Christopher Moore

Lucien, women are wondrous, mysterious, and magical creatures, who should be treated not only with respect but with reverence, perhaps even awe. Now go sweep the steps.

That was supposed to be the whole purpose of the Internet, you know. To share scientific information.""Not a Viagra- and porn-delivery system?

I gave you all!" screeched Lear, waving a palsied claw at Regan."And you took your bloody time giving it, too, you senile old fuck," said Regan.

She hugged me and I could feel the heat rise in my face, either from shame or love, like there was a difference.

An original thought would crack your feeble skull like a thunderbolt, you craven vulture.

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

I'm poor and my cat is huge.

The Angel Gabriel disappeared once for sixty years and they found him on earth hiding in the body of a man named Miles Davis.

Diogenes carried a bowl with him for years, but one day saw a man drinking from his cupped palm and declared, __ have been a fool, burdened all these years by the weight of a bowl when a perfectly good vessel lay at the end of my wrist.

Mr. Asher, you can resist who you are for only so long. Finally, you just decide to go with fate.

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.

Sarcasm will make your tits fall off.

It's wildly irritating to have invented something as revolutionary as sarcasm, only to have it abused by amateurs.

That's the difference between irony and sarcasm. Irony can be spontaneous, while sarcasm requires volition. You have to create sarcasm.

In another Christmas story, Dale Pearson, evil developer, self-absorbed woman hater, and seemingly unredeemable curmudgeon, might be visited in the night by a series of ghosts who, by showing him bleak visions of Christmas future, past, and present, would bring about in him a change to generosity, kindness, and a general warmth toward his fellow man. But this is not that kind of Christmas story, so here, in not too many pages, someone is going to dispatch the miserable son of a bitch with a shovel. That's the spirit of Christmas yet to come in these parts. Ho, ho, ho.

Author's WarningIf you're buying this book as a gift for your grandma or a kid, you should be aware that it contains cusswords as well as tasteful depictions of cannibalism and people in their forties having sex. Don't blame me. I told you.

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?

You're trying to be tricky. What's morality?""It's the difference between what's right and what you can rationalize.""Must be a human thing.""Exactly.