Village Idiot Quotes

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It’s sarcasm, Josh.” “Sarcasm?” “It’s from the Greek, sarkasmos. To bite the lips. It means that you aren’t really saying what you mean, but people will get your point. I invented it, Bartholomew named it.” “Well, if the village idiot named it, I’m sure it’s a good thing.” “There you go, you got it.” “Got what?” “Sarcasm.” “No, I meant it.” “Sure you did.” “Is that sarcasm?” “Irony, I think.” “What’s the difference?” “I haven’t the slightest idea.” “So you’re being ironic now, right?” “No, I really don’t know.” “Maybe you should ask the idiot.” “Now you’ve got it.” “What?” “Sarcasm.
Christopher Moore (Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal)
You’re like the cute version of the village idiot.
Jennifer L. Armentrout (Every Last Breath (The Dark Elements, #3))
You're an idealist, and I pity you as I would the village idiot.
Stanley Kubrick
Hilary Clinton said you know, it takes a village to raise a child and somebody said it takes a village idiot to believe that … it is part of the whole thing of third parties wanting to make decisions for which they pay no price for when they’re wrong.
Thomas Sowell
when I was a boy I used to dream of becoming the village idiot. I used to lie in bed and imagine myself the happy idiot able to get food easily ...and easy sympathy, a planned confusion of not too much love or effort. some would claim that I have succeeded.
Charles Bukowski (The Continual Condition: Poems)
A village somewhere was missing it's idiot.
Linda Howard (Drop Dead Gorgeous (Blair Mallory, #2))
How could they think Noel was hot? If this was REALLY Versailles, Noel SO would not be Louis XIV, he would be the French version of the village idiot
Sara Shepard (Killer (Pretty Little Liars, #6))
What do they do for a village idiot when you're here?
Tanya Huff (Blood Price (Vicki Nelson #1))
If Henry Miller often sounded like a village idiot, it is because, like Whitman, he was the rest of the village as well.
Gore Vidal
Remember, the village idiot was the spiritual man who built the ark and saved his family. Keep being you and never give up marching to the beat of your own drum!
Shannon L. Alder
We all know, of course, what to make of our newspapers. The deaf man writes down what the blind man has told him, the village idiot edits it, and their colleagues in the other press houses copy it. Each story is doused afresh with the same stagnant infusion of lies, so that the “splendid” brew can then be served up to a clueless Volk.
Timur Vermes (Look Who's Back)
God is the comic shepherd who gets more of a kick out of that one lost sheep once he finds it again than out of the ninety and nine who had the good sense not to get lost in the first place. God is the eccentric host who, when the country-club crowd all turned out to have other things more important to do than come live it up with him, goes out into the skid rows and soup kitchens and charity wards and brings home a freak show. The man with no legs who sells shoelaces at the corner. The old woman in the moth-eaten fur coat who makes her daily rounds of the garbage cans. The old wino with his pint in a brown paper bag. The pusher, the whore, the village idiot who stands at the blinker light waving his hand as the cars go by. They are seated at the damask-laid table in the great hall. The candles are all lit and the champagne glasses filled. At a sign from the host, the musicians in their gallery strike up "Amazing Grace.
Frederick Buechner (Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairy Tale)
I'd be at work where poeple respected my opinions, said Nick. And then, I'd come home and it was like I was the village idiot.
Liane Moriarty (What Alice Forgot)
Somewhere out there was a village I'd deprived of it's idiot.
Jim Butcher
Eldhusfifls!” Halfborn roared. (That was another of his favorite insults. As he explained it, an eldhusfifl was a fool who sat by the communal fire all day, so basically, a village idiot. Plus, it just sounded insulting: el-doos-feef-full.)
Rick Riordan (The Ship of the Dead (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, #3))
A utopian system, when established by men, is likely to be synonymous with a dystopian depression. The only way for perfect peace by man is absolute control of all wrongs. Bully-cultures find this: with each and every mistake, another village idiot is shamed into nothingness and mindlessly shut down by the herd. This is a superficial peace made by force and by fear, one in which there is no freedom to breathe; and the reason it is impossible for man to maintain freedom and peace for everyone at the same time. Christ, on the other hand, transforms, instead of controls, by instilling his certain inner peace. This is the place where one realizes that only his holiness is and feels like true freedom, rather than like imprisonment, and, too, why Hell, I imagine, a magnified version of man's never-ending conflict between freedom and peace, would be the flesh's ultimate utopia - yet its ultimate regret.
Criss Jami (Healology)
Voices of village idiots roiled in a jester's stew of odds-making tomfoolery. Occasionally, a monkey screamed in the heat of competition, and crude words were freely spoken. The more sophisticated were forced to tolerate such low-minded displays.
Michael Ben Zehabe (Persianality)
I'll make a book on learning how to be a complete moron someday, and I'm sure no one will buy it, because everyone will have mastered that already by the time I gather enough moronism to process it into digestible upgrade instructions for your average village cyborg-idiot.
Will Advise (Nothing is here...)
But she let herself think of Jay. And of the kiss. And suddenly the damp chill that had been clinging to her evaporated in a wave of heat that started in her belly and spread like an uncontained blaze, flushing her from cheek to toe. She realized that she was smiling now, and she had to force it away, not wanting anyone to see her as she searched in vain for the missing girl, grinning like the village idiot.
Kimberly Derting (The Body Finder (The Body Finder, #1))
Mind telling me what’s so funny?” he asked as he spooned beans onto their plates. “Nothing.” Lorelai avoided looking at Kol. “Then if nothing is funny, you two can stop grinning at each other like village idiots and start eating your dinner. I imagine tomorrow will be another difficult day.” And
C.J. Redwine (The Shadow Queen (Ravenspire, #1))
The gaping trunk looked like the mouth of a village idiot who was explaining that he didn't know anything about anything.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr. (Slaughterhouse-Five)
You're a fool, and I'm another. Between us, we barely make a village idiot.
K.J. Charles (A Case of Possession (A Charm of Magpies, #2))
The global village will have its village idiots and they’ll have global range.
Martin J. Rees (On the Future: Prospects for Humanity)
See, that’s just it…You shouldn’t even know sayings like that,” I griped. “It takes normal people years to pick up on all those little phrases. Do you have any idea how stupid I feel, when I can’t even say ‘Hello, my name is Palta…Oh, and by the way—I’m the village idiot.’?
M.A. George (Relativity (Proximity, #2))
We all know, of course, what to make of our newspapers. The deaf man writes down what the blind man has told him, the village idiot edits it, and their colleagues in the other press houses copy it.
Timur Vermes (Look Who's Back)
We all know, of course, what to make of our newspapers. The deaf man writes down what the blind man has told him, the village idiot edits it, and their colleagues in the other press houses copy it. Each
Timur Vermes (Look Who's Back)
A village idiot, in the literal sense, who really loves the truth, even when he only babbles, is in his thinking infinitely superior to Aristotle. He is infinitely nearer to Plato than Aristotle ever was.
Simone Weil (The Notebooks of Simone Weil)
Sig is like that. She tends to have an “it takes a village” attitude toward monster hunting. I have mostly hunted supernatural predators alone, partly because I had no choice and partly because I’m an idiot.
Elliott James (Fearless (Pax Arcana #3))
Great, the English had sent her to her death accompanied by two village idiots. Not that it mattered anymore how her life ended, but she did take slight offense at the fact that her security team was chosen from among the incompetent.
E.B. Brown (The Legend of the Bloodstone (Time Walkers, #1))
He delivered the mail, ran our modest recycling program, and maintained our handful of public buildings. He also occasionally fell asleep while driving a snowplough, but he was such a cheerful guy it was hard to stay pissed at him. Besides every village needs an idiot.
Molly Harper (How to Flirt with a Naked Werewolf (Naked Werewolf, #1))
There can be no emblem or parable in a village idiot's hallucinations or in last night's dream of any of us in this hall. In those random visions nothing – underline nothing (grating sound of horizontal stroke can be construed as allowing itself to be deciphered y a witch doctor that can then cure a madman or give confort to a killer by laying the blame on a too fond, too fiendish or too indifferent parent – secret festerings that the foster quack feigns to heal by expensive confession feasts (laughter and applause).
Vladimir Nabokov (Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicle)
A sturdy hold, but I think there's something up with the material.
Pete Sortwell (The Village Idiot Reviews)
Sensing this man had issued a challenge, Rose was not about to be outdone by a village idiot.
L.T. Suzuki (The Magic Crystal (The Dream Merchant Saga, #1))
Some days life feels like I am playing chess with the village idiot.
Anthony Blankenship (Ghoul Town: Jeep Tales Of Terror)
And indeed, who can doubt that everything would be different and better, if only England were ruled by village idiots and their drunken friends?
Hilary Mantel (Bring Up the Bodies)
I know what the word stress means but I don’t know exactly how it feels. I don’t think I have it. I just keep on keeping on, surrounded by the village idiots.
Catherine Gildiner (Good Morning, Monster: Five Heroic Journeys to Emotional Recovery)
I dropped a word from the string of negative adjectives that had trailed behind me like tin cans behind the village idiot. Unappreciated, unloved, unmarried. But no longer unpublished.
Francine Prose (Lovers at the Chameleon Club, Paris 1932)
Interpreters package and then sell, rent, or impose upon us artificially flavored illusions of truth, salvation, enlightenment, and happiness that are built upon their goals. That twisted information and those errant goals and are often very different from those of the original teachers that these interpreters are borrowing moral authority from. Following our own inner guidance would yield better results than following the village idiot. Neither Buddha nor Jesus was waiting for a Buddha or a Jesus to come solve their personal problems or those of humanity. The key to whatever we need is within us. The job of uncovering it is ours to do.
Doug "Ten" Rose
Percy, you are dismissed from my service." "Me? Why, my lord?" "Why? Because, Percy, far from being a fit consort for a prince of the realm, you would bore the leggings off a village idiot. You ride a horse rather less well than another horse would. Your brain would make a grain of sand look large and ungainly, and the part of you that can't be mentioned, I am reliably informed by women around the court, wouldn't be worth mentioning even if it could be. If you put on a floppy hat and a funny codpiece, you might just get by as a fool, but since you wouldn't know a joke if it got up and gave you a haircut, I doubt it. That's why you're dismissed." "Oh, I see." "And as for you, Baldrick..." "Yes." "You're out, too.
Richard Curtis (Blackadder: The Whole Damn Dynasty, 1485-1917)
She lives, she knows, in a village of idiots situated at the edge of a nation of morons. There are worse things, of course. Though, in truth, not many.
Kelly Barnhill (Dreadful Young Ladies and Other Stories)
Maybe because Tim allowed himself to be an idiot with no self-consciousness whatsoever.
Darien Cox (Caught in Your Wake (The Village #4))
I'd love to go out with you, but I'd hate to deprive some village of its idiot.
Lois Greiman (Unmanned (A Chrissy McMullen Mystery, #4))
One of the advantages of living in the Ice Age would be that there are not very many people around. You’re constantly moving, and you have to live by your wits. You can’t just have fifteen different kinds of tools, you can’t carry them. And no villages—no village idiots. Imagine a world free of idiots!” Idiots, he liked to point out, “don’t survive in environments with lions.
Marilyn Johnson (Lives in Ruins: Archaeologists and the Seductive Lure of Human Rubble)
Good morning,” said the Cleric. “Do you wish to ask for my forgiveness, Dave? Do you wish to declare that you are a true villager and that you worship Steve?” “I wish to declare that I think you’re an idiot,” said Carl.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 17: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Shart just bowed his head.  “You are an idiot.  Mages focus on a SINGLE type of magic.  Most of them learn about the Elemental schools like fire, for offense, earth, for defense, air, for movement, or water, for healing.  You are focused on Farts!
Ryan Rimmel (Village of Noobtown (Noobtown, #2))
Don’t forget us when you’re both rich and famous, chaps,” said Porkins. “I can’t promise that,” said Carl. “If I get rich and famous, I’m going to live in a big diamond house with lots of guard wolves, so I can just sit around eating baked potatoes all day. If anyone tries to disturb me, the wolves will slay them on sight. So, you’d best be careful.” “Crikey,” said Porkins, his cheeks turning pale. “Idiots,” said Spidroth, rolling her eyes.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 32: An Unofficial Minecraft Series (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Someone brings up “Sandwiches,” and someone else a Bottle, and as night comes down over New-York like a farmer’s Mulch, sprouting seeds of Light, some reflected in the River, the Company, Mason working on in its midst, becomes much exercis’d upon the Topick of Representation. “No taxation— ” “— without it, yesyes but Drogo, lad, can you not see, even thro’ the Republican fogs which ever hang about these parts, that ’tis all a moot issue, as America has long been perfectly and entirely represented in the House of Commons, thro’ the principle of Virtual Representation?” Cries of, “Aagghh!” and, “That again?” “If this be part of Britain here, then so must be Bengal! For we have ta’en both from the French. We purchas’d India many times over with the Night of the Black Hole alone,— as we have purchas’d North America with the lives of our own.” “Are even village Idiots taken in any more by that empty cant?” mutters the tiny Topman McNoise, “no more virtual than virtuous, and no more virtuous than the vilest of that narrow room-ful of shoving, beef-faced Louts, to which you refer,— their honor bought and sold so many times o’er that no one bothers more to keep count.— Suggest you, Sir, even in Play, that this giggling Rout of poxy half-wits, embody us? Embody us? America but some fairy Emanation, without substance, that hath pass’d, by Miracle, into them?— Damme, I think not,— Hell were a better Destiny.
Thomas Pynchon (Mason & Dixon)
It is true. I did fall asleep at the wheel. We nearly went right off a cliff down into a gorge. But there were extenuating circumstances.” Ian snickered. “Are you going to pull out the cry-baby card? He had a little bitty wound he forgot to tell us about, that’s how small it was. Ever since he fell asleep he’s been trying to make us believe that contributed.” “It wasn’t little. I have a scar. A knife fight.” Sam was righteous about it. “He barely nicked you,” Ian sneered. “A tiny little slice that looked like a paper cut.” Sam extended his arm to Azami so she could see the evidence of the two-inch line of white marring his darker skin. “I bled profusely. I was weak and we hadn’t slept in days.” “Profusely?” Ian echoed. “Ha! Two drops of blood is not profuse bleeding, Knight. We hadn’t slept in days, that much is true, but the rest . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at Azami. Azami examined the barely there scar. The knife hadn’t inflicted much damage, and Sam knew she’d seen evidence of much worse wounds. “Had you been drinking?” she asked, her eyes wide with innocence. Those long lashes fanned her cheeks as she gaze at him until his heart tripped all over itself. Sam groaned. “Don’t listen to him. I wasn’t drinking, but once we were pretty much in the middle of a hurricane in the South Pacific on a rescue mission and Ian here decides he has to go into this bar . . .” “Oh, no.” Ian burst out laughing. “You’re not telling her that story.” “You did, man. He made us all go in there, with the dirtbag we’d rescued, by the way,” Sam told Azami. “We had to climb out the windows and get on the roof at one point when the place flooded. I swear ther was a crocodile as big as a house coming right at us. We were running for our lives, laughing and trying to keep that idiot Frenchman alive.” “You said to throw him to the crocs,” Ian reminded. “What was in the bar that you had to go in?” Azami asked, clearly puzzled. “Crocodiles,” Sam and Ian said simultaneously. They both burst out laughing. Azami shook her head. “You two could be crazy. Are you making these stories up?” “Ryland wishes we made them up,” Sam said. “Seriously, we’re sneaking past this bar right in the middle of an enemy-occupied village and there’s this sign on the bar that says swim with the crocs and if you survive, free drinks forever. The wind is howling and trees are bent almost double and we’re carrying the sack of shit . . . er . . . our prize because the dirtbag refuses to run even to save his own life—” “The man is seriously heavy,” Ian interrupted. “He was kidnapped and held for ransom for two years. I guess he decided to cook for his captors so they wouldn’t treat him bad. He tried to hide in the closet when we came for him. He didn’t want to go out in the rain.” “He was the biggest pain in the ass you could imagine,” Sam continued, laughing at the memory. “He squealed every time we slipped in the mud and went down.” “The river had flooded the village,” Sam added. “We were walking through a couple of feet of water. We’re all muddy and he’s wiggling and squeaking in a high-pitched voice and Ian spots this sign hanging on the bar.
Christine Feehan (Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10))
You, the woman; I, the man; this, the world: And each is the work of all. There is the muffled step in the snow; the stranger; The crippled wren; the nun; the dancer; the Jesus-wing Over the walkers in the village; and there are Many beautiful arms around us and the things we know. See how those stars tramp over the heavens on their sticks Of ancient light: with what simplicity that blue Takes eternity into the quiet cave of God, where Ceasar And Socrates, like primitive paintings on a wall, Look, with idiot eyes, on the world where we two are. You, the sought for; I, the seeker; this, the search: And each is the mission of all. For greatness is only the drayhorse that coaxes The built cart out; and where we go is reason. But genius is an enormous littleness, a trickling Of heart that covers alike the hare and the hunter. How smoothly, like the sleep of a flower, love, The grassy wind moves over night's tense meadow: See how the great wooden eyes of the forrest Stare upon the architecture of our innocence. You, the village; I, the stranger; this, the road: And each is the work of all. Then, not that man do more, or stop pity; but that he be Wider in living; that all his cities fly a clean flag... We have been alone too long, love; it is terribly late For the pierced feet on the water and we must not die now. Have you ever wondered why all the windows in heaven were broken? Have you seen the homeless in the open grave of God's hand? Do you want to aquaint the larks with the fatuous music of war? There is the muffled step in the snow; the stranger; The crippled wren; the nun; the dancer; the Jesus-wing Over the walkers in the village; and there are Many desperate arms about us and the things we know.
Kenneth Patchen
She could envision Shakespeare's sister. But she imagined a violent, an apocalyptic end for Shakespeare's sister, whereas I know that isn't what happened. You see, it isn't necessary. I know that lots of Chinese women, given in marriage to men they abhorred and lives they despised, killed themselves by throwing themselves down the family well. I'm not saying it doesn't happen. I'm only saying that isn't what usually happens. It it were, we wouldn't be having a population problem. And there are so much easier ways to destroy a woman. You don't have to rape or kill her; you don't even have to beat her. You can just marry her. You don't even have to do that. You can just let her work in your office for thirty-five dollars a week. Shakespeare's sister did...follow her brother to London, but she never got there. She was raped the first night out, and bleeding and inwardly wounded, she stumbled for shelter into the next village she found. Realizing before too long that she was pregnant, she sought a way to keep herself and her child safe. She found some guy with the hots for her, realized he was credulous, and screwed him. When she announced her pregnancy to him, a couple months later, he dutifully married her. The child, born a bit early, makes him suspicious: they fight, he beats her, but in the end he submits. Because there is something in the situation that pleases him: he has all the comforts of home including something Mother didn't provide, and if he has to put up with a screaming kid he isn't sure is his, he feels now like one of the boys down at the village pub, none of whom is sure they are the children of the fathers or the fathers of their children. But Shakespeare's sister has learned the lesson all women learn: men are the ultimate enemy. At the same time she knows she cannot get along in the world without one. So she uses her genius, the genius she might have used to make plays and poems with, in speaking, not writing. She handles the man with language: she carps, cajoles, teases, seduces, calculates, and controls this creature to whom God saw fit to give power over her, this hulking idiot whom she despises because he is dense and fears because he can do her harm. So much for the natural relation between the sexes. But you see, he doesn't have to beat her much, he surely doesn't have to kill her: if he did, he'd lose his maidservant. The pounds and pence by themselves are a great weapon. They matter to men, of course, but they matter more to women, although their labor is generally unpaid. Because women, even unmarried ones, are required to do the same kind of labor regardless of their training or inclinations, and they can't get away from it without those glittering pounds and pence. Years spent scraping shit out of diapers with a kitchen knife, finding places where string beans are two cents less a pound, intelligence in figuring the most efficient, least time-consuming way to iron men's white shirts or to wash and wax the kitchen floor or take care of the house and kids and work at the same time and save money, hiding it from the boozer so the kid can go to college -- these not only take energy and courage and mind, but they may constitute the very essence of a life. They may, you say wearily, but who's interested?...Truthfully, I hate these grimy details as much as you do....They are always there in the back ground, like Time's winged chariot. But grimy details are not in the background of the lives of most women; they are the entire surface.
Marilyn French (The Women's Room)
You may, for instance, inquire of a popular preacher, or any one else, who denounces his countrymen as "pagan" (as speakers, and even Bishops, at religious gatherings have been known to do) what, exactly, he means by this word, and you will find that he means irreligious, and is apparently oblivious of the fact that pagans were and are, in their village simplicity, the most religious persons who have ever flourished, having more gods to the square mile then the Christian or any other Church has ever possessed or desired, and paying these gods more devout and more earnest devotion than you will meet even among Anglo-Catholics in congress. To be pagan may not be very intelligent; it is rustic and superstitious, but it is at least religious. Yet you will hear the word "pagan" flung loosely about for "irreligious", or sometimes as meaning joyous, material and comfort-loving, whereas the simple pagans walked the earth full of what is called holy awe and that mystic faith in unseen powers which is the antithesis of materialism, and gloomy with apprehension of the visitations of their horrid and vindictive gods; and, though no doubt, like all men, they loved comfort, they only obtained, just as we do, as much of that as they could afford.
Rose Macaulay (Told By An Idiot)
I was fighting drowsiness when they finally emerged and started riding southward, again across the hills. I stared after them until my eyes watered. They kept disappearing beyond the hills but then eventually reappeared, each time getting smaller and smaller. Then they disappeared for a long time: another village or town. I made myself wait and watch. Again I was trying not to nod off when I saw a second line appear on the crest of a hill directly west of me, on the other lip of the valley. The urge to sleep fled. I watched the line--it was a long one this time, with tiny bright dots at the front that indicated banners--descend into the town. The banners meant the commander. Was the Marquis still with him, or had he finally gotten bored and gone back to the silk-and-velvet life in Athanarel? “You might contemplate the purpose of a court…” You brainless, twaddling idiot, I thought scornfully. I wished he were before me. I wished I could personally flout him and his busy searchers, and make him look like the fool he was. And watch the reaction, and walk away laughing. While I was indulging my fulminating imaginings, the long line emerged again, much more quickly than the previous one had. Delight suffused me: They had obviously discovered that the previous group had been there, and had probably decided that the place was therefore safe. Excellent. Then that was where I would go.
Sherwood Smith (Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1))
My wife has never really thought much of me. Just the other night she turned to me and said, "George, do you know that you are depriving a small village, somewhere out there, of an idiot?" ♦◊♦◊♦◊♦
Various (101 Best Jokes)
'Perhaps what Finneas needs, King Rowan, is an occupation. I believe there to be a village nearby in sore need of an idiot. Finn seems well suited to the task.' Rowan had just taken a hearty sip of wine when Gareth's words caused him to swallow the wrong way. Glenna gave him a healthy tap on the back. 'What's an idiot, Mama?' Stefan seemed excited by the prospect of Finn's employment. 'If Finn's to be an idiot, may I be an idiot, too?'
Sara Bell (The Devil's Fire (The Kingdom of Orielle, #1))
I know it’s supposed to take a village to raise our children, but why does ours have so many village idiots?
Jean Hanff Korelitz (You Should Have Known)
They are strange trees, palm trees, they are so individualistic, so unique, so full of capriciousness, just as Jews are. One palm tree appears to be six stories high, another a midget. One palm tree is obese, another is emaciated. One palm tree is narrow at the bottom and broad at the top. Another stand bent as if in prayer. A palm tree clothed in elegant bark reminds one of a pineapple. And a tree with unsalvageable, shredded barks appears to be dressed in rags like a village idiot.Palm trees don't have leaves, they have lulav's (palm branches used on the holiday of Succot). When the lulavs shake in the wind you remember the Jews of old shaking the lulavs to hymns of praise, halleluyahs, and hosannas. Can you believe they are trees like all other trees? No, they're not simply trees, they are Jews who have been transformed into trees and who have to shake lulavs for tens or hundreds of years for past sins.
Dvorah Telushkin Master of Dreams A Memoir of Isaac Bashevis Singer 1997 2004
So there I was a couple of days later eating lunch at the local drugstore, contemplating how I was to explain to Swinson that I needed to get back to Charlotte to assist Ernie for a while, when the break came that would eventually solve this entire case. I was sitting there drinking a cup of coffee, when the village idiot came into get paid.
E.R. White Jr. (Scrambled Hard-Boiled)
I wanted to kick myself. Somewhere out there was a village I’d deprived of its idiot.
Jim Butcher (Summer Knight (The Dresden Files, #4))
Sorry I called you an idiot,” Professor Quigley said to the yellow endergirl. “I always get a bit tetchy when I’m about to be crushed to death by a 10,000 foot robot.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 8: An Unofficial Minecraft Novel (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Well,” said Carl, “the first wolf I tamed was called Bark, so I thought I’d give them all names along a similar theme. So there’s Bark 2, Bark 3, Bark 4, Bark 5, Bark 6, Bark 7, Bark 8, Bark 9, Bark 10, Bark 11, Bark 12, Bark 13, Bark 14 and Alan.” “Alan?” said Dave. “Named after my uncle,” said Carl. “He blew himself up when he was frightened by a sheep. He was a bit of an idiot.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 10: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
for a moment now I reflected on the fact that, although Meredith Wittman and I both wanted to be writers, she was going about it by interning at a magazine, whereas I was sitting at this table in a Hungarian village trying to formulate the phrase “musically talented” in Russian, so I could say something encouraging by proxy to an off-putting child whose father had just punched him in the stomach. I couldn’t help thinking that Meredith Wittman’s approach seemed more direct.
Elif Batuman (The Idiot)
Wake up, you idiot!” Carl bellowed. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!!!” “What’s going on?!” said Derek. “Who’s slapping me?” “I think he’s awake now, Carl,” said Dave. “You can stop slapping him now.” “I have to be sure,” said Carl, giving Derek some more slaps.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 28: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Essentially, the Algerians said: 'Listen. We lost two hundred thousand in our civil war. Car bombs, villages destroyed, terrorist slashing the throats of families like sheep. We are still very busy. We don't have time for your indaginetta, your little investigation.' I realized something: They were on the front line. I was scratching the surface. Even when I captured real terrorists, they weren't the bosses. They were fanatics, criminals, idiots, sadists--manipulated from afar. Sometimes by masterminds, sometimes by Twitter, Facebook, all that crap.
Sebastian Rotella (Rip Crew (Valentine Pescatore #3))
Before I met you I thought villagers were just idiot farmers and traders with big noses,” said Carl, “and now I find out that some of you are super villains with giant diamond pyramids. The world just keeps getting stranger and stranger.” *
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 14: An Unofficial Minecraft Novel (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Have you given them all names yet?” Dave asked Carl. “Well,” said Carl, “the first wolf I tamed was called Bark, so I thought I’d give them all names along a similar theme. So there’s Bark 2, Bark 3, Bark 4, Bark 5, Bark 6, Bark 7, Bark 8, Bark 9, Bark 10, Bark 11, Bark 12, Bark 13, Bark 14 and Alan.” “Alan?” said Dave. “Named after my uncle,” said Carl. “He blew himself up when he was frightened by a sheep. He was a bit of an idiot.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 10: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Close your mouth when you’re nodding, Talbot,” Tracy said, “You look like the village idiot.
Mark Tufo (Alive In A Dead World (Zombie Fallout, #5))
Look I don’t know why I am here, what is to happen to me. How can I possibly trust you, if you are part of the clan who brought me here?’ He tried to keep the panic out of his voice for surely she already despised him as a weak fool, slurring and drooling his words out through a swollen jaw, like the village idiot.
Tessa Murran (The Dark Wolf's Deliverance (The Highland Wolf, #3))
Who is more disturbed? The student who wants to be left in peace, or the student who takes part voluntarily in all kinds of idiotic activities meant to develop his or her ‘social skills’? In an army, it’s always the socially skilled who volunteer first for an over-the-top suicide charge. Those who function well in a group will find it easier to herd the villagers together onto the village square. To torch the houses and then separate the men from the women.
Herman Koch (Dear Mr. M)
The inside of the tavern was well lit and filled with men and women in plain but sturdy clothes, most covered with some kind of fur, as though everyone worked with animals. They didn’t have the look of farmers. An odd stink rode under the scents of roasted meat and bread, but the food made his stomach grumble loudly. It was all he could do to keep from launching himself onto the nearest plate. Conversation died as everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him. “Ah, hello.” He gathered his courage. This was just like reading poetry, but subtract poems and add people casually placing hunting knives and daggers on their tables. One of the women was filing her fingernails into sharp points, like claws. Just like reading poetry. G regathered his courage and strode to the far end of the room, toward the bar. He had to squeeze in between two burly men with tear-shaped scars on their faces. They all smelled vaguely like wet dog. A young man at the end of the bar leaned forward and smirked at him in a decidedly unpleasant manner. The bartender eyed him. “What do you want?” “I—” G had never needed to admit to not having money before. “I don’t suppose you have any work that needs doing around here?” “Work?” This fellow clearly had not so much brain as ear wax. “I could clean the tables or scrub the floor.” The bartender pointed to a haggard-looking serving wench, who scowled at him. “Nell here does that.” “Or I could peel potatoes. Or carrots. Or onions. Or any root vegetable, really.” G had never peeled anything before, but how hard could it be? “We have someone who does that, too,” the man said. “Why don’t you push off. This isn’t the place for you.” G would have suggested yet more menial tasks he’d never attempted, but at that moment, he put together the hints: the wet-dog smell; the fur on everyone’s clothes; the defensive/protective behavior when he, a stranger, entered. That, and they were eating beef. Cow. Possibly that village’s only cow. All at once, he knew. This was the Pack. “Er, yes, perhaps I should be pushing off, as you suggest—” he started to say. “Rat!” Someone near the door lurched from his chair, making it topple over behind him. “There’s a rat!” It couldn’t be Jane, he thought. He’d told her to stay put. “It’s not a rat, you daft idiot,” cried another. “It’s a squirrel!” “It’s some kind of weasel!” Bollocks. It was his wife. “It’s dinner, that’s what it is.” That was the man directly to G’s right. “And he’s a spy. Asking all those questions about vegetables.” “She’s clearly a ferret!” G yelled as he lunged toward the dear little creature dashing about on the floor. 
Cynthia Hand (My Lady Jane (The Lady Janies, #1))
On our hall we have one of everything: a resident musician, a genius, a motherly figure, a baby, a village idiot, a prostitute, a drunk, and the mildly insane.
Julie Schumacher (The Body is Water)
You know, my queen,” Lutian said thoughtfully, “there is another solution that I see.” She turned to look at Lutian, who was riding just behind them. “And that is?” “All you truly need for proof is Prince Christian’s heraldic emblem. Return home pregnant, with it, and they will have no choice except to accept your word for the baby’s father.” Christian was even more aghast at that proposition than he’d been at Adara’s. “And just who would be the father of her unborn child that she would pass off as mine?” Lutian straightened up in the saddle. “I humbly submit myself to Her Grace’s will to use my meek and virile body in any manner she sees fit.” Adara squelched a laugh at his kind offer. Leave it to Lutian to come up with such a solution. But if looks could kill, Lutian would be severed in twain by Christian’s heated glare. “I beg your pardon, fool?” Adara was almost amused by the anger in Christian’s tone. It would be nice if she could attribute it to jealousy, but she knew better. “Aye,” she said, wanting to nettle her husband even more. “It just might work.” Christian gaped at her. “You would bed the village idiot?” Lutian snorted at that. “Pray tell who is the greater idiot? The man who would see his son king or the one who is holding a beautiful woman in his lap, with full matrimonial rites to her, who refuses her, a throne, and a wealthy kingdom full of people to do his every bidding? I think, in the grand scheme of this, I am by far the wisest man here.” Lutian kicked his horse abreast of theirs and bowed low in his saddle to Adara. “Take me, my queen, and I will give you your heir. I will gladly lay myself down for your pleasure.” Christian’s nostrils flared in warning. “You lay yourself down for her pleasure, fool, and you won’t be getting back up. Ever.” Lutian went pale as he reined his horse away from them…out of Christian’s direct reach. “Very good, then, my prince.” He shifted his gaze to Adara. “My apologies, my queen, but you’re on your own.” “Lutian,” she cried in feigned outrage. “What about my problem?” Her fool took it good-naturedly. “Well, my lady, ’tis your problem. Sorry. I…um…I intend to live a long and fruitful life.” “Fruitful?” Christian asked with a gimlet stare. Lutian twisted up his face as he contemplated his choice of words. “Did I say fruitful? Methinks I spoke too soon. Suddenly I fear I may be impotent. Truly, I can no longer rise to any occasion. I shall be old and fruitless. My fruit is shriveling even as we speak.” -Lutian, Adara, & Christian
Kinley MacGregor (Return of the Warrior (Brotherhood of the Sword #6))
The legions who attempt to love without Christ, without a new heart, are indeed able to love amongst themselves; however this love is made possible by restraining any anger or hatred deep within the old heart, only to release it all on whichever village idiot(s) they collectively feel a crucifixion would be justified.
Criss Jami (Healology)
Only once did I see a Tibetan having a bath. It was at Shegar Dzong … Disporting himself in the waters of a pool, quite close to the village, was a Tibetan boy, stark naked. On closer examination it transpired that the boy was the village idiot.
Wade Davis (Into The Silence: The Great War, Mallory, And The Conquest Of Everest)
Hugh and I returned to Normandy the following summer, and I resumed my identity as the village idiot. “See you again yesterday!” I said to the butcher. “Ashtray! Bottleneck!
David Sedaris (Me Talk Pretty One Day)
When the haughty Mussolini rose to deliver a speech, the main piazza was empty except for a collection of seedy beggars and village idiots collected by the mayor. At a reception in another town, despite the vigilance of his bodyguards, the Mafia managed to steal Mussolini’s hat.
Selwyn Raab (Five Families: The Rise, Decline, and Resurgence of America's Most Powerful Mafia Empires)
Dad blames it all on his family, who he claims have set records for Scandinavian incompetence since the days of Leif Ericson. While Ericson was discovering Nova Scotia, he says, a dragon boat commanded by one of his own ancestors—they were named Arnulfssen in those days—got lost sailing across the Öresund Strait from Köbenhavn to Malmö, a fifteen-mile stretch of smooth water which could be navigated by a springer spaniel with a mallard in its mouth. He often spoke of Uncle Sven, who couldn’t wave bye-bye until he was eighteen; of his great-grandfather, Gunnar, who was fired from his post of Village Idiot in Viborg because the quality of his work wasn’t high enough; of Aunt Minna, who announced, at the age of twenty-five, that she was tired of speaking Danish because it was “too hard,” and spent the rest of her life not talking at all, just pointing and gesturing and being misunderstood. It seemed
Richard Bradford (Red Sky at Morning: A Novel (Perennial Classics))
His waiting for Teddy left Schlesinger rather in the position of the poor village idiot paid by his shtetl to sit at the outskirts of town awaiting the arrival of the messiah.
Joseph Epstein (Essays in Biography)
No one ever changed the world by being beautiful," she said. "If you want to make a difference, you can't let something as trivial as appearance get in your way. A daisy doesn't need the roses' permission to bloom - and neither do you." "I may not need permission, but I do need support," the woman argued. "I can't fight an army on my own - I'll need others to join me. But I'm afraid they'll only see my looks and won't listen to my words. I'm afraid they'll only laugh at my hopes of rescuing my loved ones." The little girl placed her hands on her hips and stared at the woman with the confidence of someone twice her age. "Only idiots listen with their eyes," she said. "If people don't hear your words, then shout them. If people silence you, then write your message with fire. Demanding respect is never easy, but if something you love is at stake, then I'd say it's worth the price. Besides, if you can't get villagers to take you seriously, you'll never defeat an army! Sometimes we're meant to face the demons at home so we know how to fight the demons abroad." The little girl had waited years to give someone that advice, and it appeared to do the trick. As if a sudden electric charge had run through the woman's body, she stood taller and straighter, and her eyes beamed with determination. "You're right, child," she said. "With all the energy I've wasted moping in front of the mirror, I could have accomplished great things by now. Well, I'm going to stop moping at once and get to work.
Chris Colfer (Worlds Collide (The Land of Stories, #6))
But who is he, my protagonist? Jacob? Marusya? Genrikh? Me? Yurik? No. No one, in fact, who is conscious of an individual existence, of birth and an anticipated, and unavoidable, death. Not a person at all, one might say, but a substance with a certain chemical makeup. And is it possible to call a “substance” something that, being immortal, has the capacity to transform itself, to change all its fine, subtle little planes and angles, its crooks and crevices, its radicals? It is more likely an essence that belongs neither to being nor to nonbeing. It wanders through generations, from person to person, and creates the very illusion of personality. It is the immortal essence, written in code, that organized the mortal bodies of Pythagoras and Aristotle, Parmenides and Plato, as well as the random person one encounters on the road, in the streetcar, on the metro, or in the seat next to you in an airplane. Who suddenly appears before you, and calls up a familiar, dim sensation of a previously glimpsed outline, a bend or a curve, a likeness—perhaps of a great-grandfather, a fellow villager, or even someone from the other side of the world. Thus, my protagonist is essence itself. The bearer of everything that defines a human being—the high and the low, courage and cowardice, cruelty and gentleness, and the hunger for knowledge. One hundred thousand essences, united in a certain pattern and order, form a human being, a temporary abode for each and every person. This is, in fact, immortality. And you, a human being—a white man, a black woman, an idiot, a genius, a Nigerian pirate, a Parisian baker, a transvestite from Rio de Janeiro, an old rabbi from Bnei Brak—you, too, are just a temporary abode.
Ludmila Ulitskaya (Лестница Якова)
you idiot!
Books Kid (Diary of a Villager Butcher: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (Minecraft Diary Books and Wimpy Zombie Tales For Kids 44))
I’m reminded of the story of the village idiot whose antique watch stopped running. He pried it open and found a dead cockroach inside. “No wonder it doesn’t work,” he said, “the manager is dead.
Gerald M. Weinberg (Becoming a Technical Leader)
The problem with being a Village Idiot these days is that villages are run by even bigger idiots.
NEF
There is no longer a need for Village Idiots because villages are run by even bigger idiots.
NEF
Cosgrove wondered why he was such a willing accomplice to Hanson’s dumbfuckery. Why he deferred to the whims of this latter-day village idiot. But there really wasn’t any mystery to his acquiescence. He was desperate. Desperate and, yes, curious. Curious to see what would become of all of this.
Tom Cooper (The Marauders)
I reject any form of government in which the opinion of the village idiot is given the same weight as Aristotle
Anonymous
I’d be at work, where people respected my opinions,” said Nick. “And then I’d come home and it was like I was the village idiot. I’d pack the dishwasher the wrong way. I’d pick the wrong clothes for the children. I stopped offering to help. It wasn’t worth the criticism.
Liane Moriarty (What Alice Forgot)
This country's crazy in terms of fame and what people think it means. They expect a writer to be something between a Hollywood starlet and the village idiot.
Kent Haruf
It takes a village to raise an idiot.
Benjamin Aubrey Myers
Spending time with most automa is like accompanying someone brutally cognitively damaged, but Ehrsul was a friend. “Come save me from the village idiots,” she sometimes said to me after downloading updates alongside other automa.
China Miéville (Embassytown)
If there was anything that could kill a witch faster than a village of idiots, it was fire.
Jessica McBrayer (Stained (Stained #1))
Dr. Pym,” Emma huffed, “what happened back there? What’s going on?” “I told you that we are here to see a man. What I did not say was that I have been searching for this individual for nearly a decade. Only recently did I finally track him to this village. You heard me asking the signora how to find his house.” “That’s it? That’s what made her drop the plate?” “Yes, it appears that he is regarded by the locals as something of a devil. Or perhaps the Devil. The signora was a bit flustered.” “Is he dangerous?” Michael asked. Then he added, “Because I’m the oldest now, and I’m responsible for Emma’s safety.” “Oh, please,” Emma groaned. “I wouldn’t say he’s dangerous,” the wizard said. “At least, not very.” They hiked on, following a narrow, twisting trail. They could hear goats bleating in the distance, the bells around their necks clanking dully in the still air. Stalks of dry grass scratched at the children’s ankles. The light was dying, and soon Michael could no longer see the town behind them. The trail ended at a badly maintained rock wall. Affixed to the wall was a piece of wood bearing a message scrawled in black paint. “What’s it say?” Emma asked. The wizard bent forward to translate. “It says, ‘Dear Moron’—oh my, what a beginning—‘you are about to enter private property. Trespassers will be shot, hanged, beaten with clubs, shot again; their eyeballs will be pecked out by crows, their livers roasted’—dear, this is disgusting, and it goes on for quite a while.…” He skipped to the bottom. “ ‘So turn around now, you blithering idiot. Sincerely, the Devil of Castel del Monte.’ ” Dr. Pym straightened up. “Not very inviting, is it? Well, come along.” And he climbed over the wall. Michael
John Stephens (The Fire Chronicle (The Books of Beginning, #2))
But the problem isn’t just a few frighteningly dumb politicians. The problem is they represent a frighteningly dumb electorate. The reason Louis Gohmert is a United States Congressman is that 180,000 Gohmers and Gohmettes in Texas’ First District pulled the lever to send his bald-headed goober ass to D.C. Mr. Shitkicker goes to Washington. Apparently, it takes a village full of idiots to elect a village idiot. Sadly,
Ian Gurvitz (WELCOME TO DUMBFUCKISTAN: The Dumbed-Down, Disinformed, Dysfunctional, Disunited States of America)
Yo it’s Jean-Cowphio and my rhymes are hot, “Serve them up to your gran, put them in a teapot. “If you think your beats are better, I’m here to tell you that they’re not, “Now you’ve heard my words, and baby, baby that’s your lot.” “Idiot,” muttered Carl sleepily.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 23: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Ninjas!” yelled Segid the Skeleton from up ahead. “Ninja run!” All the ninjas began to sprint. But instead of running normally, they thrust their arms out behind them as they ran. “Why are they running like that?” asked Sasha. “I don’t know,” said Dave, “but we’d better run too, or we’ll lose them.” So Dave, Carl, Sasha and Lila ran behind the ninjas. Dave was already hot and sticky from the jungle heat, and running was making it even worse. “These ninjas are crazy,” he gasped to Carl. “And that’s not all,” said Carl, running effortlessly alongside him in his diamond armour. “I’m starting to think that they’re not even ninjas at all. I think they might be noobs.” CHAPTER FOUR Through the Jungle Just as Dave was about to swallow his pride and ask Carl to carry him on his shoulders, the ninjas all came to a stop up ahead. Dave wondered if they’d arrived at the ninja village, but then he saw that the ninjas were all groaning, moaning and exhausted, many of them lying panting on the floor. “I’ve got a stitch,” groaned one ninja, clutching his side. “Why did you all run if you were just gonna end up exhausted?” asked Dave. “We… were… ninja running,” gasped Knight Swagger, clutching his huge chest and panting. “It normally makes you faster.” “Running with your arms out behind you like idiots?” said Sasha. “How is that supposed to make you faster?
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 12: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
You two idiots are gonna get me killed one day, I just know it!” Carl sighed. “You’re a creeper!” Dave said. “I thought your dearest wish was to blow yourself up?” “Yes,” said Carl. “Blow myself up. Not get eaten by zombie pigmen or get destroyed by a ghast.” “Fair enough,” said Dave.
Dave Villager (The Legend of Dave the Villager 1: An Unofficial Minecraft Story)
Give us a speech, you idiot!” yelled Carl.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 5: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
No problem,” said Carl. “Those two issues are a bit rubbish so I don’t mind giving them away. Oh, and my name’s Carl. And these are my fellow heroes, Dave, Spidroth and Nitwit.” “We’re not heroes,” said Dave. “My fellow idiots, then,” said Carl.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 21: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
He’s an idiot,” said Carl.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 23: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
In a few seconds the golem suit is gonna be in the lava!” said Carl. “So either you stay with the gold and get fried by lava, or you leave the gold and escape with your life.” “Hmm, it tough decision,” said Boggo. “Can Boggo have a few minutes to think about it?” “GET OUT OF THE SUIT NOW, YOU IDIOT!
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 27: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
The four of them left their room and went down the corridor to see Derek Cool. Larry, Barry and Gary were already awake, dressed and reading comic books, but Derek was still fast asleep. “Yo, we tried to wake him, but we couldn’t,” said Larry. “Wake up, Derek,” said Dave, shaking Derek Cool’s shoulder. “I’m cool,” Derek muttered in his sleep. “I’m cool, I’m cool…” “Let me try,” said Carl. He slithered up onto the bed, then began slapping Derek Cool across the face with his little creeper legs. “Wake up, you idiot!” Carl bellowed. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!!!” “What’s going on?!” said Derek. “Who’s slapping me?” “I think he’s awake now, Carl,” said Dave. “You can stop slapping him now.” “I have to be sure,” said Carl, giving Derek some more slaps. “Waaa!” yelled Derek. “Get off, get off!” “I think he’s starting to stir,” said Carl. “I’ll give him a few more slaps, just to make one-hundred percent sure.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 28: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Hi! Has this ever happened to you? You’ve just finished the latest Dave the Villager book, and all you want to do is talk about it. Will Dave recover from the latest cliffhanger? Will Robo-Steve ever come back for good? Will we really have to wait until Book 50 to see the enderdragon??? So you go and see your friends at school, but all they want to talk about is Surfer Villager. “The Surfer Villager books are great,” they tell you. “You should check them out!” “Don’t talk to me about Surfer Villager!” you yell at them. “The Dave the Villager books are the only books I’ve ever read, and they’re the only books I ever will read! Dave Villager is the greatest author of all time!” “Wait,” they say, “isn’t Dave Villager the character, not the author?” “No, you morons,” you scream, “Dave Villager is the author, and Dave the Villager is the character!” “That’s very confusing,” they reply. “No it’s not!” you bellow, spraying them with spittle. “Is the author’s surname really Villager?” they ask. “Come to think of it, is his first name really Dave?” “Is Dr Block really a doctor?!” you roar. “I DON’T THINK SO!!!” “He might be,” they say. “SHUT UP!!!” you exclaim. And then you run home crying. When you get home, your Aunt Mavis gives you a big hug. “What’s the matter, dear?” Aunt Mavis asks. “Those idiots at school don’t know anything about Dave the Villager,” you sob, wiping the tears from your eyes. “All I want to do is find someone I can discuss my favorite books with. I want to discuss the mythology of the Old People, and whether it’s remained consistent throughout all 28 books! I want to debate whether or not Dave could have prevented the destruction of the mirror universe in Book 20! I want someone to read my Boggo fanfiction!” “Oh, I don’t know about any of that,” says Aunt Mavis. “I haven’t read any unofficial Minecraft fiction in years. I used to read Diary of an Angry Alex, but when the books stopped I was devastated. I vowed never to read any Minecraft books ever again. And that’s a promise I will keep until the day I die. Now I only read Roblox novels.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 28: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Differences in culture, race, ethos, élan, or religion no longer matter, because there is increasingly a common faith in what the Bible calls the ‘love of Mammon.’ Behind this façade of the happy shopper of the global mall and the smiling idiot of the global village stands the raw power of the global oligarchy. To paraphrase Karl Marx, ‘shopping is the opiate of the people.
Kerry Bolton
Dave, I hope you’re here somewhere, he thought. I could do with a rescue. If you save my life I promise I’ll never call you an idiot again. Probably.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 13: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
The Piglin King looked at me like I was an idiot. “What else would we make the floor with?” I slapped my forehead. “No, no. Villagers use ‘netherrack’ as a curse word. I was expressing my displeasure and anguish at hearing this news. Get it?” The Piglin King squinted his eyes at me. “So, now you’re insulting my building materials too?
Dr. Block (Diary of a Surfer Villager, Books 16-20: (a collection of unofficial Minecraft books) (Complete Diary of a Minecraft Villager Book 4))
Well, then—they were all children there, and I was always among children and only with children. They were the children of the village in which I lived, and they went to the school there—all of them. I did not teach them, oh no; there was a master for that, one Jules Thibaut. I may have taught them some things, but I was among them just as an outsider, and I passed all four years of my life there among them. I wished for nothing better; I used to tell them everything and hid nothing from them. Their fathers and relations were very angry with me, because the children could do nothing without me at last, and used to throng after me at all times. The schoolmaster was my greatest enemy in the end! I had many enemies, and all because of the children. Even Schneider reproached me. What were they afraid of? One can tell a child everything, anything. I have often been struck by the fact that parents know their children so little. They should not conceal so much from them. How well even little children understand that their parents conceal things from them, because they consider them too young to understand! Children are capable of giving advice in the most important matters. How can one deceive these dear little birds, when they look at one so sweetly and confidingly? I call them birds because there is nothing in the world better than birds! "However, most of the people were angry with me about one and the same thing; but Thibaut simply was jealous of me. At first he had wagged his head and wondered how it was that the children understood what I told them so well, and could not learn from him; and he laughed like anything when I replied that neither he nor I could teach them very much, but that they might teach us a good deal.
Fyodor Dostoevsky (The Idiot)
Middle Head: I’m surrounded by idiots. No really, I’ve got one on either side. Between the gardener and the bleeding heart, it’s amazing that we’ve made it this far. Left is right about one thing, though; the pyramid will make a good base of operations while we plan out our next move. And he’s right that we should probably stop blowing up everything on the way there. We’re making a rather obvious trail of destruction. He’s so annoying when he’s right. Well, I guess “Right” isn’t exactly the right word. Right is a complete idiot. And now I’ve confused him again. Well, it’s easier to just wait until he gets distracted than try to explain it. Right Head: But really, though. Left can’t be Right, right? I’m Right! Is there more than one Right? That has to be it. I’m on our right, but Left would be Right to someone else. Right? @[email protected] Oh no, my head hurts. Oh, more cacti! I like them a lot! They get so tall! =) And sometimes they blow up! =D Middle says those ones are actually creepers, but I know better. I want to grow my own cactus bombs! >=) Day Fourteen Right Head: The pyramid is super fun! =D I blew it all up!! >=D All it took was one little explosion, and then boom, boom, BOOM!!! Middle isn’t very happy with me, but he’s never happy. =/ Left is pretty mad too. And he never gets mad. =( I didn’t mean to blow everything up, but it was so much fun! I had a good day. =) Middle Head: That complete, utter, absolute moron! We finally make it to the pyramid after a whole day’s journey across the hot desert, and he blows it up! First thing! No conversation! Left says that we should check for booby traps, and then the idiot just starts shooting skulls all over the place! It’s a miracle that the explosion wasn’t even bigger! He’s lucky that we don’t have skin. I would tear his off and make it into a coat. Or shoes, if we had feet. All the fires of the Nether wouldn’t be enough to burn the stink of stupidity from my skull. Humph. Well, Left convinced me that we need to keep looking for Steve. He isn’t in this desert, and east still feels like the best way to go. We’ve been asking any skeletons we see about the best places to look. The zombies are all obsessed with some village nearby, and nothing else seems willing to talk to us.
Crafty Nichole (Diary of a Conflicted Wither [An Unofficial Minecraft Book] (Minecraft Tales Book 45))
Before I met you I thought villagers were just idiot farmers and traders with big noses,” said Carl, “and now I find out that some of you are super villains with giant diamond pyramids. The world just keeps getting stranger and stranger.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 14: An Unofficial Minecraft Novel (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Any last words, creeper?” she said. “Yes,” said Carl, “you’re a big idiot, and I hate you.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 33: An Unofficial Minecraft Series (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
HELLO, DAVE. YOU AND I NEED TO HAVE A CHAT.” “I have nothing to say to you, Herobrine!” Dave yelled up at the black clouds. “Dave, I believe that is just a projection,” said Spidroth. “I don’t believe my father will be able to hear you.” “Oh,” said Dave. “I bet you feel like a right idiot,” said Carl. “I WANT YOU TO COME UP AND MEET ME AT THE TOP OF JEB’S PEAK,” continued Herobrine. “YOU MUST COME ALONE. IF YOU DO NOT, OR IF YOU TRY TO TRICK ME, I WILL DESTROY THESE TWO VILLAGERS. IF YOU TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO KNOW, I WILL SET THEM FREE.” The black clouds swirled once more, transforming into an image of two villagers huddling against a wall in fear. They were two villagers who Dave knew very well. “Mom!” Dave yelled. “Dad!” The black clouds swirled again, transforming back into Herobrine’s face. “I HAVE YOUR PARENTS, DAVE,” said Herobrine. “IF YOU DO NOT COME AND MEET ME BY THE NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON, I SHALL SLAY THEM.” The black clouds swirled one final time, and then they were gone, leaving nothing but blue sky. “Ah, man, I’m sorry, Dave,” said Carl.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 29: An Unofficial Minecraft Novel (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
My fellow idiots,
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 21: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
The piglins are idiots!” There was some disgruntled snorting from some of the
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 27: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
One of the other racers is riding a robot chicken,” said Carl. “And we’re going to smash it up.” “Destroying the competition, I like it,” said Spidroth. “Maybe you two fools aren’t as idiotic as I first thought.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 15: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
asked. “Yes,” said Carl. “You’re a big idiot and I hate you.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 22: An Unofficial Minecraft Novel (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
Idiotssaywhat,” said Carl. “What?” said Entity 404, looking confused. “Ha!” said Carl. “You just called yourself an idiot!
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 22: An Unofficial Minecraft Novel (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
The village called. They would like their idiot back. You should probably go.
Robyn Peterman (A Fashionable Fiasco (Hot Damned, #12))
We… were… ninja running,” gasped Knight Swagger, clutching his huge chest and panting. “It normally makes you faster.” “Running with your arms out behind you like idiots?” said Sasha. “How is that supposed to make you faster?
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 12: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
You can't expect to be treated like a king and act like the village idiot.
Dennis Adonis III
Any last words?” he asked. “Yes,” said Carl. “You’re a big idiot and I hate you.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 22: An Unofficial Minecraft Novel (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
One of these days I’m going to write a book about living in New York—in a sixteen-story apartment house complete with families, bachelors, career girls, a ninety-year-old Village Idiot and a doorman who can tell you the name and apartment number of every one of the twenty-seven resident dogs. I am so tired of being told what a terrible place New York is to live in by people who don’t live there.
Helene Hanff (The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street)
idiot
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager and Surfer Villager: Crossover Crisis, Book Two: An Unofficial Minecraft Adventure: An Unofficial Minecraft Adventure)
Right, wish me luck. And if I die, I want you all to know that you’re big idiots.” “Thanks, Carl,” said Alex cheerily.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 35: An Unofficial Minecraft Book (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
You’re a robot, and you’re an idiot, so I’m calling you a robot idiot.” “Technically, I am not a robot; I am an artificial intelligence,” said the voice cheerily. “As for whether or not I am an idiot, that is not for me to decide.” “Don’t worry, I’ve already decided it for you,” said Carl.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 36: Unofficial Minecraft Books (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
That is a good idea,” said Dave. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” “Because you’re an idiot?” Carl suggested. “Hey, you didn’t think of either,” said Dave. “That’s because it’s not my job to think,” said Carl. “It’s my job to say cool catchphrases and bash bad guys. You’re the leader — so you’re the one who has to think of plans.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 37: An Unofficial Minecraft Series)
That is a good idea,” said Dave. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.” “Because you’re an idiot?” Carl suggested. “Hey, you didn’t think of either,” said Dave.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 37: An Unofficial Minecraft Series)
A clocked minute of static—a long time to sit and watch nothing, I was all for fast-forwarding but Nakota glared me down—then a sip of absolute blackness, recorded blackness, rich and menacing as an X ray of a cancer. Nakota, lips parting to say something but the thought drowned in the flash of an image: something like bloody stalks, caressing the screen like hands behind the glass, so greedily intimate even Nakota gave a tiny backstepping whoop. Then as if a barrier shattered, ferocious fun, whatever provided the images warming to this game: a vast black grin like the Funhole itself become its namesake, black asshole-mouth studded with teeth or bones like broken glass and in that Pandora opening Nakota breathless and me with my mouth hanging wide open, village idiot at freak show, a vertiginous glide forward as upon the screen came things I didn’t want to know about, oh yes I’m quite sophisticated, quite the bent voyeur, I can laugh at stuff that would make you vomit but how would you like to see the ecstatic prance of self-evisceration, a figure carving itself, re-created in a harsh new form from what seemed to be its own hot guts, becoming no figure at all but the absence of one, a cookie-cutter shape and in but not contained by its outline a blackness, a vortex of nothing so final that beside it the Funhole was harmless, do you see what I’m saying, the Funhole was a goddamned carnival ride next to this nonfigure and all at once what I wanted least, least, far less than to be struck blind or any kind of petty death was to see the figure turn (as it did now) in slick almost pornographic slowness and show me, show me what there was to see
Kathe Koja (The Cipher)
Try to fancy poor Jesus, for example, coming to life again (actually, not doctrinally), and learning that he was the founder, the teacher, the exemplar, the very God of Christendom; fancy him searching for some trait of his own life and ruling principles in the lives and ruling principles of the millions who call themselves Christians; fancy him in spiritual communion with the Pope, the cardinals, the bishops (though their lackeys would never admit him to the presence of any of these), the most prominent ministers of the various Christian sects. He would find himself an outcast in his nominal kingdom, denounced and reviled as a madman, an idiot, an impostor; the moral and intellectual life of Christendom would be as alien and bewildering to him as its steamboats and railways and telegraphs. Paul and the other early apostles, the ancient heathenisms of Greece and Rome, of the East and the West, old philosophies and older superstitions, national characteristics, physical and other circumstances, the growth of science, the ever-varying conditions of life and modes of thought; everything, in brief, affecting the character of the converts, has affected the religion. By the time a doctrine gets embodied in a Church or other institution, its original spirit has nearly vanished. Its progress may be well compared to the course of a great river, rivers being remarkably convenient things for all such analogies. Some remotest mountain–rill or rocky well–spring has the honour of being termed its source; and the name of this tiny trickling is borne triumphant down a thousand broadening leagues to the sea. The rill is soon joined by others, each very like itself. As it flows onward, ever descending (for this is the universal law), it is joined by streamlets and rivers more and more unlike itself, they having flowed through unlike soils and regions; and more than one may be greater than itself, as the Missouri is greater than the Mississippi; and its own original waters are more and more modified by the new and various districts they traverse. As it proceeds, growing deeper and wider, villages and towns arise on its banks, and it receives copious tribute not merely of natural streams, but likewise of sewage and the pestilent refuse abominations of manifold factories and wharves. When it is become a mighty river, crowded with ships and bordered by some wealthy and populous capital, it may be a mere open cloaca maxima; and at any rate it must be as dissimilar in the quality of its waters as in their quantity and surroundings from the pure rill of the mountain solitudes, from the pure brook of the woodland shadows and pastoral peace. The waters actually from the fountain-head are but an insignificant drop in the vast and composite volumes of the thick bronze or yellow flood which finally disembogues through fat flat lowlands, in several devious channels with broad stretches of marsh and lagoon, into the immense purifying laboratory of the untainted salt sea. The remote rill-source is Christ or Mohammed, the mighty river is the Christian or Mohammedan Church; the sea in all cases is the encompassing ocean of death and oblivion, which makes life possible by preserving the earth from putrefaction.
James Thomson
I used to become very restless. I was continually thinking of the life I would lead. I wanted to know what life had in store for me. I was particularly restless at some moments. You know there are such moments, especially in solitude. There was a small waterfall there; it fell from a height on the mountain, such a tiny thread, almost perpendicular—foaming, white and splashing. Though it fell from a great height it didn’t seem so high; it was the third of a mile away, but it only looked about fifty paces. I used to like listening to the sound of it at night. At such moments I was sometimes overcome with great restlessness; sometimes too at midday I wandered on the mountains, and stood alone halfway up a mountain surrounded by great ancient resinous pine trees; on the crest of the rock an old medieval castle in ruins; our little village far, far below, scarcely visible; bright sunshine, blue sky, and the terrible stillness. At such times I felt something was drawing me away, and I kept fancying that in walked straight on, far, far away and reached that line where sky and earth meet, there I should find the key to the mystery, there I should see a new life a thousand times richer and more turbulent than ours. I dreamed of some great town like Naples, full of palaces, noise, roar, life. And I dreamed of all sorts of things, indeed. But afterwards I fancied one might find a wealth of life even in prison.
Fyodor Dostoevsky (The Idiot)
Every village loves its own idiot or its own lunatic.
Tomichan Matheikal (Black Hole)
As they got closer, Dave saw that the outside of the walls was surrounded by a huge moat. The train was heading towards a bridge leading across the moat, but as far as Dave could see, there was no hole for the train to pass through. “Is this train just going to crash into those walls?” said Carl, peering out of one of the broken windows. “Which idiot designed this thing?” They sped across the moat, and Dave had a brief glimpse of a deep pit with water at the bottom of it. They were rushing straight towards the quartz walls, and in a few seconds, they would smash into them. “Everyone, brace yourselves!” Dave shouted. They all held on tightly to the seats as the train sped forward, but the crash never happened. Instead, a pair of large quartz doors opened, allowing the train to pass through. The next thing they knew, they were inside the theme park, still speeding along the train track. Dave caught glimpses of rides and shops and buildings as they zoomed forward, going deeper and deeper into the park. “Robot idiot, why isn’t the train stopping?” Carl demanded. “We’re inside the theme park now.” “When you say ‘robot idiot’, are you referring to me?” the friendly voice on the speakers asked. “Yes,” said Carl. “You’re a robot, and you’re an idiot, so I’m calling you a robot idiot.
Dave Villager (Dave the Villager 36: Unofficial Minecraft Books (The Legend of Dave the Villager))
But you,” he said, prompting a wince from the pale-faced villager. “You are the most idiotic, moronic, dim-witted, brain-addled bungling fool of all. I told you not to come here. I told you to wait on the other side of the portal. I told you that you would get us killed. AND NOW LOOK AT US! WE ARE TRAPPED IN THIS UNBREAKABLE CELL FOR THE REST OF OUR DAYS! WE ARE GOING TO DIE DOWN HERE!! AND WHO AMONG US WILL DIE FIRST? IT WILL BE ME! I HAVE GOT THE MOST DELICIOUS RUMP! I AM THE JUICIEST OF ALL OF US! I HAVE THE MOST SUMPTIOUS MEAT!
Splendiferous Steve (The Quest for the Obsidian Pickaxe 9: An Unofficial Minecraft Book)