The Mummy Returns Quotes

I'm back... and you knew I was coming. On my way here I passed a cinema with the sign 'The Mummy Returns'.

Seconds passed, then ... La Dorada skulked into view. She was half-mummified, but sodden. Gooey. Regin let out a low whistle. "The Mummy Returns meets Dingoes Ate My Face."-- --La Dorada swung her head around, peering at Regin with her one eye. "Okay. That's freaky. Lookit, Gollum, if you spring me, I'll help you find your precious.

La Dorada skulked into view. She was half-mummified, but sodden. Gooey. Regin let out a low whistle. “The Mummy Returns meets Dingoes Ate My Face.

There has been an accident,’ I explained to Abdullah, who was staring at Nemo’s bloody sleeve. ‘Please take Ali or Hassan and go at once to the ridge behind the tents. You will find a dead body there. Carry it here.’ Abdullah clapped his hand to his brow. ‘Not a dead man, sitt. Not another dead man ...’ A flicker of reviving hope returned to his stricken face. ‘Is it a mummy you mean, sitt? An old dead man?’ ‘I am afraid this one is rather fresh,’ I admitted. ‘You had better fashion a litter or something of that sort with which to carry him. Get on with it, if you please; I cannot stand here fahddling with you, can’t you see Mr Nemo needs medical attention?’ Abdullah staggered off, wringing his hands and muttering. A few words were intelligible: ‘Another dead body. Every year it is the same. Every year, another dead body ...

If a bee entered Mummy’s beehive, it would be instantly exterminated and its corpse found only a week later, when she returned to the parlour to wash and set her hair again.

This is the Scroll of Thoth. Herein are set down the magic words by which Isis raised Osiris from the dead. Oh! Amon-Ra--Oh! God of Gods--Death is but the doorway to new life--We live today-we shall live again--In many forms shall we return-Oh, mighty one. (The Mummy, Universal Studios, 1932)

Suddenly I'd had Enough and this was no turn of phrase but a warm body, nervous, with a constitution I could count on like a younger brother. That's when I told my mother: on the other side it's really underdeveloped. We're going back. Really, I said: I want to go back, not possible unless Mummy who is part of me comes too. We wait in the empty street at the stop for Lethe, the only bus that runs both ways. My mother is losing patience. The bus doesn't come. It's not easy to wait for a bus you've heard is the only one that runs both ways. I check the guidebook. Neither Canto XIV of the Iliad nor Canto XI of the Odyssey mentions the place. Just what you'd expect for Lethe I tell myself. Naturally forgetfulness attracts attention to itself by means of absence and omission. But for my mother the bus not turning up is the theme of her nightmares. I explain that in this country one comes along every quarter of an hour...To signal to the vehicle that one wishes to board Oblivion Return one must fan open the grille by pressing a button and lighting up the small lantern on the top of the archway, which I did. It's the one gleam of hope in this world.

You see we are in London after all, and poor Sidmouth left afar. I am almost inclined to say ‘poor us’ instead of ‘poor Sidmouth.’ But I dare say I shall soon be able to see in my dungeon, and begin to be amused with the spiders. Half my soul, in the meantime, seems to have stayed behind on the seashore, which I love more than ever now that I cannot walk on it in the body. London is wrapped up like a mummy, in a yellow mist, so closely that I have had scarcely a glimpse of its countenance since we came. Well, I am trying to like it all very much, and I dare say that in time I may change my taste and my senses — and succeed. We are in a house large enough to hold us, for four months, at the end of which time, if the experiment of our being able to live in London succeed, I believe that papa’s intention is to take an unfurnished house and have his furniture from Ledbury. You may wonder at me, but I wish that were settled so, and now. I am satisfied with London, although I cannot enjoy it. We are not likely, in the case of leaving it, to return to Devonshire, and I should look with weary eyes to another strangership and pilgrimage even among green fields that know not these fogs.

The cultural code of the stiff upper lip is not for her boys. She is teaching them that it is not “sissy” to show their feelings to others. When she took Prince William to watch the German tennis star Steffi Graff win the women’s singles final at Wimbledon last year they left the royal box to go backstage and congratulate her on her victory. As Graff walked off court down the dimly lit corridor to the dressing room, royal mother and son thought Steffi looked so alone and vulnerable out of the spotlight. So first Diana, then William gave her a kiss and an affectionate hug. The way the Princess introduced her boys to her dying friend, Adrian Ward-Jackson, was a practical lesson in seeing the reality of life and death. When Diana told her eldest son that Adrian had died, his instinctive response revealed his maturity. “Now he’s out of pain at last and really happy.” At the same time the Princess is acutely aware of the added burdens of rearing two boys who are popularly known as “the heir and the spare.” Self-discipline is part of the training. Every night at six o’clock the boys sit down and write thank-you notes or letters to friends and family. It is a discipline which Diana’s father instilled in her, so much so that if she returns from a dinner party at midnight she will not sleep easily unless she has penned a letter of thanks. William and Harry, now ten and nearly eight respectively, are now aware of their destiny. On one occasion the boys were discussing their futures with Diana. “When I grow up I want to be a policeman and look after you mummy,” said William lovingly. Quick as a flash Harry replied, with a note of triumph in his voice, “Oh no you can’t, you’ve got to be king.

We should do some research on voodoo, too,” Roo reminded them. “Lots of people around here practiced secret voodoo rituals.” “How do you know that?” “Why wouldn’t she know that?” Parker returned. “She of the Deep Underworld who keeps decomposing mice and many other dead things in her locker.” Roo’s stare was calm disdain. “One mouse.” “We still don’t know how it got in Roo’s locker,” Ashley explained, looking distressed at the memory. “But she threw her books in and squashed it.” “It was hiding. How was I supposed to know it was there.” “Maybe if you cleaned out your locker once in a while?” “Hey!” Snapping his fingers, Parker gave an exaggerated gasp of excitement. “I think we should put Roo’s locker on our tour! The mummy of the murdered mouse!” Gage held back a smile. “Why don’t we just put Roo on our tour?” “No, no, mon Dieu, way too scary.

After the shattering events of the past ten days, I was happy to fly home and return to my normal, everyday life. Pat met me at the airport, then we picked up a very unhappy Caroline after school. She’d been missing Patrick desperately since he’d left for college. In my short absence, she’d experienced an unexpectedly rough adjustment to her new high school. This had been a bad time for me to be away. She felt abandoned. Caroline burst into tears of relief the minute she stepped into the car. I just held her close for the twenty-minute ride home. We went straight up to her cozy pink bedroom to talk. She sobbed that she’d been miserable while I was away. “Daddy has been wonderful, but a daddy is not a mommy. I really needed you.” I choked back my own tears. “But, Caroline, darling,” I said, “I was only gone for five days. Just think of William and Harry. Their mummy is never coming back.

Mummy’s marital advice ran through my thoughts day and night: a husband required attention and management. I began to think that if only I tended to Archie in precisely the right way, I might return him to his earlier state. If only I could serve him the perfect meals, clean the flat until it shone, provide the most interesting dinner conversation, become the ideal lover, then he’d be content. It was my duty,

Christmas Town is ruled by a terrible king. His arms are thick as tree trunks. His voice is deep as the mud at the bottom of the lake.” “Ooh,” Mummy Boy said with a shiver. Jack grinned as he strode into the audience. Now he had them. All it took was a little Pumpkin King flair, and at that he had no rival. As he poked the Melting Man in his gooey nose, Jack said, “The Christmas King flies through the night not on a broom but on a cart pulled by horned beasts, and casts a reign of terror upon boys and girls on December twenty-fifth!” He turned to Behemoth and pulled out his long tongue. “He dresses in bloodred garments!” “Who is he, Jack?” the smaller of the witch sisters cried. Both witches clutched their green hands together, enthralled by the idea of a dashingly wicked king who shared their love of flying. “His name,” Jack announced dramatically as he returned to the stage, “is Sandy Claws.