I'd like to think...that people in pubs would talk about my poems
Philip LarkinStichwörter: humour
never say never. whoops - said it twice
Harry HillStichwörter: humour
A sense of humour is the only divine quality of man
Arthur SchopenhauerStichwörter: man god humour sense divine houmor
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An old battleax of a woman said to Winston Churchill, "If you were my husband I would put poison in your tea." Churchill's response, "Ma'am if you were my wife I would drink it.
Winston S. ChurchillStichwörter: humor humour classic-insult retort
The Brigands charged in with their weapons drawn.
"Who are you?" Young Bertie asked.
"We're the bad guys!" their leader announced.
"What are you going to do?"
"Plunder and pillage!" one of them yelled.
The others immediately shoved him. "Not in front of the kid, Ralph! Fer cryin' out loud..."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry! We're here to take your candy!
Stichwörter: humour eyes-like-stars
In life, more than in anything else, it isn’t easy to end up alive.
Roman PayneStichwörter: humor life death humour funny dying truism accidents
... It's perfect! Locke would appreciate it."
"Bug," Calo said, "Locke is our brother and our love for him knows no bounds. But the four most fatal words in the Therin language are 'Locke would appreciate it.'"
"Rivalled only by 'Locke taught me a new trick,'" added Galo.
"The only person who gets away with Locke Lamora games ..."
"... is Locke ..."
"... because we think the gods are saving him up for a really big death. Something with knives and hot irons ..."
"... and fifty thousand cheering spectators.
Stichwörter: death humour danger gods
my heart has more rooms in it than a whore house
Gabriel García MárquezStichwörter: humour
I, being born a woman and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
To bear your body's weight upon my breast;
So subtly is the fume of life designed,
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, the poor treason
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or season
My scorn with pity, - let me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again.
It's spider season. Every year, right about now, thousands of the godless eight-legged bastards emerge from the bowels of hell (or the garden, whichever's nearest) with the sole intention of tormenting humankind.
Charlie BrookerStichwörter: humor fear humour funny dread spiders torment arachnophobia
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