"He'd noticed that sex bore some resemblance to cookery: it fascinated people, they sometimes bought books full of complicated recipes and interesting pictures, and sometimes when they were really hungry they created vast banquets in their imagination - but at the end of the day they'd settle quite happily for egg and chips. If it was well done and maybe had a slice of tomato."
— Terry Pratchett (The Fifth Elephant)

"Life isn’t divided into genres. It’s a horrifying, romantic, tragic, comical, science-fiction cowboy detective novel. You know, with a bit of pornography if you're lucky."
— Alan Moore

"I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells."
— Dr. Seuss

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."
— Dr. Seuss

"Adults are just obsolete children and the hell with them."
— Dr. Seuss

"If you'd never been born, then you might be an Isn't!
An Isn't has no fun at all. No, he disn't."
— Dr. Seuss

"Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this. Men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget."
— Robert Jordan (The Dragon Reborn)

""Everything in this room is eatable, even I'm eatable! But that is called cannibalism, my dear children, which is frowned upon in most societies.""
— Roald Dahl

"As a general rule...people ask for advice only in order not to follow it; or if they do follow it, in order to have someone to blame for giving it."
— Alexandre Dumas

"'Can a magician kill a man by magic?” Lord Wellington asked Strange. Strange frowned. He seemed to dislike the question. “I suppose a magician might,” he admitted, “but a gentleman never would.'"
— Susanna Clarke (Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell)

""I bet your mom would let me."
-Pigeon, Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus-"
— Mo Willems (Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus)

"Chronicler shook his head and Bast gave a frustrated sigh. 'How about plays? Have you seen The Ghost and the Goosegirl or The Ha'penny King?

Chronicler frowned. 'Is that the one where the king sells his crown to an orphan boy?'

Bast nodded. 'And the boy becomes a better king than the original. The goosegirl dresses like a countess and everyone is stunned by her grace and charm.' He hesitated, struggling to find the words he wanted. 'You see, there's a fundamental connection between seeming and being. Every Fae child knows this, but you mortals never seem to see. We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.'

Chronicler relaxed a bit, sensing familiar ground. 'That's basic psychology. You dress a beggar in fine clothes, people treat him like a noble, and he lives up to their expectations.'

'That's only the smallest piece of it,' Bast said. 'The truth is deeper than that. It's . . .' Bast floundered for a moment. 'It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.'

Frowning, Chronicler opened his mouth, but Bast held up a hand to stop him. 'No, listen. I've got it now. You meet a girl: shy, unassuming. If you tell her she's beautiful, she'll think you're sweet, but she won't believe you. She knows that beauty lies in your beholding.' Bast gave a grudging shrug. 'And sometimes that's enough.'

His eyes brightened. 'But there's a better way. You show her she is beautiful. You make mirrors of your eyes, prayers of your hands against her body. It is hard, very hard, but when she truly believes you . . .' Bast gestured excitedly. 'Suddenly the story she tells herself in her own head changes. She transforms. She isn't seen as beautiful. She is beautiful, seen.'

'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' Chronicler snapped. 'You're just spouting nonsense now.'

'I'm spouting too much sense for you to understand,' Bast said testily. 'But you're close enough to see my point.'"
— Patrick Rothfuss (The Name of the Wind)

"Today I will masterbate!

Okay, that was a mistake. I should have written "Today I will masterbate--if I want to!""
— Al Franken