Eunice had deposited St John upon the balcony of the first-floor apartment of former Liberal MP, The Rt. Hon. Leonard Cossins, the disgraced Lord Mayor of Mitchell-Baines who had been removed from office having been caught administering counterfeit buttercup syrup to the local yeomanry whilst on a hunting trip to Stoke-Poges.
Listening to Eminem makes me feel like a badass. Or at least as though I have the potential for badassery. I mean, the way he sings, it’s like he’d probably punch out a puppy if it looked at him wrong. Obviously I’m not glorifying animal cruelty here, I’m just saying, I could use some of that attitude.
And remember, Wallis, there's something the matter with Mr. Allan's shutters. They won't always close the sunshine out as they should."Wallis almost winked, if an elderly, mutton-chopped servitor can be imagined as winking."No, ma'am," he promised. Something wrong with 'em. I'll remember, ma'am.
What is it with you today?” says Christina on the way to breakfast. Her eyes are stillswollen from sleep and her tangled hair forms a fuzzy halo around her face.“Oh, you know,” I say. “Sun shining. Birds chirping.”She raises an eyebrow at me, as if reminding me that we are in an undergroundtunnel.
Blackjack," Percy said, "this is Piper and Jason. They're friends."The horse nickered."Uh, maybe later," Percy answered.Piper had heard that Percy could speak to horses, being the son of the horse lord Poseidon, but she'd never seen it in action."What does Blackjack want?" she asked."Donuts," Percy said. "Always donuts.
Opposite Pissec sits ghoulish Gottfried Baumauer, a tall, skinny workaholic with dark-ringed eye sockets and long, yellowing smoker’s fingers. He’s thirty-eight. He doesn’t say much. He drinks a lot of tea – likes it strong as tar. He lines up the strained, dry bags on his desk like dead, tailless voles.
I, myself, have killed six people. All random, all undetected, no way to trace them to me. And, let me tell you, there's nothin' like it. It's a great feeling. Yeah, I know, you're thinking. 'Aw, he's a comedian. He's just sayin' that stuff.' Good. That's exactly what I want you to think.
And I'm not saying it's a bad song, you know, or anything like that. All I'm saying is that if you get, I don't know, a broom, say, and dip it in some brake fluid, put the other end up my arse, stick me on a trampoline in a moving lift, and I would write a better song on the walls. That's all I'm saying.
She's always getting into trouble because she gets bored really really easily. [...]My mum says it's because Celia has an attention span the size of a sesame seed. Celia's mum says it's because Celia's identity is unfurling itself slowly, like a tulip bud, and it's a breathtakingly beautiful thing to see.
There's always a strange feeling you get when you come across one particular line by chance. It feels somehow significant. That's irrational of course, but humans are irrational creatures. Even the sturdiest, most down-to-earth chap will turn pale if he opens a book at random and sees the words PREPARE TO MEET THY DEATH.
lectures broke into one's day and were clearly a terrible waste of time, necessary no doubt if you were reading law or medicine or some other vocational subject, but in the case of English, the natural thing to do was talk a lot, listen to music, drink coffee and wine, read books, and go to plays, perhaps be in plays…
I'm glad mushrooms are against the law, because I took them one time, and you know what happened to me? I laid in a field of green grass for four hours going, "My God! I love everything." Yeah, now if that isn't a hazard to our country … how are we gonna justify arms dealing when we realize that we're all one?
How do you feel, Georgie?" whispered Mrs. Weasley.George's fingers groped for the side of his head."Saintlike," he murmured."What's wrong with him?" croaked Fred, looking terrified. "Is his mind affected?""Saintlike," repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. "You see...I'm HOLEY, Fred, geddit?
A wiccan?" Ian's deep voice rang out. Hunter did not have to look to know that his friend was tense with the idea of the unknown."Relax." James answered. "It's like a witch without powers... or a human with magic. Something like that."Jonathan looked as confused by James' description as the rest of those present.
Laurel, David? Would you like to share the joke with the rest of the class?" he asked, one hand on his skinny hip."No, sir," David said. "But thank you for asking." The students around them laughed, but Mr. james didn't look pleased. Laurel leaned back and grinned. David, one. Teacher who wishes he was as smart as David? Zero
