Humor

"I don't see how it's doing society any good to have it's members walking around with vague memories of algebraic formulas and geometric diagrams, and clear memories of hating them."

"To fit the individual to live and to function in the institutional life of his day."

"Jerzy,” said I, turning to the Dean of Students, who was nearby, “You’re experienced in these things, and I’m not. Will you tell me whether it is an unalterable rule in this school for a teacher to lose himself in the middle of the night scrambling to find what he cannot see and what is probably not there?”“Isn’t that what we do in the classroom every day?” said Witskoc. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s how it is. I’d like to see how you can construct a pedagogical context made up of nothing but security and certainties."

"Also, I am not sure what you are teaching in your classroom, but Seb came home the other week talking about a healthy eating pyramid. I had to explain to him that pyramids are made of stone and therefore not edible, so I would appreciate your not filling his head with these fanciful notions."

"Never talk back to a teacher. Teachers are like God. Actually, teachers are God's boss."

"...as the old saying goes: if you teach a man to fish, he will feed himself for a lifetime. But if you just give him a fishing pole, he’ll have to teach himself."

"My first semester I had only nine students. Hoping they might view me as professional and well prepared, I arrived bearing name tags fashioned in the shape of maple leaves."

"In every relationship one must sacrifice to show thy love. Are you willing to make sacrifices for someone you love?"

"Are you going to let me be eaten' Billy Beecham looks stunned.'Don't you know that sometimes Beast collectors get collected' I ask him.'But you're a virgin.''Virgins were never sacrifices,' I say. "Not to this kind of Beast. Virgins are collaborators."

"Are you going to let me be eaten' Billy Beecham looks stunned.'Don't you know that sometimes Beast collectors get collected' I ask him.'But you're a virgin.''Virgins were never sacrifices,' I say. "Not to this kind of Beast. Virgin are collaborators."

"An ordinary man can enjoy breakfasting on juice and rye bread. But when you are underfed, scorned, miserable or just plain bored, you don’t want to eat dull wholesome food. You want something a little more colourful, exciting, tastier, meatier and juicier."

"Well, I don't know, Lina. But let's just say I've met a lot of dead people."

"All right,” she said a little sarcastically. “I was going to assume you liked eating babies and sacrificing virgins, but I might as well ask, what do you do for fun?”“I languish in sin,” I replied in the same tone. “I take my babies rare, and my virgins over easy."

"Do not mock my baby." He pulls away and strokes his palm over he seat. "She was my first love."Well your current ... er ... girl, is getting jealous with all the attention you're paying your first love, and she has orifices you can stick things in without having your boy bits burnt off."He pulls me into him again and his mouth goes to work on my neck. “Fuck I love it when you talk dirty."

"I'm as lucky as a bed of oysters on cioppino night."

"I want to make sure I remember what real ugly is. I might want to tell my grandchildren someday."

"Freedom was the price of privacy."

"Each day of the week, Kalist indulges himself in a different, secret ritual. On Mondays, he wears cologne. On Tuesdays, he eats meat for lunch. On Wednesdays, he places a bet after work. On Thursdays, he smokes one cigarette (but claims he’s not a smoker). On Fridays, he treats himself to his favourite pastime: horse practice – he grew up with horses and likes to try and emulate their distinctive whinnies, snorts, neighs, snuffles, sighs, grunts, fluttering nostrils, the occasional aggressive outburst and the especially beautiful nicker of a mare to her foal. And, on Saturdays, lest we forget, Maxwell D. Kalist drinks wine from a chalice."

"Maxwell D. Kalist is a receiving teller at a city bank, Orwell and Finch, where he runs an efficient department of twenty two clerks and twelve junior clerks. He carries a leather-bound vade mecum everywhere with him – a handbook of the most widely contravened banking rules. He works humourlessly (on the surface of it) in a private, perfectly square office on the third floor of a restored grain exchange midway along the Eastern flank of Květniv’s busy, modern central plaza. Behind his oblong slate desk and black leather swivel chair is an intimidating, three-storey wall made almost entirely of bevelled, glare-reducing grey glass in art-deco style; one hundred and thirty six rectangles of gleam stacked together in a dangerously heavy collage."

"I’m warning you because you’re young and vulnerable. He’s a dirty, lying, conniving piece of shit and he’s dangerous.” Gottfried Baumauer."