“No matter what dimension you're in, there's a big-headed male trying to take over the world.”
“If it looks like a Dwarf, and it smells like a Dwarf, then it's probably a Dwarf or a latrine wearing dungerees.”
“What's that supposed to mean? A wolf's head on a stick. Big wolf barbecue tonight? Bring your own wolf?”
“Everyone says that I have no sense of humor, then I construct a perfectly sound pun around a well-known psychological condition, and it is ignored.”
“Excuse me, Captain. Are you two going to weep salty tears of admiration over a helmet all night, or do we have matters to discuss?”
“Relax, Mr. Diggums. Have another nettle beer, or some spring water." The commander took two bottles from the cooler and offered one to Mulch.
Mulch studied the label. "Derrier? No thanks. You know how they put the bubbles in this stuff?"
Vinyaya's mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. "I thought it was naturally carbonated."
"Yeah, that's what I thought until I got a prison job at the Derrier plant. They employ every dwarf in the Deeps. They made us sign confidentiality contracts."
Vinyaya was hooked. "So go on, tell me. How do they get the bubbles in?"
Mulch tapped his nose. "Can't say. Breach of contract. All I can say is it involves a huge vat of water and several dwarfs using our ...eh" Mulch pointed to his rear end-"... natural talents."
Vinyaya gingerly replaced her bottle.”
“A cloak of invisibility? This is a highly sensitive piece of field equipment. What does he think? Some warlock pulled it out of his armpit?”
“Holly frowned at her. "Glad to see you've forgiven yourself so quickly."
"Harboring feelings of guilt can have a negative affect on mental health."
"Child geniuses," growled Holly.
"Genii," said Minerva.”
“Why can't we for once have a meeting in Starbucks?”
“There are always a few bored audience members at an opera, especially by the time act four comes along. Those particular eyes would be wandering around the hall, searching for something, anything, interesting to watch. Those eyes would land on the little demon downstage right, unless they were distracted.
Right on cue, a large stage lamp broke free of its clamp in the rigging and swung on its cable into the back canvas. [...]
On his way though the lobby minutes later, Artemis was highly amuse to overhear several audience members gushing over the unorthodox direction of the opera's final scene. The exploding lamp, muse one buff, was doubtless a metaphor for Norma's own falling star. But no, argued a second. The lamp was obviously a modernistic interpretation of the burning stake that Norma was about to face.
Or perhaps, thought Artemis as he pushed through the crowd to find a light Sicilian mist falling on his forehead, the exploding lamp was simply an exploding lamp.”
“Caballine likes me to be masterful. She calls me her stallion.”
“Just what we need," moaned Holly. "Artemis Fowl with magical powers.”
“Control puberty?" snorted the bodyguard."If you manage that, you'll be the first.”
“I am older and have more control over my empathy,' said Qwan. 'That's why I didn't throw up.' And having said that, he threw up.”
“Chief of security : They have a tank! How did they get a tank up here?”
“You know as well as I do that fortune never sends the best-case scenario our way
You have way too much bad karma.”
“Make it fast, you shower of stinking rabbit droppings, I've got a fresh blade that I'm just itching to test!”
“It can play solitaire and minesweeper,” replied Artemis innocently.”
“How did that go” [Butler] asked. “Your first lengthy conversation with a girl your own age.”
“Fabulous,” said Artemis, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’re planning a June wedding.”
“When Holly Short had opened the door of her makeshift basement cell, she had found her helmet bouncing on the spot in front of her with a 3-D image of Foaly’s face projected onto it. “That is really creepy,”
“Great, thought Holly. No matter what dimension you’re in, there’s a bigheaded male trying to take over the world.”
“You know how they put the bubbles in this stuff?” Vinyáya’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “I thought it was naturally carbonated.” “Yeah, that’s what I thought until I got a prison job at the Derrier plant. They employ every dwarf in the Deeps. They made us sign confidentiality contracts.” Vinyáya was hooked. “So go on, tell me. How do they get the bubbles in?” Mulch tapped his nose. “Can’t say. Breach of contract. All I can say is it involves a huge vat of water and several dwarfs using our . . . eh”—Mulch pointed to his rear end—“. . . natural talents.” Vinyáya gingerly replaced her bottle.”
“Just what we need,” moaned Holly. “Artemis Fowl with magical powers.”
“But calling up magic when there were arrows flying and chunks of the countryside disappearing was about as easy as going to the toilet on command with a dozen people watching. Who all hated you.”
“That is a highly sensitive piece of field equipment. What does he think? Some warlock pulled it out of his armpit?”
“The female guard smiled broadly then collapsed. On the ground she began singing a nursery rhyme about doggies and their bones.”
“So did The Eye come here looking for me?"
"Actually, we came because we heard it was free corn dog night. Imagine our disappointment.”
“I don't want to walk out that door and lose what we found in this room.”
“It takes courage to die for a cause, but also to live for one.”
“I drop the other Chest to the ground in shock. "What number are you? I'm Four."
He squints at me and then offers his hand. "I'm Nine. Good job staying alive, Number Four.”
“Not only to myself or before the mirror or at the hour of my death, which I hope will be long in coming, but in the presence of my children and my wife and in the face of the peaceful life I’m building, I must acknowledge: (1) That under Stalin I wouldn’t have wasted my youth in the gulag or ended up with a bullet in the back of my head. (2) That in the McCarthy era I wouldn’t have lost my job or had to pump gas at a gas station. (3) That under Hitler, however, I would have been one of those who chose the path of exile, and that under Franco I wouldn’t have composed sonnets to the caudillo or the Holy Virgin like so many lifelong democrats. One thing is as true as the other. My bravery has its limits, certainly, but so does what I’m willing to swallow. Everything that begins as comedy ends as tragicomedy.”
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