Wit And Sarcasm Quotes

I'm sorry. I use my rapier wit to hide my inner pain.

Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no fibs.

They say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," Valkyrie said. China glanced at her. "They've obviously never met me.

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but the highest form of intelligence.

Yeah you can have a word," said Harry savagely. "Good-bye.

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.

Lost in thought, it took her several moments to realize that Jace had been saying something to her. When she blinked at him, she saw a wry grin spread across his face. "What?" she asked, ungraciously. "I wish you'd stop desperately trying to get my attention like this," he said. "It's become embarrassing." "Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt," she told him. "I can't help it. I use my rapier wit to hide my inner pain." "Your pain will be outer soon if you don't get out of traffic. Are you trying to get run over by a cab?" "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "We could never get a cab that easily in this neighborhood.

The best way to measure the loss of intellectual sophistication - this "nerdification," to put it bluntly - is in the growing disappearance of sarcasm, as mechanic minds take insults a bit too literally.

Your wit is always such a delight, Mr. Zeklos. I can barely contain myself around it.

Have you always been this tall?' I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. 'No, I was a child at some point.

I have a black belt in sarcasm, and my wit is like lightning.

You know, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.' 'And yet it is still extremely funny.

Caro: "Bite me." Ruby: "I gave that up in kindergarten.

I wish you'd stop desperately trying to get my attention like this," he said. "It's become embarrassing." "Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt," she told him. "I can't help it. I use my rapier wit to hide my inner pain.

If you have to explain your sense of humor, then you are performing for the wrong crowd.

She wished she had a set of greeting cards at the ready, but Hallmark probably didn’t make any that said Thank you for giving up your life so that me and my friends could escape! It was SO appreciated. XOXO!

worms have crawled up your nose and eaten your wits.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you have some tough-guy persona I haven’t seen yet?” “Absolutely,” he said brightly. “I have a black belt in sarcasm, and my wit is like lightning.

Mathilde returned and strolled past the drawing-room windows; she saw him busily engaged in describing to Madame de Fervaques the old ruined castles that crown the steep banks of the Rhine and give them so distinctive a character. He was beginning to acquit himself none too badly in the use of the sentimental and picturesque language which is called wit in certain drawing-rooms.

It was a very proper wedding. The bride was elegantly dressed---the two bridemaids were duly inferior---her father gave her away---her mother stood with salts in her hand expecting to be agitated---her aunt tried to cry--- and the service was impressively read by Dr. Grant.

Mrs Harnforth spoke as if addressing the room rather than any one individual. ‘Who was it that said sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?’ ‘I don’t know,’ replied Banecroft, ‘but I guarantee they’d not seen the internet before they said it.

He had three incision sites: one where the microscopic camera had gone in and two where they’d done the actual work, and the abuse he’d taken today went straight to her heart. “Oh, Pace.” “I’m guessing that wasn’t an ‘Oh, Pace, you’re so sexy, take me.’

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Miss Steele.

And fetch some straw. We’ll put it between us and the ground. No reason we shouldn’t sleep soft tonight.” “Straw. I love luxury.

sarcasm isn’t the lowest form of wit. It’s not even wit at all.

Ignatov: "...History has shown charm to be the final ambition of the leisure class. What I do find surprising is that the author of the poem in question could have become a man so obviously without purpose. " Rostov: "I have lived under the impression that a man's purpose is known only to God." Ignatov: "Indeed. How convenient that must have been for you.

Help yourself with the state! It's on democracy!

I wouldn’t be caught dead sacrificing myself for this country.

You'll pardon me," said Beatrice, "if I fail to appreciate sarcasm and all the other brilliant nuances of your no doubt famous wit, Mr. Constant[...]

I had become wiser, I tried to find out what irony really is, and discovered that some ancient writer on poetry had spoken of “Ironia, which we call the drye mock.” And I cannot think of a better term for it: The drye mock. Not sarcasm, which is like vinegar, or cynicism, which is so often the voice of disappointed idealism, but a delicate casting of cool and illuminating light on life, and thus an enlargement. The ironist is not bitter, he does not seek to undercut everything that seems worthy or serious, he scorns the cheap scoring-off of the wisecracker. He stands, so to speak, somewhat at one side, observes and speaks with a moderation which is occasionally embellished with a flash of controlled exaggeration. He speaks from a certain depth, and thus he is not of the same nature as the wit, who so often speaks from the tongue and no deeper. The wit’s desire is to be funny; the ironist is only funny as a secondary achievement.

I am quite scandalous, you see. I come packaged with unpredictable moments, brutal honesty, calamitous outbursts, the ghastly need for love, a fiendish lack of filter, the horrific need to question everything, nauseating affection, offensive kindness, indecent spirituality, obscene beauty, monstrous creativity, barbaric embellishments, contemptuous passion, sinful childhood traumas, unscrupulous hobbies, vexatious caring, abominable sensitivity, reprehensible humor, hideous sarcasm, displeasing feelings, unpalatable confidence, offensive compassion, villainous inspiration and a devilish wit. I am quite grotesque in my imperfectness and I am not ashamed to admit it.

A good lover? One percent talent and ninety nine percent hard work.

You know, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.

He has got no good red blood in his body," said Sir James. "No. Somebody put a drop under a magnifying glass, and it was all semicolons and parentheses," said Mrs. Cadwallader.

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,

Gankis lifted an arm to point at the distant shale cliffs. "And in the face of it there were thousands of little holes, little what-you-call-'ems..." "Alcoves," Kennit supplied in an almost dreamy voice. "I call them alcoves, Gankis. As would you, if you could speak your own mother tongue.

Yes. A few weeks with people closer to his own age will do him good. After all, folk do say I can be a little grim from time to time." "You, Halt? Grim? Who could say such a thing?" Gilan said. Halt glanced at him suspiciously. Gilan was, all too obviously, just managing to keep a straight face. "You know, Gilan," He said, "sarcasm isn't the lowest form of wit. It's not even wit at all.

Leia had watched as Luke slowly overcame his grief for Obi-Wan Kenobi and his aunt and uncle, while learning about gunnery, ship repair, and countless other things from Han. The sarcasm and wit Han used disguised his concern from Luke, and even Leia took a while to realize that Han was looking out for her, too.

The creative process is a love story that never ends. The ideas are like suitors competing for your attention. You may have relationships, with multiple ideas, at once. You may devote yourself completely to one idea, for a awhile, but the affairs will never end. There will always be more ideas to romance and more concepts to develop. And all for that wonderful moment when you get to gaze at the complete creation and hold perfection in your arms, for one blissful moment... before your inner-critic starts tearing it to shreds.

Richard looked up to find a thirty-ish, tall, black haired man sauntering towards him with a smile that said “You can trust me”, but really meant “Don’t believe a word I say”. This was Jack, and he hadn’t changed a bit.

Then the small man suddenly ran after them and said: "I want to get my haircut. I say, do you know a little shop anywhere where they cut hair properly? I keep on having my hair cut, but it keeps on growing again." One of the tall men looked at him with the air of a pained naturalist.

You know, I'm really trying to cut down on this stuff. But..." Peabody ripped into the pack of cookies. "Thing is, weird, McNab doesn't think I'm chubby. And when a guy sees you naked, he knows where the extra layers are." "Peabody, do you have some delusion that I want to hear how McNab sees you naked?" She crunched into a cookie. "I'm just saying. Anyway, you know we have sex, so you've probably reached the conclusion we're naked when we're having it. You being an ace detective and all." "Peabody, in the chain of command, you may, on rare occasions and due to my astonishing good nature, respond to sarcasm with sarcasm. You are not permitted to lead with it. Give me a damn cookie." "They're coconut crunchies. You hate coconut." "Then why did you buy coconut?" "To piss you off." Grinning now, Peabody pulled another pack of cookies from her bag. "Then I bought chocolate chip, just for you." "Well, hand them over then." "Okay, so ..." Peabody ripped open the second pack, offered Eve a cookie. "Anyway, McNab's got a little, bitty butt, and hardly any shoulders. Still -- " "Stop. Stop right there. If I get an image of a naked McNab in my head, you're going back to traffic detail." Peabody munched, hummed, waited. "Damn it! There he is." Hooting with laughter, Peabody polished off the last cookie. "Sorry. Dallas, I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. Kinda cute, isn't he?

Blows are sarcasms turned stupid: wit is a form of force that leaves the limbs at rest.

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” she said, hurt,

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,

Black Mage: I was joking. Red Mage: OH. See, I was confused by the total lack of comedy.

Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt,” she told him. “I can’t help it. I use my rapier wit to hide my inner pain.

Sarcasm,” she remarked, “is a dead form of wit.

NightWings will try to counter your sarcasm with more sarcasm, as though every conversation is a competition to see whose wit is more biting. No one ever stops to acknowledge that someone else was funny.

You were hit by a considerable magical backlash through the Staff. Your brains and body will be even more addled than usual for a while, but you're lucky to be alive. The magical energies have been gradually ebbing through your system," the djinni went on. "Yor skin's been steaming gently and the end of each hair's been glowing at the tip. A remarkable sight. Your aura's gone haywire, too. Well, it's a delicate business, ridding yourself of a charge like that. I wanted to wake you straight away, but I knew I had to wait several hours to ensure you were safely recovered." "What! How long has it been?" "Five minutes. I got bored.

How was one to answer these meaningless questions, really? 'A fine day today, is it not, sir? How was your walk? I trust you are in good health this morning.' He should tell them the day was terrible, he had witnessed a murder, and he'd walked to the moon, just to see what they would do.

Christ knew our great love for one another would draw unbelievers into the kingdom as they witnessed something their souls yearned for but could not find in the world: unconditional acceptance and love. Satan uses these other kinds of words that come out of our mouths—judgments, criticism, sarcasm, negativity, complaining, and gossip—to keep this purpose of God at bay.

He shook his head. “Not a bit of it. When I arrived, I was small and dark and ugly. The perfect quarry for every bully. And then, one day, I grew tired of it. I had discovered that sarcasm and wit could be far more effective than fists. The duller-brained the boy, the more others laughed at my bons mots. And so I became a nasty bit of goods in my own way, fighting with words where I could not fight with fists.

I’ll tell you this, if he gives me one more order with that W word again, I’m going to divorce him before we can even finish the wedding.” “The W . . . Okay, Bella, as usual you have lost me. W word?” “Yeah. W, . . . as in Wife. Ugh! He’s always saying or thinking things in this high and mighty way and tacking the word ‘wife’ onto the end like it’s some kind of password that lets him order me around.” Bella noted her friend’s still perplexed expression, so she screwed up her face, attitude, and voice into an uncanny approximation of Jacob. “‘I do not want you hunting in your condition, wife. It is too dangerous for you and the babe to accompany me, wife. I have told Elijah that there are to be no more training lessons until after the birth, and do not argue with me about this, wife, because my mind is set.” Isabella sagged back with a frustrated sigh. “Oy! It’s just so obnoxious and so . . . high-handed! You know the honeymoon is over when you go from ‘my love,’ ‘my little flower,’ and ‘my heart’ and become simply ‘wife.’” Legna smothered the urge to chuckle. Her little friend’s famous sarcasm always tickled her, and it was meant to tickle. Bella had a way of hiding behind her wit and humor. She was stating things that clearly disturbed her, but she mocked them in such a way that anyone who did not know her would treat it as little more than a comedy routine. Legna knew better. “Now, Bella, you know Jacob adores you. He naturally wants to protect you. He literally worships the ground you walk on.” “Ha ha,” Bella said dryly. “Earth Demon. Worship the ground. Cute. Really cute.” “Well, come on now. Seriously. As a Demon of the Earth, Jacob has an affinity with nature.

There wasn’t anything that I didn’t love about her. Her sarcasm and wit were so much fun. She was strong and driven and so good with her creative thinking. She was so caring, and a good friend—she was everything I’d been looking for, when I wasn't even looking. But as strong as she tried to be, there was a vulnerability about her that made me feel so protective of her. I couldn’t help that I went all alpha male anytime a man approached her. She had no idea how attractive she is.

I never suspected you had a sense of humor,” she mused aloud, studying his face as if he were a fascinating puzzle to be figured out. “See? Hardly ten minutes into the night and I am already learning fabulous things about you.” “Imagine what will happen in an hour,” he said. “That sounded suspiciously liberal to me,” she rejoined slyly, reaching to wind her arms around his neck. “Did I mention that you look like you just stepped off a pirate ship? This outfit is very . . . roguish.” “Roguish?” “‘Roguish’ is a word from the English language,” she lectured. “It means . . . to be like a rogue. In your case, to be in the style of a rogue. Roguish.” “I know what it means, Neliss. I do not believe I have ever heard myself described in such a way before. I shall have to take your word on that.” He reached up to push back some of the heavy fall of her hair. “You always wear dresses like this, and almost never bind your hair. Do not take this as a complaint, but I was wondering why that is.” “I like dresses. I never quite took to the idea of skirts above the ankle. I guess I am an old-fashioned eighteenth-century girl.” “I see. And just when, exactly, should I begin to look for those pigs that will be flying by?” “You know, you sit there and accuse me of having a smart mouth?” “Well, you were wondering what part of you was going to show up in me,” he rejoined. “Oh. Ha ha. Your stellar wit has charmed me straight to my toes,” was her dry reply. “In any event,” he continued, ignoring her sarcasm, “your style suits you quite well. It suits me as well.

The idea filled her with a nameless horror. Lost in thought, it took her several moments to realize that Jace had been saying something to her. When she blinked at him, she saw a wry grin spread across his face. “What?” she asked, ungraciously. “I wish you’d stop desperately trying to get my attention like this,” he said. “It’s become embarrassing.” “Sarcasm is the last refuge of the imaginatively bankrupt,” she told him. “I can’t help it. I use my rapier wit to hide my inner pain.” “Your pain will be outer soon if you don’t get out of traffic.

The taste of him lingered on her lips; she could smell him on her clothes. It was almost as though he stood there with her still. She put her fingers up to her lips; they felt chafed and tender and thoroughly, properly, used for perhaps the first time ever. A white heat of desire threaded through her veins again; it stole her breath. She closed her eyes. She knew now what his beautiful mouth could do. It could prod her with sarcasm and truth and wit. It could devastate her with tenderness; it could relentlessly build a storm of pleasure in her. It could own her until that storm broke over her. Oh, and after that, too. Because she couldn't imagine now ever drinking her fill of him.

from all I have read of the history of Greece and Rome, England and France, and all I have observed at home and abroad, eloquence in public assemblies is not the surest road to fame or preferment, at least, unless it be used with caution, very rarely, and with great reserve. The examples of Washington, Franklin, and Jefferson, are enough to show that silence and reserve in public, are more efficacious than argumentation or oratory. A public speaker who inserts himself, or is urged by others, into the conduct of affairs, by daily exertions to justify his measures, and answer the objections of opponents, makes himself too familiar with the public, and unavoidably makes himself enemies. Few persons can bear to be outdone in reasoning or declamation or wit or sarcasm or repartee or satire, and all these things are very apt to grow out of public debate. In this way, in a course of years, a nation becomes full of a man’s enemies, or at least, of such as have been galled in some controversy, and take a secret pleasure in assisting to humble and mortify him.

argumentative.” “Sorry. It wasn’t on the schedule.” “Sarcasm’s also typical, but it’s unbecoming.” Susan opened her briefcase, checked the contents. “We’ll talk about all this when I get back. I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Bristoe.” “I don’t need therapy! I need a mother who listens, who gives a shit about how I feel.” “That kind of language only shows a lack of maturity and intellect.” Enraged, Elizabeth threw up her hands, spun in circles. If she couldn’t be calm and rational like her mother, she’d be wild. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” “And repetition hardly enhances. You have the rest of the weekend to consider your behavior. Your meals are in the refrigerator or freezer, and labeled. Your pack list is on your desk. Report to Ms. Vee at the university at eight on Monday morning. Your participation in this program will ensure your place in HMS next fall. Now, take my garment bag downstairs, please. My car will be here any minute.” Oh, those seeds were sprouting, cracking that fallow ground and pushing painfully through. For the first time in her life, Elizabeth looked straight

There are some however more condescending, and gracious enough to confess, that many Women have wit and conduct; but yet they are of opinion, that even such of us as are most remarkable for either or both, still betray something which speaks the imbecility of our sex. Stale, thread-bare notions, which long since sunk'd with their own weight; and the extreme weakness of which seem'd to condemn to perpetual oblivion; till an ingenious writer, for want of something better to employ his pen about, was pleased lately to revive them in one of the weekly * papers, lest this age should be ignorant what fools there have been among his sex in former ones. To give us a sample then of the wisdom of his sex, he tells us, that it was always the opinion of the wisest among them, that Women are never to be indulged the sweets of liberty; but ought to pass their whole lives in a state of subordination to the Men, and in an absolute dependance upon them. And the reason assigned for so extravagant an assertion, is our not having a sufficient capacity to govern ourselves. It must be observed, that so bold a tenet ought to have better proofs to support it, than the bare word of the persons who advance it; as their being parties so immediately concern'd, must render all they say of this kind highly suspect.

[Mesnilgrand] had the gift of sarcasm. But that was not the only gift that almighty God had given him. While character was the dominant force in his constitution, wit occupied the second place and was a real strength for him to use against others. There is no doubt that if the Chevalier de Mesnilgrand had been a fortunate man, he would have been a great wit; but as an unfortunate, he had the opinions of a desperate man, and when he was in high spirits, which was rare, there was something desperate about him; and nothing will shatter the kaleidoscope of wit more readily, preventing it from twisting and casting ever new splendors, than a fixed, steady unhappiness.

The bad attitudes are displayed outwardly in the form of our words or actions, such a criticalness, rebellion, impatience, self pride, ego, uncooperative, discouragement, independence, presumption, arrogance, self-centeredness, rudeness , groaning,murmering disrespectful tone of voice, rolled eyes, sarcasm, stomping feet ,angry look , hitting the things etc .These are examples of bad attitudes which Christians should reject. We are the representative of God, and our behavior is part of demonstrating our relationship with God . We need to witness Christ and other people by being the imitators of God through our words, attitude, and actions. We have spent a life time developing patterns of sinful attitudes by rebelling against God in our thinking and behaviors. With commitment, true repentance & proper discipline we can replace these sinful bad attitudes with Godly behaviour.

Hazidan smacked my head. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later. ‘And stop swearing in my presence. Cursing is the lazy man’s wit.’ ‘That’s sarcasm.’ She smacked me again.

Despite myself, a smile twisted one side of my mouth. Cynical, he calls himself. At first, maybe it was easy to think he was, with his sarcasm and acidic wit. But over time, I realized that Max had never been a cynic. He was a wounded optimist trying desperately to return to his natural state.

Do people have a left mind he’d wondered? What’s the difference anyway?

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but the highest form of intelligence. -Oscar Wilde. My personal comment: *eye roll emoji*.

And then I was in love with Franchot Tone. I wrote to him and he sent me a signed photograph. Of course, I must say I'd enclosed a stamp. I can't tell you what looking at that photograph did for me. Then later on there was a boy at our A.R.P. post who was awfully witty if one hadn't read Oscar Wilde. But the first time he kissed me was a shocking disillusion. Not at all what Franchot Tone had led me to expect.'' Peggy obviously shot out this nonsense rather as a pursued octopus shoots out protective fluid.

The worst case of discrimination can be witnessed in music. Imagine calling B 'sharp' in presence of D 'minor

Jeff Beall. Beall was a tall man with a bristling mustache and a wit as dry as sandpaper. He’d drive thirty miles to loan a friend $20, but whether a person liked him depended on whether they understood that some people showed their love through exacting expectations and constant sarcasm.

Lea, you know you should never have a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.

We're going to go right by a couple 24/7s crossing town. Maybe we could stop and get some hot chocolate." "That stuff they sell in those places is swill." "Yeah, but it's chocolate swill." Peabody tried a pitiful, pleading look. "You wouldn't let her give us any of the good stuff." "Maybe you'd like some cookies, too. Or little frosted cakes." "That would be nice. Thanks for asking." "That was sarcasm, Peabody." "Yes, sir. I know. Responded in kind." The easy laugh had the black cloud lifting. Because it did, Eve pulled over at a cross-street 24/7 and waited while Peabody ran in and loaded up.

A wicked tongue: Slander, gossip, cussing, sarcasm, poisonous tongue, bearing false witness, and murmuring.

He felt that such a life in which one could display such sarcasm and wit was after all to a certain degree worth living.

Why isn’t the captain of your guard traveling with us…with you?” He chuckled in response. “He stays behind with my men to guard Munro lands in my absence. I can nae leave my clan and lands unprotected.” “I understand, but what about your safety?” “Now lass, ye would nae be questioning my prowess on the battlefield, would ye?” When she took a sharp intake of breath, he smiled, and she realized he was jesting. “Many men will nae approach or engage me because of my looks. Ye witnessed that nae long ago with the Sutherland guard. Sometimes being nae fair of face has its advantages.” “I believe true beauty comes from within, and I don’t think men stay away from you because you think you are not a comely man. I’m certain their behavior has more to do with the fact that you’re the size of a mountain.” Brushing her skirts, Elizabeth wiped off imaginary dirt. “How many days will you be staying with us before you and my brothers-in-law attend court?” “I doona know. It depends on when we arrive, a few days mayhap.” “Have you been to court before?” “Aye, more times than I care to count.” There was strong censure in his tone. “I’ve never had the chance. Grace attended a few times, and then we moved to Scotland.” “Ye’re nae missing anything. In truth, ’tis nay place for a young lass.” “Then I guess I’m in luck because I’m eighteen now.” When a questioning expression crossed his face, she quickly rose. She wasn’t certain what provoked her sudden flare of temper, but between Uncle Walter, Grace, and the unexplained emotions raging within her about Ian, her voice became laced with sarcasm. “It’s getting late and past the bedtime for a young lass.” Ian flew to his feet. For such a large man, he moved faster than she would’ve expected. He loomed over her and grabbed her arm to stay her. “Wait. That’s nae what I meant.” There was a heavy silence. “Then what did you mean?” When he didn’t respond and released his grip, she met his gaze. “Have a pleasant evening, Laird Munro.” She turned on her heel and did not look back. As she walked away, she almost laughed at the irony. That’s what she should’ve done years ago. At least now she was determined to leave the past where it belonged. She was traveling home to England, and that’s where her future lie.

Jazz had an intuition about such things, the guy could read your eyes like few else could. He was famous for his sarcasm, wit, and dramatics, as well as for holding tightly to a world record for coitus interruptus. He’d been found on floors and rooftops, in taco stands, ladies’ shoes and underwear departments, the DMV—he’d been found by UPS drivers, cops in the park, beach patrol, meter readers, meter maids, meter maids’ boyfriends while on rooftops with the meter maids, National Guardsmen out on maneuvers.

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” my dad says. “Oscar Wilde said that.” “Actually, the full quote is: ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but the highest form of intelligence.

I'd banter, but I haven't the time and you haven't the wit to keep up.

Just as sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, irony is the feeblest kind of indictment. And yet it has become the go-to rhetorical stance of the post-modernist. By maintaining a cool, affectless stance, irony colludes, unconsciously or otherwise, with what it overtly disdains.

This was going to be unbearable without sarcasm. A world without biting wit simply wasn’t one worth living in.

People say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.” “But it’s the highest form of intelligence.

If Jack had followed him instead of trying to reclaim his car, he would undoubtedly have voiced his disappointment that they were not yet shooting laser cannons. Frankly, Richard thought dodging the police’s bullets would be problematic enough.

Sarcastic Susan: Susan’s the master of double meanings. When she asks a question or gives a comment, the thick sarcastic tone usually causes you to doubt how she wants you to answer. Susan thinks she’s funny because of her sarcastic “wit” but her negative commentary is very wearing. In meetings, she’s free with inflection-laden suggestions, usually at the expense of another. When she’s confronted about her comments, she always denies she said anything wrong. And let’s face it, technically, the words were fine; it was the sarcasm suffocating them that stopped productive communication.

Sarcasm is the intellectually poor man's cheap imitation of wit.

Ginny looked at him in a puzzled way. “Are you in the habit of saying things you don’t mean?” “There is a certain type of wit called sarcasm,” said Lord Gerald loftily. Ginny’s brow cleared. “Oh now I understand” she said. “You were just being nasty.

The prosecutor’s by obligation is a special mind,” he had written, “mongoose quick, bullying, devious, unrelenting, forever baited to ensnare. It is almost duty bound to mislead, and by instinct dotes on confusing and flourishes on weakness. Its search is for blemishes it can present as scars, its obligation to raise doubts or sour with suspicion. It asks questions not to learn but to convict, and can read guilt into the most innocent of answers. Its hope, its aim, its triumph is to addle a witness into confession by tricking, exhausting, or irritating him into a verbal indiscretion which sounds like a damaging admission. To natural lapses of memory it gives the appearance either of stratagems for hiding misdeeds or, worse still, of lies, dark and deliberate. Feigned and wheedling politeness, sarcasm that scalds, intimidation, surprise, and besmirchment by innuendo, association, or suggestion, at the same time that any intention to besmirch is denied—all these as methods and devices are such staples in the prosecutor’s repertory that his mind turns to them by rote.

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," Merlin chided before grinning, “though I do often find it quite enjoyable. You, my boy, need to get to the ship.

On this sacred night, with a priestess of the moon as my witness, I, Blake, alpha of Lowfell, claim Aurora as one of my clan.” His tone drips with sarcasm. “I seal the claim by marking her with my bite. From this night, until Ghealach herself sees fit, Aurora is part of Lowfell and I her alpha. To dispute this claim is to break wolf law.