Quotes from Christopher Moore

The next day the weather was blown out, with whitecaps frosting the entire channel across to Lanai and the coconut palms whipping overhead like epileptic dust mops.

Getting a rise out of him was like trying to give a handjob to a parking meter: you were going to end up frustrated and exhausted long before a cop came along to haul you away.

Why is it that one can busta rhyme or busta move anywhere but you must busta cap in someone's ass? Is ho always feminine and muthafucka always masculine, while bitch can be either? How many peeps in a posse, how much booty before baby got back, do you have to be all that to get all up in that, and do I need to be dope and phat to be da bomb or can I just be stupid?

there's a shitload of insufferable know-it-all hipsters who will work for next to nothing for the privilege of condescending to customers about their musical knowledge.

Nothing says Christmas like a burning meth lab.

Joshua grinned: "I think we'll both do better than my cousin John and his 'hold them underwater until they agree with you' sermon.

He really wanted to remain angry, but somehow he had come to believe that women were wondrous, mysterious, and magical creatures who should be treated not only with respect but with reverence and even awe. Perhaps it was something that his mother used to say to him. She would say, "Lucien, women are wondrous, mysterious, and magical creatures, who should be treated not only with respect but with reverence, perhaps even awe. Now go sweep the steps.

I know, lamb, love is a besquished toad ripening in the sun. But despair not, life in the nunnery is not completely devoid of joy. I was raised by nuns. Once a week you'll be able to share a sumptuous raisin with your sisters, and then there's the perpetual flicking of the bean in the dark, for which you'll have ongoing guilt and repentance during the day, so you'll stay busy.

Back in the buffalo days, the Cheyenne prophet Sweet Medicine had seen a vision of men with hair on their faces who would come bringing a white sand that was poison to Indians. The prophecy had come true, the white sand was sugar, and Adeline blamed the white man for poisoning her right up to two hundred pounds.

The City of San Francisco is being stalked by a huge, shaved vampyre cat named Chet, and only I, Abby Normal, emergency backup mistress of the Greater Bay Area night, and my manga-haired love monkey, Foo Dog, stand between the ravenous monster and a bloody massacre of the general public. Which isn't, like, as bad as it sounds, because the general public kind of sucks ass.

He had a plan—and a bus pass with four more days left on it—so this son of a bitch had picked the wrong guy to fuck with.

The Emperor decided to make a proclamation to the troops about the importance of compassion in the face of the rising tide of heinous fuckery and political weaselocity in the nearby kingdom of the United States.

Fucksocks! It's Chet the huge shaved vampyre cat, down on the street. He looks bigger, and I think he ate a meter maid. Her little cart is running and there's an empty uniform on the curb. Bad kitty!

Give in to your passions and they will lead you to the most preposterous conclusions—passions make a fool of reason.

Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Seems like maybe it would make more sense to call in a SWAT team or Special Forces." "That won't work, isn't Special Forces where everyone gets a hug?" Charlie called. "That's the Special Olympics," Rivera said over his shoulder.

Solo estando preparado para tu muerte puedes vivir plenamente».

Know what I like about mysteries? They're mysterious.

A Bluesman hates to be told what to do. Authority rankles him, inspires his rebellion, and plays to his need to self-destruct. A Bluesman doesn't take to having a boss unless he's on a chain gang (for the chain gang boss ranks below only a mean old woman and a sweet young thing in the hierarchy of the Blues Muse, followed closely by bad liquor, a dead dog, and the Man).

If you are going to learn, you need to forget what you know. - Pokey

Steady and righteous we may be, my friend, but without courage to risk ourselves for our brother, we are but politicians—blustering whores to rhetoric.

He smiled to himself. Through many centuries and many incarnations, he had learned one universal truth: bitches love them some cushions.

I so adored her when she let her warrior queen armor fall, and came, silly and giggling, into my arms.

and in the middle of this lake is a big giant owl. Like five stories tall, which is large, in my book, for an owl.

The two had been together since they were little girls, and so loved and hated each other like sisters.