I just wanted to do something that would freak people out. That's the best thing to do.
"I feel like, like pudding," Iggy groaned. "Pudding with nerve endings. Pudding in great pain. "
I blame Jeb for letting you be such a smart aleck. ” I stared at her. “I blame you for altering my DNA! I mean, I have wings, lady! What were you thinking?
Yeah,” said Iggy. “But what now? Let’s do something fun. ” I guess being on the run from bloodthirsty Erasers and insane scientists wasn’t enough fun for him. Kids today are so spoiled.
Do I open it? Do I open it? Of course I freaking open it!
My life would never contain a convenient, pain-saving plan when it could stretch a problem out into an endless agony of uncertainty and torture.
What are you doing in there, waxing your mustache?” Iggy yelled, pounding on the bathroom door. I yanked the door open and pushed him backward hard, making him stagger. “I don’t have a mustache, you idiot!” Iggy giggled and put his arms up to protect himself in case I punched him. “And you know what?” I added. “You don’t have one either. Well, maybe in a couple years. You can always hope. ” I left him in the hallway, anxiously fingering his upper lip.
Pliable human nature is relentlessly pressed upon by its physical environment.
Many a healthy reaction has proved fatal.
Ruby Wax has basically ruined my career. You'll see when you watch the programme. I get more intimate with Ruby than I've ever been with another woman.
I am not one of those weak-spirited, sappy Americans who want to be liked by all the people around them. I don’t care if people hate my guts; I assume most of them do. The important question is whether they are in a position to do anything about it. My affections, being concentrated over a few people, are not spread all over Hell in a vile attempt to placate sulky, worthless shits.