The Witchstone Quotes

“What’s Italian for ‘wimp’?” “Pappamolle.” “Everything sounds better in Italian,” remarked Laszlo.”
― Henry H. Neff, The Witchstone

“And it wasn’t just physical pain. The experience also included pangs of inconsolable malaise, ennui, and other angsty French terms. It was like reading Camus.”
― Henry H. Neff, The Witchstone

“You’re late,” said one. “Oh, fuck off,” said Laszlo pleasantly. “There’s no need for vulgarities,” the other face groused. “It’s our duty to reprimand you.” “You’re condemned souls,” Laszlo reminded them. “Your only duty is to suffer eternal torment. Besides, what do you care when I show up? Does it honestly upset you when I’m late?” “Yes,” sniffed one of the souls. “It does.” “Then I guess I’m doing my job.”
― Henry H. Neff, The Witchstone

“The shell game was an age-old con whose origins dated back to Ancient Greece. Everyone and their mother knew it was a scam, and thus it only worked on marks who grossly overestimated their own abilities. Fortunately, 100 percent of men fell into this category.”
― Henry H. Neff, The Witchstone

“The pot only understands German, you dimwit.”
― Henry H. Neff, The Witchstone

“I see. So you don’t have a last name?” Laszlo braced himself. “I do. It’s Zebul. As in Baal Zebul.” Father Angelo repeated it. “Hm. Sounds a bit like Beelzebub. Are you related?” Laszlo sighed inwardly. Nicknames were like herpes; you could never get rid of them.”
― Henry H. Neff, The Witchstone

“The girl extended her left arm like a Jedi about to use the Force. Laszlo always sympathized with Star Wars actors. Standing in front of a green screen while pretending to wield mystic powers had to be mortifying. There you were, a Juilliard graduate, forced to grunt and make faces as you battled enemies who would be added in postproduction. There wasn’t enough money in the world . . .”
― Henry H. Neff, The Witchstone

“Laszlo eyed the Drakefords suspiciously. “I already told you. There. Is. No. Beelzebub!” “Okay,” said Maggie. “Fine. Then why have we heard about him and not Baal?” “You really want to know?” She nodded. The demon looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon. “All right,” he muttered. “Fine. I’ll tell you. It all began when a certain bigwig—we’ll call him Lite-Brite—didn’t like my dad calling himself Baal Zebul. That means ‘Lord of the Manor,’ which we can all agree is perfectly normal and classy. But Lite-Brite thought Dad was getting too big for his britches. So what does that asshole do? He starts a rumor with the Israelites that my dad’s name is actually Baal Zebub—‘Lord of the Flies’—which might as well be ‘Lord of the Turds.’ Well, everyone thought this was hilarious.” Laszlo assumed a patrician bonhomie. “‘Evening, Baalzebub!’ . . . ‘How goes it, Baalzebub?’ . . . ‘I accidentally swatted one of your subjects, Baalzebub. Hope you don’t mind, old chap’ . . .”
― Henry H. Neff, The Witchstone

“So who is your father, anyway?” asked Maggie. “You haven’t told us his name.” Laszlo glanced from one to the other. “Really? I could have sworn I mentioned it.” The Drakefords shook their heads. “My father’s Baal,” said Laszlo. “Or Lord Baal, I should say. I assume you’ve heard of him.” Lump cocked his head. “I’ve heard of Beelzebub. Are they related?” At this, the demon’s face darkened. Leaning forward, he jabbed a finger at Lump. “Let’s get this straight right now. There is no ‘Beelzebub.’ That name’s nothing but a slanderous falsehood. I could sue you just for saying it.”
― Henry H. Neff, The Witchstone