Quotes from Tom Holt

Just when you've squared up to the solemn realisation that life is a bitch, it turns round and does something nice, just to confuse you. - Emily Spitzer, The Better Mousetrap

Human beings can get used to virtually anything, given plenty of time and no choice in the matter whatsoever.

Not only had he lost the only girl he'd ever loved, he'd lost her in duplicate, like some heartbroken but highly efficient civil servant.

After all, what else is scientific enquiry of any sort other than a controlled version of banging one's head against the universe until something gives?

Mostly I sit at home in the evenings watching the box and hoping that one day I'll evolve into plankton.

Love is an optical illusion that makes you believe the object of your affection is the most beautiful person in the world.

Among the gods, there is a dispute as to which one of them originally thought of Christianity; or, as they call it, the Great Leg Pull. Apollo has the best claim, but a sizeable minority support Pluto, ex-God of the Dead, on the grounds that he has a really sick sense of humour. How would it be, suggested the unidentified god, if first we tell them all to love their neighbour, pack in the killing and thieving, and be nice to each other. Then we let them start burning heretics.

The conscientious arsonist doesn't just set the building on fire; first he fills the fire extinguishers with petrol.

Thanks anyway,' Vanderdecker repeated, and wandered off to have a stare at the sea. It was his equivalent to beating his head repeatedly against a wall.

In spite of really intense competition for the job, I'm still my own worst enemy.

A romantic, I think the word is. Latin for idiot.

When you're about to die, your whole life's supposed to flash before your eyes. When you fall in true love, on the other hand, what you see in the twinkling of an eye is your entire future.

It sounded a bit like his mother, a woman who'd lied to him about the existence of Santa Claus and was therefore not to be trusted on matters of any importance.

There's an old goblin saying; there is nothing to fear but fear itself and scary things.

A brief note on the legend of Pandora's Box: Ever wondered why bundled in with all the torrents, and suffering of man kind the Gods put hope down there at the bottom, answer because in certain circumstances hope can be the worst torment of them all.

He made a conscious decision not to think about it, and accordingly spent the rest of his shift thinking about nothing else.

That's the problem with running away, said the little voice. No matter where you go, you have to take yourself with you; and if yourself is constitutionally incapable of leaving well enough alone and not worrying if the rest of the world is weirder than ferret ragout, where the hell is the point?

There's nothing bad about reincarnation per se, it's basically a very good system, cost-effective and ecologically friendly.

There are few moments of clarity more profound than those that follow the emptying of an overcharged bladder. The world slows down, the focus sharpens, the brain comes back on line. Huge nebulous difficulties prove on close calm examination to be merely cloud giants.

He turned and gave the Dark Elf a nasty look. "They can do that," he said, "mess with your head, using arcane mind control techniques. Well-known fact." The Dark Elf sniggered. "I wish," he said. "Sadly, no. You're thinking of journalism, which is slightly different.

a problem's nothing but an opportunity wearing a funny hat, and inside every disaster there's a triumph struggling to get out.

Call it a hunch; and hunches don't just materialise, you pay for them with hard-earned experience. No such thing as a free hunch.

All computers expect to be yelled at. There's not a single computer in the whole world that hasn't been sworn at. Even the discreet little VDU with the crossed keys monogram on the keyboard that sits on the Pope's desk in his office in the Vatican has in its time heard language that'd make a Marine blush.

In his dream, George Stetchkin was in the dock at the Central Criminal Court, accused of the murder of nine million innocent brain cells. The usher was showing the jury the alleged murder weapon, an empty Bison Brand wodka bottle. Then the judge glared at him over the rims of his spectacles and sentenced him to the worst hangover of his life.