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What is your name? asked Lear. Caius, said Kent. And whence do you hail? From Bonking, sire. Well, yes, lad, as do we all, said Lear, but from what town?
Christopher Moore
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Christopher Moore
Age: 67
Born: 1957
Born: January 1
Actor
Assistant Director
Journalist
Novelist
Radio Dj
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Toledo
Ohio
Name
Kent
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Lear
Wells
Lad
Well
Whence
Hail
Town
Towns
Caius
Asked
Sire
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An original thought would crack your feeble skull like a thunderbolt, you craven vulture.
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The angel has confided in me that he is going to ask the Lord if he can become Spider-Man. [...] The children need heroes, he says. I think he just wants to swing from buildings in tight red jammies.
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Don't be ridiculous, Charlie, people love the parents who beat their kids in department stores. It's the ones who just let their kids wreak havoc that everybody hates.
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It was an eight-harlot inn, if that's how you measure an inn. (I understand that now they measure inns in stars. We are in a four-star inn right now. I don't know what the conversion from harlots to stars is.)
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The problem with being nuts, she thought, is that you don't always feel as if you're nuts. Sometimes, in fact, you feel perfectly sane, and there just happens to be a trailer-shaped dragon crouching in the lot next door.
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I wanted a trumpet concerto that reflected Native American music because, well, there aren't any. I looked around for one but couldn't find anything. So it's a wide-open field.
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I can be most colorful and inventive when I am angry.
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Shoes off in the whale! And don't try and make a break for the anus.
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If they'd been dogs, they would have all been in the yard eating grass and trying to yak up whatever was making them feel so lousy. Not a bone gnawed, not a ball chased-all tails went unwagged. Oh, life is a fast cat, a short leash, a flea in that place where you just can't scratch.
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She was an alien, really - a sort of eating, pooping, tantrum machine - and he didn't understand anything about her species.
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And an inky-colored despair of rejection enveloped me like the black tortilla of depression around a pain burrito.
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She's so small, yet she contains so much evil.
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When I teach seminars, I tell people, Your stuff has to look like something thats out there, because otherwise nobody will take a chance on you.
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Last time I really got to know myself it turned out there was a whole gang of bitches in there to deal with. I felt like the receptionist at a rehab center. They all had nice tits though, I gotta say.
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And he was like The sedative in the blood, blah, blah, four hours, blah, blah, nerdspeak, geektalk - -Abby
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If you think anyone is sane you just don't know enough about them.
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