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“Confidence is ignorance,” advised the centaur. “If you’re feeling cocky, it’s because there’s something you don’t know.”
I’ll make up for my age with a really big gun.
“Too much damned TV. Thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes.” “That’s Professor Moriarty,” corrected Foaly. “Holmes, Moriarty, they both look the same with the flesh scorched off their skulls.”
Ambition had a price, and that price was friendship.
“That’s right, Mud Boy. Playtime’s over. Time for the professionals to take over. If you’re a good boy, I’ll buy you a lollipop when I come back.” And when Holly was long gone, soaring beneath the hallway’s ancient oak beams, Artemis said, “I don’t like lollipops.” It was a woefully inadequate response, and Artemis was instantly appalled with himself. Pathetic really: I don’t like lollipops. No self-respecting criminal mastermind would be caught dead even using the word lollipops. He really would have to put together a database of witty responses for occasions such as this.
