rook Thomas, you look different somehow." "Well, I recently got the shit kicked out of me," she said. "Ah, that would be it then.

What I tell you three times is true.

I always thought I caught you in . . . a phase. His left eyebrow makes a fancy arch. Apparently you're just like this.

What’s life like in the mountains?” “Why would you care?” Rhys snapped. “I’m wondering if everyone there is as grim as you. Two weeks is a long time. Are you ever going to smile?” “Are you going to keep asking stupid questions?” “On a regular basis.

OK snark, settle. You're telling me you don't have the tiniest crush on him? Tell the truth, Grace," she said, cornering me over by the dishwasher. "I don't have a crush," I debated. "Well, maybe I have half a crush. I have a 'cruh'," I admitted, giggling. "But it's strickly Joshua inspired," I added, knowing that was not entirely true.

We don't have dealings. He just stalks me. I'm popular like that.

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care; They pursued it with forks and hope; They threatened its life with a railway-share; They charmed it with smiles and soap.

John: I'm experiencing an odd sensation. I think it might be patriotism. Spitfire: Steady. Too much of that can damage your health.

This was charming, no doubt; but they shortly found out That the Captain they trusted so well Had only one notion for crossing the ocean, And that was to tingle his bell.

Everybody better stay out of my way because I’m steamrollering my way through this town, powered on snark.

Snark encourages the fakeness and stupidity it is supposedly trying to rail against.

He's asleep in the harbor, disguised as dog shit.

Go make love to a tube sock.

You’re a wild and disobedient girl with violence impulses who chafes at authority and your thin veneer of polished civility has all the transparency of a whore’s nightgown.

He is a pimple on the cock of humanity

A lot of people have it in for me. It's practically a school sport.

Boys", Buffy hissed through clenched teeth, "being quiet is an important part of sneaking." "Oh, sorry", Xander said, reducing his voice to a whisper. "Besides, ritual sacrifice is a religious rite", Giles went on quietly. "They wouldn't sacrifice just anyone at random. It's far more likely they'd suspect you of being a Roman spy scouting for the invasion and just outright kill you". "Oh great! Great! Way to be encouraging Giles. And I suppose you'll just watch that happen, in your Watchery way.

As distasteful as it is to decline your invitation, I'm afraid that it is preferable to attending yet another half-assed weekend eating gunky canapes in that cesspool of a shack you call a beach cottage.

Look, this is helping me out quite a bit, but could you just get to the punishment part? We're at the end of World War Two in history, and I can't wait to find out who wins.

That’s me, keeping things bitchy from open to close.” I turned around and gave him my customer service smile.

Trust me.” A dangerous request. Trusting Red usually resulted in a near-death experience.

The Snark eventually ran out of fuel and crashed somewhere in the Amazonian rain forests of Brazil.

Snark is a fabulous defense mechanism.

Has anyone sen Mr Snark " "I saw him in the tunnel about 15 minutes ago." "Oh no " wailed Dr Ferman "he will have been atomised." "Oh dear" muttered an MP. "Bye-election.

It was lucky that snarking at Luke was habit by now: Elliot remembered a line from a book he’d read once, that habit was second nature, and nature stronger than the first. It was a comfort, to have a natural expression rather than one he had to pin on.

Snark often functions as an enforcer of mediocrity and conformity. In its cozy knowingness, snark flatters you by assuming that you get the contemptuous joke. You've been admitted, or readmitted, to a club, though it may be the club of the second-rate.

The following Discourse [on art, by Sir Joshua Reynolds] is particularly Interesting to Blockheads as it endeavours to prove that There is No such thing as Inspiration & that any Man of a plain Understanding may by Thieving from Others become a Mich Angelo.

But good enough is what makes people drink too much and snark too much and become bitter and sick and live in quiet desperation until they lie on their deathbed and wonder: What kind of life/relationship/family/world might I have created if I’d been braver?

When you hand-wash my shirt, be sure to let it soak, you thug." "Yes, dear," Eli said, accepting his weapons from Nunez, who clearly didn't know what to make of us or our relationship. "He's my brother," I said to Nunez. "You can see the resemblance in the jawline and the snark line.

You told me, girlfriend. Will your boyfriend be jealous we're tossing bitchy banter back and forth?

If God gave Dad Alzheimer’s, He’s got to understand when Dad forgets what church he belongs to.

I don't know whether to punch you or kiss you." "A combination of both is usually the best," Prophet advised.

Oh, do shut up, Martha. Wearing sensible shoes doesn’t make a woman a feminist or a lesbian any more than wearing that hideous yellow dress makes you a goddamn banana,” Violet snarked, shaking her head. “I swear with women like you, I don’t know why my mother fought so hard to win the right to vote.

I felt Leo's hand on my face, cool and smooth and utterly inhuman. He stroked back my hair, and his voice was curiously gentle when he said, "I would have been most . . . discommoded had you died." "Yeah. That's why I stay alive," I said, my native snark coming back online, as if I had rebooted that file, "to keep you from being 'discommoded'." I'd have to look that one up.

Grace Murphy, defender of the downtrodden! Snarking one villain at a time with her acerbic wit and pointy boobs! If there was going to be super-natural mojo involved in my life, the least I could ask for was non-sagging boobs.

I'm independent and fierce, but I'm not stupid. To actually be a strong character, you have to have more than snark and stubbornness—you have to have brains. And I am beyond determined to be better than half the girls I read about.

How devastated I am to say that I will not be present at your petite soiree on June 10th. Unfortunately, the exceptionally weak drinks you ordinarily serve at these occasions are not sufficient to dull my senses to your boyfriend's futile efforts to grope me in the hallway.

Such a sweet letter from Lady Conway... You remember my telling you about her? Her memory's bad. Can't recognize her relations always and tells them to go away." "That might be shrewdness really," said Miss Marple, "rather than a loss of memory.

For instance, take the two words "fuming" and "furious." Make up your mind that you will say both words, but leave it unsettled which you will say first. Now open your mouth and speak. If your thoughts incline ever so little towards " fuming," you will say "fuming-furious;" if they turn, by even a hair's breadth, towards "furious," you will say "furious-fuming;" but if you have the rarest of gifts, a perfectly balanced mind, you will say "frumious.

I'm sorry I missed the meeting and hurt your little feely-weels okay?

When words come out of your mouth, do your ears just block all incoming sound waves?

I’d like to give you a going-away present . . . but you have to do your part.

Of course I’d like to help you out. Which way did you come in?

The jury’s still out on your level of intellect. After all, you signed up with Evil Incorporated in the first place.

Again, the first "o" in "borogoves" is pronounced like the "o" in "borrow." I have heard people try to give it the sound of the "o" in "worry". Such is Human Perversity.

For a killer, you are not overly ruthless. You should probably work on that before you next decide to kill someone.

Happy!" retorted Christopher. "What would you do if you met your best friend in hell? Say you were happy to know he was there, too, and isn't the pitch hot?

Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes: A thing, as the Bellman remarked, That frequently happens in tropical climes, When a vessel is, so to speak, "snarked.

Snark functions as a device to punish human spontaneity, eccentricity, nonconformity, and simple error. Everyone is being snarked into line,

We’ve known each other for a while,” I said. “And our feelings just ... blossomed.” “Like fungus off rotted meat?” Josh snarked.

To those about to snark, we salute you.

It would be great to find a nice tree to sit under and talk, but most trees these days are rude, and their conversations are filled with snarky sarcasm. I blame Meme Culture.

It would be nice to find a nice tree to sit under and talk, but most trees these days are rude, and their conversations are filled with snarky sarcasm. I blame Meme Culture.

Just the place for a Snark! I have said it twice: That alone should encourage the crew. Just the place for a Snark! I have said it thrice: What I tell you three times is true.

How you are single is suddenly very clear to me. Pretty face, nice ass, but dumb as a box of fucking rocks,” she snarks back.

If there’s any greater exhibit of the malleability of human nature than the sight of someone standing, absently waiting for the light to change at a deserted intersection, I don’t know what it is.

I always wonder why condescending snarkiness is the chosen method of communication for so many forum users. It seems to me like these things would be much better expressed in non-confrontational, polite manner.

Woman, you got a mouth on you." "It's not 1955 any longer. Women swear as much as men." "I miss women who talk about women things." "You're changing the subject. Keep it up and I'll talk about my period. That's a woman thing.

Things were about to change. If nothing changed, I wouldn't be writing this down because this is a book about the time when everything changed. And isn't that what every book is about? No, seriously, isn't it? I don't read books.

Since he couldn't give in to what he really wanted from Kady Dresco, he picked on her and snarked at her and generally gave her grief. And she gave it right back. Sometimes he thought they were engaged in one long round of mental foreplay.

It's no use going back to yesterday , because I was a different person then.

We do not have to visit a madhouse to find disordered minds; our planet is the mental institution of the universe.

He was my age and in my imagination he was a fireman, not the kind that actually fights fires but the kind who travels the country shirtless posing for calendars.

I can’t believe he’s making you wait till January for an appointment.” “I could threaten to bomb the school. That’d get me in quicker.

I’d like to see things from your point of view, but I can’t seem to get my head that far up my ass. ◆

Ah, Proph." Tom paused. "You did have a nightmare last night." "And here I thought maybe I dreamed it," Prophet muttered sarcastically.

◆ Do you want people to accept you as you are ... or do you want them to like you?

Call me babe again, and I’ll slit your throat,” she said, the sweetness in her voice a direct contradiction to the daggers she gave him.

Another thing about pain - it renders you incapable of bullshit.

What's the good of Mercator's North Poles and Equators, Tropics, Zones, and Meridian Lines?" So the Bellman would cry: and the crew would reply "They are merely conventional signs!

He bowed. "You hear correctly." His gaze didn't leave her, the examination making her skin crawl. He shook his head. "Astonishing. I never imagined I'd meet a real Nahid." Nahri gritted her teeth. "Occasionally we're allowed out to terrify the populace.

Rumors had their own classic epidemiology. Each started with a single germinating event. Information spread from that point, mutating and interbreeding—a conical mass of threads, expanding into the future from the apex of their common birthplace. Eventually, of course, they'd wither and die; the cone would simply dissipate at its wide end, its permutations senescent and exhausted. There were exceptions, of course. Every now and then a single thread persisted, grew thick and gnarled and unkillable: conspiracy theories and urban legends, the hooks embedded in popular songs, the comforting Easter-bunny lies of religious doctrine. These were the memes: viral concepts, infections of conscious thought. Some flared and died like mayflies. Others lasted a thousand years or more, tricked billions into the endless propagation of parasitic half-truths.

I am fluent in snark. Bethany only notices snark when snark grabs her off the sidewalk, throws her in the back of a sketchy van with tinted windows, drives to the middle of the Meadow-lands in the dead of night, and uses a heavy blunt instrument to smack her repeatedly about the head as it screams, “I’M SNARK. DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME? I’M SNARKY SNARKY SNARK!” And even then she’s like, “Ohhhh? Snark? Is that you?

Let's get rid of those fucking ghosts once and for all, Proph. We tried burying them, but that never works. So how about we just set them free?" "And let them go into the light, Carol Anne?" "And just like that, you're a goddamned bastard again." But Tom was smiling as he said it.

No one ever stops to ask glue how it’s holding up. If it’s tired of sticking things together or worried about falling apart or wondering how it will pay its bills next week. Kenji is kind of like that. He’s like glue. He works behind the scenes to keep things together and I’ve never stopped to think about what his story might be. Why he hides behind the jokes and the snark and the snide remarks. But he was right. Everything he said to me was right. Yesterday was a good idea. I needed to get away, to get out, to be productive. And now I need to take Kenji’s advice and get over myself. I need to get my head straight.

I didn't ask to see you. You sent for me. I don't mind your ritzing me or drinking your lunch out of a Scotch bottle. I don't mind your showing me your legs. They're very swell legs and it's a pleasure to make their acquaintance. I don't mind if you don't like my manners. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings. But don't waste your time trying to cross-examine me.

Flirt with the old ladies and you’ll be fine,” I muttered, shoving my stuff into the cubby. He hung his green hoodie on the hooks right beside me. “Is that how you get by?” “Doesn’t work on the old ladies for me, but the old men on the other hand?” I paused and glanced at my nails. “Yeah, doesn’t work on them either.

He grabbed the back of my parka,but I got the distinct impression he was not trying to be a gentleman by helping me out of it.He just wanted his parka back. "When you feel cornered,you'll just fling whatever you've got at people, and you don't care who gets hurt with what." "I am not scared." I slid down from the truck seat into Liz's stepdad's galoshes, then turned to face Nick one last time. "I am not scared of boarding or you,and I will prove it to you tomorrow.If you think I'm going easy on you in the comp just because you have a debilitating injury from yesterday-" "That's what you think," he snarked. "I've been going yoga." "-you have another think coming.You will buy me those Poser tickets. And I'm not even taking you.You will hand the tickets over to me,and I'll take someone else." "Who? Your little brother's friends?" "No,Everett Walsh." I closed the door softly behind me so as not to alarm sleeping adults,because I was that mature. Even through the door and the rolled up window,I could clearly hear every filthy work Nick uttered, ending with, "Everett [cuss word] Walsh." I opened the passenger door. "Ask not for whom the fire-crotch burns;it burns for thee!" I'd meant this to be an insult.Then I realized it sounded like I wanted Nick.Or like I had a feminine problem.

As expected, the church lady grumbled something incoherent and put Bridget’s call on hold. A peppy rendition of “City of God” blared as hold music just long enough for Bridget to start to sing along with the chorus. Catholic brainwashing at its best.

They told me you had been to her, And mentioned me to him: She gave me a good character, But said I could not swim. He sent them word I had not gone (We know it to be true): If she should push the matter on, What would become of you? I gave her one, they gave him two, You gave us three or more; They all returned from him to you, Though they were mine before. If I or she should chance to be Involved in this affair, He trusts to you to set them free, Exactly as we were. My notion was that you had been (Before she had this fit) An obstacle that came between Him, and ourselves, and it. Don't let him know she liked them best, For this must ever be A secret, kept from all the rest, Between yourself and me.' –

Don’t take another fucking step near my Bond or I’ll rip your fucking throat out with my bare teeth.” I wonder which one of the crew has been stupid enough to try to approach us because he cannot be talking to one of the Dravens like that, but then Nox says, snark dripping down his words, “She’s my Bond as well.” Atlas scoffs. “No, she’s your punching bag, your favorite victim. She’s the default villain in every one of your stories. You move even an inch closer and I’ll take the whole fucking plane out to stop you. No more warnings.

I detest goodbyes. That is, with people I like.

Hello, Mrs. Tran...I have David's homework. And if you ever want to see it again, you'll pay me the two million dollars I asked for.

Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?

Todos estamos prontos para pensar que há algo de errado no processo mental de quem discorda de nós.

My dominant (no pun intended) discourse seems to be needy as fuck.

We are all prone to think there is something wrong with the mental processes of the man who disagrees with us.

I could help you,” I said. “Counseling, drugs, a religious advisor, a girlfriend.

Sherrie would be there, and the last time I’d seen her at a social event she burst into tears when she saw me and ran out of the room. You’re upset, I’d yelled after her, meanly.

The leadoff batter for the Minnesota Twins hit a foul ball into the stands and struck his mother. He will spend the rest of the season in his room.

Don’t piss me off today, I’m running out of places to hide bodies.

The guy had guts—I had to give him that. Later on I was hoping for a first-hand look at them.

The thing I like most of all is personal achievement--not achievement for the world's applause, but achievement for my own delight.

SHANNON: A man can die of panic. HANNAH: Not if he enjoys it as much as you, Mr Shannon.

She glanced to him and patted the seat beside her. “I only bite on Tuesdays. You’re safe.

A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named) Remarked, when I bade him farewell—” “Oh, skip your dear uncle!” the Bellman exclaimed, As he angrily tingled his bell.

Si solamente hablases cuando alguien te preguntase, y si la otra persona siempre esperase que fueses tú quien iniciases la conversación, nunca nadie diría nada.

Di siempre la verdad: piensa antes de hablar y escribe lo que digas después.

Tell me you aren't crying. My whole image of you as a bad-ass warrior is crumbling.

Do y’all know he has a giant library with shelves that reach the ceiling?” “Of course, he does,” snarked Violet. “Bitches love libraries.

You’re bossy, with a sarcastic snark.” “What’s the problem with that?” I stammer in outrage. “Well, I’m bossy and sarcastic.” He shrugs. “And?” “And I don’t want to date myself.

And for the record, you had me with your tenacious snark. You are indeed, my girl.

Ditto,” Ethan said, a surprising amount of venom in his voice. I bit back a proud smile; he seemed to be adopting a little of my snark.

The trouble with today's snarky pipsqueaks who break off a sentence or two, or who write a couple of mean paragraphs, is that they don't go far enough; they don't have a coherent view of life. Spinning around in the media from moment to moment, they don't stand for anything, push for anything; they're mere opportunists without dedication, and they don't win any victories.

This “who’s on top” banter continues until one wrestler (who has slyly gone to hide behind a chair) leaps upon his rival with an animal cry. The pair then proceeds to create a series of tableaux that appear to be from the Kama Sutra, Vatsyayana's ancient Indian textbook of carnal satisfaction. Occasionally, the tension is broken by a wrestler who picks up a large object, such as a table, to throw on the other's head, as if suddenly disgusted by his forbidden love.

Snark is what people on the inside call any attempt at protest from people on the outside. I hate it on principle, as do all Columbia professors, Catholic priests, and Mississippi Klansmen.

In Lewis Carroll’s poem, when the hunters finally capture the deceptive Snark, it reveals itself not to be a foreign beast, but one of the human hunters sent to trap it. And so it had turned out with cancer. Cancer genes came from within the human genome. Indeed the Greeks had been peculiarly prescient yet again in their use of the term oncos. Cancer was intrinsically “loaded” in our genome.

As a gentleman- assuming you still have some pretensions in that direction- of honor- again, perhaps presumptuous, but still supposing your passing acquaintance with the concept- it is your duty- I won't even trouble to speculate here, but remain naively hopeful- to protect those under your care.

How the hell did you know where I was?" Prophet demanded. Cillian said simply, "Don't bother searching your phone for chips." "Then how did you know?" "Prophet, I know everything." Fuck him. Cillian did.

A woman is driving along when the car in front of her hits the brakes suddenly, and she plows into it. An extremely short man gets out, looks at the damage, and says, “I’m not happy ...” “Well, which one are you?

Subtlety #1: Not giving a fuck does not mean being indifferent; it means being comfortable with being different. Let’s be clear. There’s absolutely nothing admirable or confident about indifference. People who are indifferent are lame and scared. They’re couch potatoes and Internet trolls. In fact, indifferent people often attempt to be indifferent because in reality they give way too many fucks. They give a fuck about what everyone thinks of their hair, so they never bother washing or combing it. They give a fuck about what everyone thinks of their ideas, so they hide behind sarcasm and self-righteous snark. They’re afraid to let anyone get close to them, so they imagine themselves as some special, unique snowflake who has problems that nobody else would ever understand. Indifferent people are afraid of the world and the repercussions of their own choices. That’s why they don’t make any meaningful choices. They hide in a gray, emotionless pit of their own making, self-absorbed and self-pitying, perpetually distracting themselves from this unfortunate thing demanding their time and energy called life. Because here’s a sneaky truth about life. There’s no such thing as not giving a fuck. You must give a fuck about something. It’s part of our biology to always care about something and therefore to always give a fuck.

Never fear,” Julian drawled, leaning back with his palms pressing into the rug. “The house is not on fire, your daughter hasn’t ingested six different types of poison, and I haven’t managed to beat your high score in Tetris.

[Dagley] had also taken too much in the shape of muddy political talk, a stimulant dangerously disturbing to his farming conservatism, which consisted in holding that whatever is, is bad, and any change is likely to be worse.

How bad do you want cancer? Bad enough to eat a rainbow of it? Personally, I think the red cancer would be the worst, but anything you swallow with artificial hues in it is going to pop a tumor out of your body the day after you eat it.

Fury said to a mouse, That he met in the house, "Let us both go to law: I will prosecute you.—Come, I'll take no denial; We must have a trial: For really this morning I've nothing to do." Said the mouse to the cur, "Such a trial, dear Sir, With no jury or judge, would be wasting our breath." "I'll be judge, I'll be jury," Said cunning old Fury: "I'll try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.

Thoughtful conversations have been substituted by social media snark and insult, where your opponent is assumed to have the worst intentions—simply because they are an opponent. Fairness and due process have been supplanted by self-righteous hysteria and public shaming. The meme has replaced good argument, the tweet has replaced the well-reasoned op-ed, and the op-ed has replaced objective journalism. The result is nothing short of information chaos, a culture of contempt, and a deep sense of unhappiness that is blamed on everyone but ourselves

I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I spin to leave. “No fucking way.” It clicks in his mind. “Little Vee?” Here he is. “You’re that girl Finn and I used to…” He doesn’t complete his sentence, but I know all too well what he was going to say. “Annoy? Tease? Torture? Why, yes, that would be me. Did you seriously just figure that out? A bit slow, are we?” I snark. My outburst only seems to amuse him. “Look, in my defense, your mom only ever called you ‘Vee.’ I thought it was short for Vicky or Vivian or something. And it was ten years ago. I can’t even remember what I had for dinner last night.” “Whatever.” I shrug. “Shit, I’ve got to say, Vee.” He gives me a once-over. “Puberty did you a solid.” My cheeks combust. “Wish I could say the same about you,” I lie through my teeth. Xavier smiles at my failed attempt to deny the undeniable. Let’s not pretend like puberty didn’t do every female on earth a solid when Xavier Emery went from “cute” to “sinfully hot” in the span of a summer. “I think you mispronounced thank you.” He flashes a smug grin that makes me want to knee him where it hurts.

He was an Angel.  He walked in Grace.  When you meet one—and I’m sure someday you will—you’ll know it, too.  When he told me, it was, just, well, giving voice to something I already knew on a level.” “And how did you know for sure?”  I asked. “Did you see his halo?” “Do you want to cut down on the snark?   I’m your mother.  Given the events of the last two days, I’d think you’d be more inclined to take my word for it.” She had me there. “Besides, he did show me his—ah—true self.” “Is that a euphemism for penis?  Please let it not be a euphemism for penis.  You are talking about my dad.” “No, it’s not a euphemism.  I mean he showed me his Angel form.

He grabbed the legs and addressed their owner... current owner anyway. "Hold still. I'll get you out in a second." Then he hissed at me "Trash goes in the garbage can, Zeke, not people." It was clear to me this guy was trash, but Griffin probably wanted to sort him into paper, plastic, glass, and human waste of space. See? Psychotic.

He shakes his head and his mouth is quirked at one corner. I can't tell if he thinks I am sort of amusing or truly pathetic. It's especially hard to tell because we are both looking resolutely at the teacher so she can't accuse us of not paying attention. We talk out of the sides of our mouths, like gangsters in those old movies my dad likes to watch.

It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then. _Alice in wonderland

He was thoughtful and grave----but the order he gave, were enough to bewilder a crew.

...It was borne in upon her audience that the outside of Jane's charming head was distinctly superior to the inside.

A vida que é vivida é uma vida com sucesso e o sucesso é como o ar que se respira.

there was a real one, blazing away as brightly as the one she

Zane Parata,” she said, settling into the seat opposite him. “I thought you’d gotten swallowed up in a twister and settled among the indigenous people of Oz.

The first "o" in "borogoves" is pronounced like the "o" in "borrow." I have heard people try to give it the sound of the "o" in "worry". Such is Human Perversity.

Carla was wearing a No Fear sweatshirt. You are too old, Amy wanted to tell her, for legible clothing.

Yes, Troy, I’m tired. And do you want to know why?” She raised her brows, cocking her head on an angle to give him a full dose of attitude. “Cause I was riding Blake all night long.

Oh, but my netherling side did, and she casts my human armor aside. She guides my hands, knots my fingers through his hair, teases his tongue with hers. She won’t let me pull away, because she wants to be there again. In Wonderland, where his tobacco-flavored kisses always take us . . . Because the things I loathe are the things she adores: His snark, his infuriating condescension. His menacing mastery of half-truths and riddles. The way he shoves me into the face of danger, forces me to look beyond my fears and reach for my full potential. Most of all, because he encourages me to believe in the madness ...in her . . . the darker side of myself: the queen who was born to reign over the Red kingdom and to give Wonderland a legacy of dreams and imagination. His gloved palms seek the bend of my waist, the bow of my hips. He moves me on top of him, so close there’s not enough space for a blade of grass between us. His kisses grow insistent, desperate. His flavor winds through me, fruit and smoke and earth, and other things born of shadows and storms . . . things I can’t put a name to.

Because the things I loathe are the things she adores: His snark, his infuriating condescension. His menacing mastery of half-truths and riddles. The way he shoves me into the face of danger, forces me to look beyond my fears and reach for my full potential. Most of all, because he encourages me to believe in the madness . . . in her . . . the darker side of myself:

Everyone is a troll now. If you’ve ever liked or shared a meme that wished violence on someone you’d never met, if you’ve ever decided it was okay to snarl and snark with venom because the target was “powerful,” if you’ve ever tried to signal your virtue by piling on in an outrage mob, if you’ve ever wrung your hands and expressed concern that perhaps the money raised for some victim should have gone to some other less “privileged” victim—then I hate to break it to you, you’ve also been trolling.

It was an exquisite kind of torture, cycling through those posts. Merritt judged the clothing, the poses, the captions, the hashtags, all with a level of snark and bile that embarrassed her. She felt immensely sorry for herself, and then immediately congealed thst feeling into one of self-loathing. Why the fuck did she care? What was any of this for and why couldn’t she leave it alone and do something worth doing? But she didn’t. She’d eat some things. Fall asleep for awhile. And the next night she’d haunt again.

Why does a horse need to steal a horse?” Taylan held the reins of the bay stallion while Zad swung into the saddle of his new acquisition—a dapple gray that threatened to bite anyone who came within easy reach. “Why would I run the whole way when someone else can do the work?” Zad settled onto the gray stallion’s back and smacked the horse’s nose as it nipped at his leg. “It looks like you two will get along perfectly.” “Shut up and start destroying things so we can get out of here.” Zad urged the scowling horse into the cover of the trees.

As I write these lines I lift my eyes and look seaward.  I am on the beach of Waikiki on the island of Oahu.  Far, in the azure sky, the trade-wind clouds drift low over the blue-green turquoise of the deep sea.  Nearer, the sea is emerald and light olive-green.  Then comes the reef, where the water is all slaty purple flecked with red.  Still nearer are brighter greens and tans, lying in alternate stripes and showing where sandbeds lie between the living coral banks.  Through and over and out of these wonderful colours tumbles and thunders a magnificent surf.

You might have saved the Dance," I say loftily, "but I saved this school from Cats." "Not all heroes wear capes," Ryan says, pushing open the classroom door. "You know, I kind of like Cats." "You like watching aviation disaster documentaries too," I say blandly, hiking up my backpack on one shoulder.

Here am I, a little animal called a man--a bit of vitalized matter, one hundred and sixty-five pounds of meat and blood, nerve, sinew, bones, and brain,--all of it soft and tender, susceptible to hurt, fallible, and frail. I strike a light back-handed blow on the nose of an obstreperous horse, and a bone in my hand is broken. I put my head under the water for five minutes, and I am drowned. I fall twenty feet through the air, and I am smashed. I am a creature of temperature. A few degrees one way, and my fingers and ears and toes blacken and drop off. A few degrees the other way, and my skin blisters and shrivels away from the raw, quivering flesh. A few additional degrees either way, and the life and the light in me go out. A drop of poison injected into my body from a snake, and I cease to move--for ever I cease to move. A splinter of lead from a rifle enters my head, and I am wrapped around in the eternal blackness. Fallible and frail, a bit of pulsating, jelly-like life--it is all I am. About me are the great natural forces--colossal menaces, Titans of destruction, unsentimental monsters that have less concern for me than I have for the grain of sand I crush under my foot. They have no concern at all for me. They do not know me. They are unconscious, unmerciful, and unmoral. They are the cyclones and tornadoes, lightning flashes and cloud-bursts, tide-rips and tidal waves, undertows and waterspouts, great whirls and sucks and eddies, earthquakes and volcanoes, surfs that thunder on rock-ribbed coasts and seas that leap aboard the largest crafts that float, crushing humans to pulp or licking them off into the sea and to death--and these insensate monsters do not know that tiny sensitive creature, all nerves and weaknesses, whom men call Jack London, and who himself thinks he is all right and quite a superior being.

As pessoas não conseguem ver além de si mesmas. Não podem sair de si mesmas tempo suficiente para ver que sua linha de resistência máxima não é, necessariamente, a linha de resistência de todo mundo. Fazem do próprio conjunto de desejos, gostos e desgostos uma escala para medir os desejos, gostos e desgostos de todas as criaturas.

Here the query A320 returns algorithmic search results about the Airbus aircraft, together with advertisements for various non-aircraft goods numbered A320 that advertisers seek to market to those querying on this query. The lack of advertisements for the aircraft reflects the fact that few marketers attempt to sell A320 aircraft on the web.

Our friends cannot understand why we make this voyage. They shudder, and moan, and raise their hands. No amount of explanation can make them comprehend that we are moving along the line of least resistance; that it is easier for us to go down to the sea in a small ship than to remain on dry land, just as it is easier for them to remain on dry land than to go down to the sea in the small ship. This state of mind comes of an undue prominence of the ego. They cannot get away from themselves. They cannot come out of themselves long enough to see that their line of least resistance is not necessarily everybody else’s line of least resistance. They make of their own bundle of desires, likes, and dislikes a yardstick wherewith to measure the desires, likes, and dislikes of all creatures. This is unfair. I tell them so. But they cannot get away from their own miserable egos long enough to hear me. They think I am crazy. In return, I am sympathetic. It is a state of mind familiar to me. We are all prone to think there is something wrong with the mental processes of the man who disagrees with us.

but when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.

when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). 'Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I'm sure I shan't be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can;—but I must be kind to them,' thought Alice, 'or perhaps they won't walk the way I want to go!

I cannot believe you formed this plan," Clove said. "No one else would think of this but you." "That's true; I am very clever!" Ella wriggled next to Clove, peering. "That is the opposite of what I meant." Ella sighed. "Clove, please recognize the negative energy you are bringing into this space." "WE'RE IN A POTATO CART!" Ella shushed her. "I do everything for a reason. Just because you do not know that reason, does not make it silly." "Sometimes the reason is that you make bad choices," Clove muttered.

As palavras finais são: "Eu gosto". Elas vivem sob a filosofia e são gêmeas do coração da vida. Depois que a filosofia despendeu um mês, argumentando de modo ponderado, dizendo ao indivíduo o que ele deve fazer, o indivíduo diz em um instante, "Eu gosto", faz tudo ao contrário e a filosofia se encolhe. É o seu "Eu gosto" que faz o alcoólatra beber e o mártir vestir a camisa de cilício; é o que faz um homem ser farrista, outro ser ermitão; que faz um homem perseguir fama e dinheiro, outro seguir o amor; e outro, ainda, a Deus. E muitas vezes a filosofia é usada pelo homem para explicar o seu "Eu gosto".

Our two taco specials get shoved up on the serving counter, crispy, cheesy goodness in brown plastic baskets lined with parchment paper, sour cream and guacamole exactly where they should be. On the side. There is a perfect ratio of sour cream, guac, and salsa on a shredded chicken tostada. No one can make it happen for you. Many restaurants have tried. All have failed. Only the mouth knows its own pleasure, and calibration like Taco Heaven cannot be mass produced. It simply cannot. Taco Heaven is a sensory explosion of flavor that defies logic. First, you have to eye the amount of spiced meat, shredded lettuce, chopped tomatoes, and tomatillos. You must consider the size and crispiness of the shells. Some people–I call them blasphemers–like soft tacos. I am sitting across from Exhibit A. We won’t talk about soft tacos. They don’t make it to Taco Heaven. People who eat soft tacos live in Taco Purgatory, never fully understanding their moral failings, repeating the same mistakes again and again for all eternity. Like Perky and dating. Once you inventory your meat, lettuce, tomato, and shell quality, the real construction begins. Making your way to Taco Heaven is like a mechanical engineer building a bridge in your mouth. Measurements must be exact. Payloads are all about formulas and precision. One miscalculation and it all fails. Taco Death is worse than Taco Purgatory, because the only reason for Taco Death is miscalculation. And that’s all on you. “Oh, God,” Fiona groans through a mouthful of abomination. “You’re doing it, aren’t you?” “Doing what?” I ask primly, knowing damn well what she’s talking about. “You treat eating tacos like you’re the star of some Mythbusters show.” “Do not.” “Do too.” “Even if I do–and I am notconceding the point–it would be a worthwhile venture.” “You are as weird about your tacos as Perky is about her coffee.” “Take it back! I am not that weird.” “You are.” “Am not.” “This is why Perky and I swore we would never come here with you again.” Fiona grabs my guacamole and smears the rounded scoop all over the outside of her soft taco. I shriek. “How can you do that?” I gasp, the murder of the perfect ratio a painful, almost palpable blow. The mashed avocado has a death rattle that rings in my ears. Smug, tight lips give me a grimace. “See? A normal person would shout, ‘Hey! That’s mine!’ but you’re more offended that I’ve desecrated my inferior taco wrapping with the wrong amount of guac.” “Because it’s wrong.” “You should have gone to MIT, Mal. You need a job that involves nothing but pure math for the sake of calculating stupid shit no one else cares about.” “So glad to know that a preschool teacher holds such high regard for math,” I snark back. And MIT didn’t give me the kind of merit aid package I got from Brown, I don’t add. “Was that supposed to sting?” She takes the rest of my guacamole, grabs a spoon, and starts eating it straight out of the little white paper scoop container thing. “How can you do that? It’s like people who dip their french fries in mayonnaise.” I shudder, standing to get in line to buy more guac. “I dip my french fries in mayo!” “More evidence of your madness, Fi. Get help now. It may not be too late.” I stick my finger in her face. “And by the way, you and Perky talk about my taco habits behind my back? Some friends!” I hmph and turn toward the counter.

Let us take them in order. The first is the taste, Which is meagre and hollow, but crisp: Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist, With a flavour of Will-o'-the-wisp. –––––––– "Its habit of getting up late you'll agree That it carries too far, when I say That it frequently breakfasts at five-o'clock tea, And dines on the following day. –––––––– "The third is its slowness in taking a jest. Should you happen to venture on one, It will sigh like a thing that is deeply distressed: And it always looks grave at a pun. –––––––– "The fourth is its fondness for bathing-machines, Which is constantly carries about, And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes— A sentiment open to doubt. –––––––– "The fifth is ambition. It next will be right To describe each particular batch: Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite, And those that have whiskers, and scratch.

I landed a bit too fast and stumbled in my unlaced sneakers before slamming face first into Darius’s chest as he lurched forward to catch me. “Sorry,” I laughed as I looked up at him with a grin and he fell still as he helped me steady myself. “What?” I asked, trying to blink the sleep out of my eyes. “You’ve never smiled at me like that before,” he said in a rough voice, reaching out to brush some tangled strands of black hair out of my face. “Shut up, I smile at you all the time,” I replied as heat touched my cheeks and I tried to run my fingers through my knotty hair. Really should have taken a minute to brush it dumbass. Let’s hope he assumes it’s from flying. “Not like that you don’t,” Darius countered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth too as his gaze ran over me. “You look…cute.” “I don’t know what you mean. And I don’t do cute.” Darius snorted at me. “You look like you got dressed in the dark…” “Gee thanks, any more observations, Sherlock?” I asked, rolling my eyes at him but I was still grinning so there wasn’t much bite with my snark. “Well… You’re not wearing any makeup.” “I…woke up late, so-” “I like it,” he said, his smile growing as he looked me over. “You look all sleepy and innocent. I could almost imagine you just woke up in my bed.” I was definitely goddamn blushing now and thanks to my lack of bronzer he was clearly well aware of it. The sky was darkening overhead already as we lingered, but I fought the stars for just another moment. “If I’d spent the night in your bed, there wouldn’t have been anything innocent about it,” I taunted to get him back onto safer, less mortifying topics of conversation. Like sex. “As much as I ache for the feeling of your body against mine – and I really fucking do – I think if I was allowed a single cheat against this curse that keeps us apart, I’d just want to be able hold you in my arms,” he replied. “Just to wake up with you there, knowing you were safe.” My heart pounded at his words, but a crash of thunder from the heavens stopped me from replying. I offered him a frustrated smile and turned away from him as I began my run. Darius followed behind me, far enough back to allow the clouds to scatter again and I tried not to dwell on the disappointment that lingered in me as I upped my pace. Did I just shoot over here at the speed of light without brushing my hair or putting any makeup on rather than risk missing out on our run? I shook my head at myself as I tried to figure out what was going on here. I’d been purposefully ignoring this question up until now, but I seriously needed to consider what I was doing. Running with him every morning, messaging him every night. Exchanging little looks whenever we ended up in the same place and thinking about him way too often. This felt a hell of a lot like the start of something instead of the end of it, but that wasn’t possible. Even if he wanted it. Even if I wanted it. We couldn’t have it. The damn stars wouldn’t allow it. My mind twisted around and around as we ran on and I cursed the stars out with everything I had. But why was I doing that? Hadn’t I made my mind up about this? Hadn’t I already made the only decision I could? Darius might have been showing me more of himself now, he might have stopped hurting me and be trying to change but had he done enough to make up for all the pain he’d caused me? When I really thought about it, I still wasn’t sure. But I was sure that he made me smile when he messaged me, that I looked for him whenever I arrived in a room, that he seemed to be trying to do everything he could to set things right. And that I fantasised about him more than I had about any man in all my life. Even Tom Hardy. Even. Tom. Hardy. Fuck it. We ran around Aqua Lake, circling the shore and heading on into The Wailing Wood. Darius kept pace behind me in silence like always, but I decided to drop back. (Tory)