Quotes About Terry

He made a noise like an owl. Since Moist was no ornithologist, he did this by saying "woo woo.

I'm an Igor, thur. We don't athk quethtionth. Really? Why not? I don't know, thur. I didn't athk.

Very well. My name is WxrtHltl-jwlpklz," said the demon smugly. "Where were you when the vowels were handed out? Behind the door?" said Nanny Ogg.

It had the thick texture of authentic Ankh water – too stiff to drink, too runny to plough.

I saw a program. It had David Attenborough, so it's true.

This one's mental.' 'Eccentric.' 'What's the difference?' 'A bag of cash.

Repent!'" Nanny Ogg went on. "Repent? Me? Cheek! I can't start repenting at my time of life. I'd never get any work done. Anyway," she added, "I ain't sorry for most of it.

And on this dirty night there were appropriately dirty deeds that not even the rain could wash away.

Why is it all Mr. Dibbler's films are set against the background of a world gone mad?" said the dwarf. Soll's eyes narrowed. "Because Mr. Dibbler," he growled, "is a very observant man.

Mr Pin lit a cigar. Smoking was his one vice. at least, it was his only vice that he thought of as a vice. The others were just job skills.

There was the faintest of sounds, as of a gnat yawning.

Uh. . . why does your partner keep saying 'ing.' Mr Pin? ... Speech impediment.' said Pin.

Here you are. Would you like some pickles?" "Pickles gives me the wind something awful." "In that case—" "Oh, I wasn't saying no," Mistress Weatherwax said, taking two large pickled cucumbers.

Esk wouldn't have known what a collective noun was if it had spat in her eye, but she knew there was a herd of goats and a coven of witches.

Occasionally a few bubbles would eructate to the surface like the ghosts of beans on bath night.

The wizards, such of them who were still on their feet and conscious, were rather surprised to see that Death was wearing an apron and holding a small kitten.

Terry Tempest Williams

When Kubrick decided to go the black comedy route with his movie, he thought of me to give it that flavor.

Among the hardest hit was Terry the Tramp, who immediately loaded up on LSD and spent the next twelve hours locked in the back of a panel truck, shrieking and crying under the gaze of some god he had almost forgotten, but who came down that night to the level of the treetops "and just stared—man, he just looked at me, and I tell you I was scared like a little kid.

Scott and Terry created a political theatre in which a Hanovarian English monarch could appear on the stage of Edinburgh to act the part of a Stuart king.

No such magnificent or seductive apparition has ever been seen before or since on any stage or platform—not even Miss Ellen Terry as the priestess of Artemis in the late laureate's play, The Cup.

On the sidewalk Terry lay, watching the sky with one eye, half of her face gone to red pulp. Tan blanket flipped over her. Settling, it reddened in one place and then another. Rosemary wheeled, eyes shut, right hand making an automatic cross. She kept her mouth tightly closed, afraid she might vomit.

Certain types of films will never test well. My films never seem to test well.

Winston Churchill said 'In war time, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies'. Any book called The Truth should therefore have one.