Commander: What's that? Foaly: It's a finger, what does look like?

I hear that you were on a date with Trouble Kelp. Are you two planning on building a bivouac any time soon?

Sig Sauer. Nine millimetres. Thirteen in the magazine. Big bullets. One of these hits you and it could blow your head off; something even the magic can't fix. Other than that you should be all right, presuming you remembered to wear the regulation above-ground micro-fibre jumpsuit recently patented by me. Then again, being a Recon jock, you probably didn't.

Shut up, Julius! I mean, quiet a moment, Commander.

A monkey glances up and sees a banana, and that's as far as he looks. A visionary looks up and sees the moon.

No, mademoiselle, I would not like to see the children's menu. I have no doubt that the children's menu itself tastes better than the meals on it. I would like to order à la carte. Or don't you serve fish to minors?

If it looks like a Dwarf, and it smells like a Dwarf, then it's probably a Dwarf or a latrine wearing dungerees.