Michael Buckley · 284 pages
Rating: (43.7K votes)
“You can't judge the many by the actions of the few.”
“That's why crazy people are so dangerous. You think they're nice until they're chaining you up in the garage.”
“The night is young, and by the grace of magic, so are we.”
“You've never heard of the Trickster King?" Puck asked, shocked.
The girls shook their heads.
"The Prince of Fairies? Robin Goodfellow? The Imp?"
"Do you work for Santa?" Daphne asked.
"I'm a fairy, not an elf!" Puck roared. "You really don't know who I am! Doesn't anyone read the classics anymore? Dozens of writers have warned about me. I'm in the most famous of all of William Shakespeare's plays."
"I don't remember any Puck in Romeo and Juliet," Sabrina muttered, feeling a little amused at how the boy was reacting to his non-celebrity.
"Besides Romeo and Juliet!" Puck shouted. "I'm the star of a Midsummer Night's Dream!"
"Congratulation," Sabrina said flatly. "Never read it.”
“I dont know what could possibly distract three pigs enough so that you can get away." Sabrina thought for a moment then grinned. "I know exactly what to do.”
“How did you know that we could get him to do whatever we want if we pretend he’s in charge?” Sabrina asked Daphne.
“It’s what I do with you” the little girl replied. “You two are exactly the same”
“Sabrina suggested they burn their orange monkey sweaters and blue heart covered pants but Daphne refused. Granny took Sabrina aside and apologised for the outfit, saying that Mr. Canis might not have been the right choice to shop for girls. After all, he was colour-blind.”
“New York City is a place where everyone lived on top of each other, and that was exactly how Sabrina liked it. Living out in the middle of nowhere was dangerous and suspicious.”
“Jack complained “I could really go for some bubble and squeak or some bangers. Do you kids think you could cook up some steak-and-kidney pie for me?”
The girls stared
“I hear noises coming from his mouth but they don’t sound like words,” Daphne said.
“Maybe he is having some kind of fit” Sabrina said.”
“I feel like a movie star,” Daphne said as the girls hurried downstairs. “You look like a mental patient,” Sabrina remarked.”
“Unfortunately, his pants had not survived the fall. They hung from the sharp teeth of the barbed-wire fence, leaving the sheriff in just a pair of droopy long johns. Defeated,”
“That woman is hiding something!” she said. “You think everyone’s hiding something.” “And you would hug the devil if he gave you cookies.”
“Oh really? How about Ms. Longdon, who swore her toilet was haunted?” said Sabrina.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Johnson handcuffed us to a radiator!” Sabrina cried.”
“There, snug as a bug in a rug!” the old woman hollered. “I love dolphins, too!” Daphne exclaimed. “Not since I hurt my toes!” Mrs. Grimm shouted.”
“Daphne stopped and turned to the injured man. “I like my outfit,” she said and stuck her tongue out. Mr. Applebee stuck his tongue out, too, and the little girl stomped out of the room.”
“The Three isn’t a person, they’re a coven of witches; Glinda the Good Witch of the North, Morgan Le Fay, and the gingerbread house witch, Frau Pfefferkuchenhaus.”
“I can’t believe the Three Little Pigs are working for the bad guy.” Daphne sighed. “I can’t believe anyone still calls them the three little pigs.” Mirror tittered. “That trio has been tipping the scales for as long as I can remember.”
“I hear noises coming from his mouth but they don’t sound like words,” Daphne said.”
“But most disturbing were his eyes, as they changed into an achingly bright blue color. The same color Canis’s eyes were in the picture Sabrina had found of her family.”
“Hamstead had turned into a pig—an angry, determined pig in a policeman’s uniform.”
“old woman said just as the machine let out a loud honking sound that could only be described as a fart. “Just as I thought, it’s from a giant beanstalk.”
“Deception is the natural defence of the weak against the strong, and the South used it for many years against its conquerors; to-day it must be prepared to see its black proletariat turn that same two-edged weapon against itself. And how natural this is! The death of Denmark Vesey and Nat Turner proved long since to the Negro the present hopelessness of physical defence. Political defence is becoming less and less available, and economic defence is still only partially effective. But there is a patent defence at hand,—the defence of deception and flattery, of cajoling and lying. It is the same defence which peasants of the Middle Age used and which left its stamp on their character for centuries. To-day the young Negro of the South who would succeed cannot be frank and outspoken, honest and self-assertive, but rather he is daily tempted to be silent and wary, politic and sly; he must flatter and be pleasant, endure petty insults with a smile, shut his eyes to wrong; in too many cases he sees positive personal advantage in deception and lying. His real thoughts, his real aspirations, must be guarded in whispers; he must not criticise, he must not complain. Patience, humility, and adroitness must, in these growing black youth, replace impulse, manliness, and courage. With this sacrifice there is an economic opening, and perhaps peace and some prosperity. Without this there is riot, migration, or crime. Nor is this situation peculiar to the Southern United States, is it not rather the only method by which undeveloped races have gained the right to share modern culture? The price of culture is a Lie.”
“Nuestra historia está llena de frases y episodios que revelan la indiferencia de nuestros héroes ante el dolor o el peligro. Desde niños nos enseñan a sufrir con dignidad las derrotas, concepción que no carece de grandeza. Y si no todos somos estóicos e impasibles –como Juárez y Cuauhtémoc– al menos procuramos ser resignados, pacientes y sufridos. La resignación es una de nuestras virtudes populares. Más que el brillo de la victoria, nos conmueve la entereza ante la adversidad.”
“What we wanted to do we went and did, on our legs upstanding, and we faced all reproof and censure on our legs upstanding, and did not hide behind the skirts of classical economists and bourgeois philosophers, nor behind the skirts of subsidized preachers, professors, and editors.”
“Escribiendo no existe lo del nudo en la lengua, pero si existiera, si mi mano fuese como una lengua enorme, de verdad le digo que la tendría atada con uno de esos nudos complicados que solo los boy scouts saben deshacer.”
“-Te dije que sonaría como una...
-No, no es así
SÍ, SÍ QUE ES ASÍ
Shhh.
ESTE ES MI INFIERNO, LO JURO. CUANDO PASE A MEJOR VIDA Y ME CASTIGUEN POR MIS PECADOS, ESTE SERÁ MI TORMENTO. VIVIRÉ RODEADO POR UN MAR DE ADOLESCENTES NIÑOSMONOS ENAMORADOS. CHAPOTEANDO EN CHARCOS DE SU PROPIA BABA.”
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