Quotes About Moore

I don't know why You want to impress Christgau Ah, let that shit die And find out the new goal Kill yr idols!

The difference between my quotations and those of the next man is that I leave out the inverted commas.

The passion for setting people right is in itself an afflictive disease.

I know that even now, having watched enough television, you probably won't even refer to them as lepers so as to spare their feelings. You probably call them 'parts-dropping-off challenged' or something.

And an inky-colored despair of rejection enveloped me like the black tortilla of depression around a pain burrito.

But she's a redhead, so she's probably evil, even at her tender age. I thought you liked redheads. I do. What's your point?

That's a horrible plan. Yes, but I have chosen to ignore that.

Ydych chi'n cymryd cerdynnau credid? said the highwayman, no doubt trying to frighten me further, his consonants chained like anal beads strung out of hell's own bunghole.

So I'm all, Owned! Bee-yatch! Dog fucking owned you! Doing a minor booty dance of ownage, perhaps, in retrospect, a bit prematurely. (I believe hip-hop to be the apprpriate language for taunting, at least until I learn French.)

And he was like The sedative in the blood, blah, blah, four hours, blah, blah, nerdspeak, geektalk - -Abby

Ack! Parables. I hate parables.

evil is our trade, but not so deep a darkness as politics.

So, have you seen Flood? she asked. Cop? She added cop with a high pop on the p, like it was a punctuation mark, not a profession

Green eggs, or not green eggs? That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to eat them in a box, with a fox—

Sophie marched away in rhythm to her new chant, not in the butt - not in the butt - not in the butt.

Okey dokey, fire up the blender, let's make a furry-flurry smoothie out of that squirrel!

and thus he found his single source of joy in the society of other people: frightening the girls with his penis.

couldn't be more Scottish if it was painted blue and smelled of burning peat and your ginger sister.

Amy called the whale punkin.

Rivera rubbed his temples. Satan told you to do it? he said wearily. No. Elvis? I told you, it's supernatural.

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.

There were chopsticks stuck here and there in her hair, as if she were prepared at any minute to deal with an emergency stir-fry.

Let's bat that nun out of the dog park!

There's no such thing as a conservative hero.' He was wise, that old man.