W Quotes
Browse famous quotes beginning with W. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.
“What did my parents say when I told them I wanted to be an actor? 'Be a plumber.'”
“What did Nabokov and Joyce have in common, apart from the poor teeth and the great prose? Exile, and decades of near pauperism.”
Source: Experience
“What did Nabokov and Joyce have in common, apart from the poor teeth and the great prose? Exile, and decades of near pauperism. A compulsive tendency to overtip. An uxoriousness that their wives deservedly inspired. More than that, they both lived their lives 'beautifully'--not in any Jamesian sense (where, besides, ferocious solvency would have been a prerequisite), but in the droll fortitude of their perseverance. They got the work done, with style.”
“What did Napolean do for relaxation? He read a book. What did Lincoln do for relaxation? He read a book. What does Congress do for relaxation? They book a red.”
“What did not demolish me simply polished me.”
“What did one do after having a one-night stand (or, in my case, one-afternoon stand) with the school's biggest man-whore?”
Source: The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend
“What did one do around here?
Nothing. Wait for summer to end.
What did one do in the winter, then?
.... Don't tell me: wait for summer to come, right?”
Source: Call Me by Your Name
“What did one saggy boob say to the other? We better perk up or somebody is going to think we’re nuts.”
Source: I'll Be Right There
“What did one say to a stalker? Um, pardon me, Mr.Stalker, but could you, like, not?”
Source: Death and the Girl Next Door
“What did one see if one looked in any depth into the world of this writer's fiction? Elegant self-control concealing from the world's eyes until the very last moment a state of inner disintegration and biological decay; sallow ugliness, sensuously marred and worsted, which nevertheless is able to fan its smouldering concupiscence to a pallid impotence, which from the glowing depths of the spirit draws strength to cast down a whole proud people at the foot of the Cross and set its own foot upon them as well; gracious poise and composure in the empty austere service of form; the false, dangerous life of the born deceiver, his ambition and his art which lead so soon to exhaustion ---”
Source: Death in Venice and Other Tales
“What did one shepherd say to the other shepherd? Let’s get the flock out of here.”
“What did one trash-raised, trash-named thief know about the Lost-Lands? The same stories every guttersnitch knew: extravagant lies, elaborate inventions.”
Source: Master of One
“What did P’ Fah tell you before?”
“If you get lost, just sit and wait, and I’ll come find you,” I repeated the words P’ Fah had told me before.”
Source: South : Beside the sky เล่ม 1-2
“What did Romeo and Juliet do?” They died,” I remind her gently. “Some mix-up with the poison-”
“What did she know about the Black Forest? Only what she’d been able to glean from the maps in the library and from Luc’s fairy tales: Castles hidden in glens. Trees as tall as city buildings. Wolves and stags and bears. Mad princes who drowned in lakes. None of Mada Vittora’s books described an ancient academy deep in the woods, a place where it always snowed, where girls wanted magic badly enough to die for it.”
Source: Midnight Beauties
“What did she promise you?"
"Sweets and killing people”
“What did she say?” asked Matthias.
Nina coughed and took his arm, leading him away. “She said you’re a very nice fellow, and a credit to the Fjerdan race. Ooh, look, blini! I haven’t had proper blini in forever.”
“That word she used: babink,” he said. “You’ve called me that before. What does it mean?”
Nina directed her attention to a stack of paper-thin buttered pancakes. “It means sweetie pie.”
“Nina—”
“Barbarian.”
“I was just asking, there’s no need to name-call.”
“No, babink means barbarian.” Matthias’ gaze snapped back to the old woman, his glower returning to full force. Nina grabbed his arm. It was like trying to hold on to a boulder. “She wasn’t insulting you! I swear!”
“Barbarian isn’t an insult?” he asked, voice rising.
“No. Well, yes. But not in this context. She wanted to know if you’d like to play Princess and Barbarian.”
“It’s a game?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what is it?”
Nina couldn’t believe she was actually going to attempt to explain this. As they continued up the street, she said, “In Ravka, there’s a popular series of stories about, um, a brave Fjerdan warrior—”
“Really?” Matthias asked. “He’s the hero?”
“In a manner of speaking. He kidnaps a Ravkan princess—”
“That would never happen.”
“In the story it does, and”—she cleared her throat—“they spend a long time getting to know each other. In his cave.”
“He lives in a cave?”
“It’s a very nice cave. Furs. Jeweled cups. Mead.”
“Ah,” he said approvingly. “A treasure hoard like Ansgar the Mighty. They become allies, then?”
Nina picked up a pair of embroidered gloves from another stand. “Do you like these? Maybe we could get Kaz to wear something with flowers. Liven up his look.”
“How does the story end? Do they fight battles?”
Nina tossed the gloves back on the pile in defeat. “They get to know each other intimately.”
Matthias’ jaw dropped. “In the cave?”
“You see, he’s very brooding, very manly,” Nina hurried on. “But he falls in love with the Ravkan princess and that allows her to civilize him—”
“To civilize him?”
“Yes, but that’s not until the third book.”
“There are three?”
“Matthias, do you need to sit down?”
“This culture is disgusting. The idea that a Ravkan could civilize a Fjerdan—”
“Calm down, Matthias.”
“Perhaps I’ll write a story about insatiable Ravkans who like to get drunk and take their clothes off and make unseemly advances toward hapless Fjerdans.”
“Now that sounds like a party.” Matthias shook his head, but she could see a smile tugging at his lips. She decided to push the advantage. “We could play,” she murmured, quietly enough so that no one around them could hear.
“We most certainly could not.”
“At one point he bathes her.”
Matthias’ steps faltered. “Why would he—”
“She’s tied up, so he has to.”
“Be silent.”
“Already giving orders. That’s very barbarian of you. Or we could mix it up. I’ll be the barbarian and you can be the princess. But you’ll have to do a lot more sighing and trembling and biting your lip.”
“How about I bite your lip?”
“Now you’re getting the hang of it, Helvar.”
Source: Crooked Kingdom
“What did she say that has you so eager to take a beating?"
Bourne ignored the question, the explosion of pain in his cheek not doing its job, failing to take away all thought of what had happened earlier with his wife. Of how her blue eyes had flashed as she'd accused him of using her body to secure his interests. Of how she'd squared her shoulders and defended her own honor- something he should have done for her.
Of how she'd looked at him, truth and tears in her eyes, and told him that she'd missed him.
The words had taken his breath away- the idea that pure, perfect Penelope had thought of him, had worried about him.
Because he had missed her, too.
It had taken him years to forget- years that were erased in one moment of honesty, when she'd looked into his eyes and accused him of leaving her.
Of dishonoring her.
And there, in the pit of his stomach, still unmasked by the pain of Temple's beating, was the emotion he'd feared since the beginning of this charade.
Guilt.
She'd been right. He'd misused her. He'd treated her as less than she deserved. And she'd defended herself with strength and pride. Remarkably.
And even as he'd tried to let her go, to push her from him, he'd known that he wanted her. He didn't fool himself into thinking that the desire was new. He'd wanted her in Surrey, when she'd stood in the darkness with nothing but a lantern to protect her. But now... want had become something more serious. More visceral. More dangerous. Now, he wanted her- his strong, intelligent, kindhearted wife, who became more tempting every day as she shifted and blossomed into someone new and different than the girl he'd met on that dark Surrey evening.”
Source: A Rogue by Any Other Name
“What did she say?" Eve asked when they got into the car. "Here's love, she said, to hold until next we meet and I give you more.”
“What did she see in me? What does she see that I don't?”
“What did that Martin Luther King guy ever do for a white man? He was nothing but a black racist discriminating against whites left, right, and center.”
Source: QualityLand
“What did that mean, to kiss? You put your face up like that to say goodnight and then his mother put her face down. That was to kiss. His mother put her lips on his cheek; her lips were soft and they wetted his cheek; and they made a tiny little noise: kiss. Why did people do that with their two faces?”
Source: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man Thrift Study Edition
“What did that mean? Where could it go? He was a death diety. I was a high school senior.”
“What did that say about me? Had I become one of the monsters I thought I was fighting?
“Things didn’t have to be like this,” I commented. “He could’ve made different choices.”
Source: Fears of Darkness
“What did the 5 fingers say to the face. S L A P!”
“What did the carrot say to the wheat? Lettuce rest, I'm feeling beet.”
“What did the cat say when her owner was late to feed her?
You gotta be kitten me”
Source: How To Care For My Cat: A fun guide to basic cat care for children and teens
“What did the earth teach the trees?
How to speak to the sky.”
“What did the Ginians keep in the hearts of their mazes if not gold and jewels?"
Terlu, the former Fourth Librarian of the Second Floor, East Wing, smiled at the little rose. "Books, of course, the ultimate treasure. All their stories. And their knowledge.”
Source: The Enchanted Greenhouse
“What did the last Easter Islander say as he chopped down the last tree? The Easter Islanders didnt have anthropologists.”
“What did the letter O say to Q? Dude, your dikk is hanging out.”
“What did the mat say to the door? You must be really aDOORable to open up to everyone who knock at you. And I welcome everyone and what do I get? People stepping all over me”
Source: One Hundred One World Accounts in One Hundred One Word Count
“What did the president know, and when did he know it?”
“What did the Romans say? “De gustibus non est disputandum”: It is worthless to discuss personal taste. It is called 'personal' for a reason.”
Source: Daimones
“What did the soup say to the tea plate?
"You're too shallow for me. I like deep dish to dip right into!" I still keep my British humour in good taste. No room for egos or rumours.”
“What did the taxpayers get out of the Obama stimulus? More debt. That money wasn't just spent and wasted – it was borrowed, spent, and wasted.”
“What did the torturers of the Inquisition want? The admission of evil, of the principle of evil. It was necessary to make the accused say that he was not guilty except by accident, through the incidence of the principle of Evil in the divine order. Thus confession restored a reassuring causality, and torture, and the extermination of evil through torture, were nothing but the triumphal coronation (neither sadistic nor expiatory) of the fact of having produced Evil as cause. Otherwise, the least heresy would have rendered all of divine creation suspect.”
Source: Simulacra and Simulation
“What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?”
Source: The book of questions
“What did the weevils say?
‘We-evil!”
Source: Song of a Nature Lover
“What did the woman tell you?" she asked. "What did she say when she took my hand?"
"That she could see everything inside you," he said. "And then she told me what was there."
Juliana didn't press any further. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to know what was inside of her.”
Source: What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us
“What did the zombie say to the whore?
Keep the tip!”
Source: My Life as a White Trash Zombie
“What did they feed the lions and tigers with in the ark, sir?”
“What did this place used to be like?"
Mulligan answered first. "Glorious, serene, vivacious. Ah, I do remember those days fondly. Every room full. Lively chatter over breakfast. Strolls through the garden and the surrounding hills. I have heard it claimed that the High King of the Goblins himself once chose to stay here in disguise, and that Auntie Zee simultaneously hosted the famed enchantress Isatre and her mortal enemy, the ruler of the Elind, without a single incident. They sipped juice at breakfast together and spoke of spring flowers, utterly unaware of who the other was."
"That was a long time ago," Kendra said, clipped.
"The glory days," Mulligan agreed.
Calisa asked the more important question. "What do you think it would take to bring the inn's old guests back?"
"Cake is a start," Kendra said, piercing another bite of the chocolate cake with raspberry jam.”
Source: The Faraway Inn
“What did those people teach you?" he asked me one night, mystified. "What exactly do Catholics believe?"
I'd been preparing my whole life for this question. "First of all, blood. BLOOD. Second of all, thorns. Third of all, put dirt on your forehead. Do it right now. Fourth of all, Martin Luther was a pig in a cloak. Fifth of all, Jesus is alive, but he's also dead, and he's also immortal, but he's also made of clouds, and his face is a picture of infinite peace, but he also always looks like one of those men in a headache commercial, because you'rec causing him so much suffering whenever you cuss. He is so gentle that sheep seem like demented murderers in his presence, but also rays of sunlight shoot out of his face so hard they can kill people. In fact, they do kill people, and one day they will kill you. He has a tattoo of a daisy on his lower back and he gets his hair permed every eight weeks. He's wearing a flowing white dress, but only because people didn't know about jeans back then. He's holding up two fingers because his dad won't let him have a gun. If he lived on earth, he would have a white truck, plastered with bumper stickers of Calvin peeing on a smaller Calvin who is not a Catholic."
Jason was aghast. "Thorns?" he whispered. "But that's the most dangerous part of the rose.”
Source: Priestdaddy
“What did turtles evolve from? Really, I want to know. And for God’s sake, don’t say lizards, because turtles are nothing like lizards. They could not be more different.”
“what did wards matter when you could create your own reality just by drawing it?”
Source: Cassandra Clare: The Mortal Instruments Series (5 books): City of Bones; City of Ashes; City of Glass; City of Fallen Angels, City of Lost Souls
“What? Did we end up hating each other? Did we end up the way we thought we always knew would? Did I end up wearing khakis because of that fucking ad?”
Source: Glamorama
“What did we go to war for, if not to protect our property?”
“What did we really achieve by replacing the orange-haired orangutan with a better alternative, if that better alternative ultimately fails as horribly as his predecessor, when things get really desperate. I may not be a US citizen, but I am a US taxpayer, and when tax dollars from my books on peace and justice are used to aid and fund genocide and war, I find it difficult to maintain respect for such new administration. Citizens of earth could end all wars in a year - boycott all tax-filing unless your governments cease all defense activities for good.”
Source: Bulletproof Backbone: Injustice Not Allowed on My Watch
“What did we talk about?
I don't remember. We talked so hard and sat so still that I got cramps in my knee. We had too many cups of tea and then didn't want to leave the table to go to the bathroom because we didn't want to stop talking. You will think we talked of revolution but we didn't. Nor did we talk of our own souls. Nor of sewing. Nor of babies. Nor of departmental intrigue. It was political if by politics you mean the laboratory talk that characters in bad movies are perpetually trying to convey (unsuccessfully) when they Wrinkle Their Wee Brows and say (valiantly--dutifully--after all, they didn't write it) "But, Doctor, doesn't that violate Finagle's Constant?" I staggered to the bathroom, released floods of tea, and returned to the kitchen to talk. It was professional talk. It left my grey-faced and with such concentration that I began to develop a headache. We talked about Mary Ann Evans' loss of faith, about Emily Brontë's isolation, about Charlotte Brontë's blinding cloud, about the split in Virginia Woolf's head and the split in her economic condition. We talked about Lady Murasaki, who wrote in a form that no respectable man would touch, Hroswit, a little name whose plays "may perhaps amuse myself," Miss Austen, who had no more expression in society than a firescreen or a poker. They did not all write letters, write memoirs, or go on the stage. Sappho--only an ambiguous, somewhat disagreeable name. Corinna? The teacher of Pindar. Olive Schriener, growing up on the veldt, wrote on book, married happily, and ever wrote another. Kate Chopin wrote a scandalous book and never wrote another. (Jean has written nothing.). There was M-ry Sh-ll-y who wrote you know what and Ch-rl-tt- P-rk-ns G-lm-an, who wrote one superb horror study and lots of sludge (was it sludge?) and Ph-ll-s Wh--tl-y who was black and wrote eighteenth century odes (but it was the eighteenth century) and Mrs. -nn R-dcl-ff- S-thw-rth and Mrs. G--rg- Sh-ld-n and (Miss?) G--rg-tt- H-y-r and B-rb-r- C-rtl-nd and the legion of those, who writing, write not, like the dead Miss B--l-y of the poem who was seduced into bad practices (fudging her endings) and hanged herself in her garter. The sun was going down. I was blind and stiff. It's at this point that the computer (which has run amok and eaten Los Angeles) is defeated by some scientifically transcendent version of pulling the plug; the furniture stood around unknowing (though we had just pulled out the plug) and Lady, who got restless when people talked at suck length because she couldn't understand it, stuck her head out from under the couch, looking for things to herd. We had talked for six hours, from one in the afternoon until seven; I had at that moment an impression of our act of creation so strong, so sharp, so extraordinarily vivid, that I could not believe all our talking hadn't led to something more tangible--mightn't you expect at least a little blue pyramid sitting in the middle of the floor?”
Source: On Strike Against God