Quotes About Humor

Seconds later he was back, naked and clutching a handful of condoms. "Don't ask," he said when she glanced at them and raised her eyebrows.

Wilma's favorite is the time you nailed his girlfriend's doors and windows shut so she couldn't get out for their date. That's a good one, but my favorite is the time you laid down right in front of his car right there.

Dear God. Brad the Dragon. I swear, if I ever meet that author, I'm going to strangle him with a Brad the Dragon stuffed animal, wrap him in a Brad the Dragon blanket and throw his body out to sea.

Yup--nothing like asking about bull sperm to shut down a conversational exchange.

I'll go, too," Martin said. "Me, too." The last voice came from behind him. Zane turned to see Phoebe leaning against the wall. Maya groaned. "Dammit, Phoebe, if you go, I'll have to, as well. Do you know what this weather is going to do to my hair?" Phoebe smiled. "Wear a hat." "Oh, yeah, that'll help in this rain.

You think the raccoons could ever learn to tell time?" she asked. He glanced at her. "You're kidding, right?" "Maybe I have a dry sense of humor, too." "City girl." He was probably insulting her, but the way he said the word made her feel almost tall and, if not blonde, then certainly highlighted.

Too bad Justice refused to let him toss live grenades to the side of the course. That would add motivation. He knew from personal experience. His personal best time for a quarter-mile run had been in Africa—while being chased by an angry rhino. Imminent death made for a great workout.

You were right." "I usually am." His mouth twitched. "And modest." She shrugged. "I live with the burden.

It's Maya," Phoebe said. Zane turned and followed her gaze. "Just perfect," he muttered as his ex-stepsister walked toward them. "You're looking grim, Zane," Maya said cheerfully when she joined them. "Who died?" She smiled. "Oh, I forgot. You're just being your usual charming self." She squeezed his arm. "You've missed me, I know." Zane's eyes narrowed. "Like foot fungus.

You do realize that bunny butt is just a polite way of saying rabbit ass.

His mouth turned up at one corner. His face was transformed when he smiled, even when it was a half-smile given halfheartedly. Wow. A sexy cowboy with a sense of humor could be dangerous. And while she'd always avoided danger in the past, for some reason, she found herself wanting to move just a little closer. Play with fire, she reminded herself. Only getting burned seemed like a small price to pay.

Her mother watched her with that "I'm going to be patient because I love my child, but wow is she dumb" look.

Maybe this would be a good time to look in another direction and hum the Jeopardy! theme until the need passes.

Miss Frumkin rummaged through her bag looking for a spoon. She seemed to be aware that there was no spoon in the bag, but she insisted on rummaging anyway. Finding no spoon, she took out her toothbrush and began to eat the yogurt with the toothbrush. Miss O'Reilly laughed at her. Miss Frumkin didn't seem to mind. "They laughed at Bell and they laughed at Edison," she said, throwing the toothbrush into the wastebasket. She finished eating the yogurt with her fingers.

Camp which knows itself to be Camp ('camping') is usually less satisfying.

The ultimate Camp statement: it's good because it's awful

BEAUTY. The visionary authority of Childs's work resides, in part, in its lack of rhetoric. Her strict avoidance of cliché, and of anything that would make the work disjunctive, fragmented. The refusal of humor, self-mockery, flirtation with the audience, cult of personality. The distaste for the exhibitionistic: movement calling attention to itself, isolatable "effects." Beauty as, first of all, an art of refusal.

In naïve, or pure, Camp, the essential element is seriousness, a seriousness that fails. Of course, not all seriousness that fails can be redeemed as Camp. Only that which has the proper mixture of the exaggerated, the fantastic, the passionate, and the naïve.

Camp is art that proposes itself seriously, but cannot be taken altogether seriously because it is too much.

25/12/48 É muito provável que ao lembrar-me disso, um dia, eu ache muita graça. Assim como houve um tempo em que eu era religiosa de um modo neurótico e aterrorizado e achava que um dia seria católica, agora acho que tenho tendências lésbicas (com que relutância escrevo isto) –

30. Of course, the canon of Camp can change. Time has a great deal to do with it. Time may enhance what seems simply dogged or lacking in fantasy now because we are too close to it, because it resembles too closely our own everyday fantasies, the fantastic nature of which we don't perceive. We are better able to enjoy a fantasy as fantasy when it is not our own.

And aside from that kiss—awkward and way too…slobbery—things were going all right.

the main character saying things like "In my world, chocolate is a vegetable.

He was a man who knew there were such things as jokes in the world or people would not write about them, but had never actually been introduced to one or shaken its hand.