Now before we get into anything, ladies, no scratching, no spitting and no tattling to mummy.

Orion brightened. "I have an idea." "Yes?" said Foaly, daring to hope that a spark of Artemis remained. "Why don't we look for some magic stones that can grant wishes? Or, if that doesn't work, you could search my naked body for some mysterious birthmark that means I am actually the prince of somewhere or other.

She forces me to endure this ridiculous therapy, when the so-called counselors are little better than misguided do-gooders with degrees. -Artemis Fowl

So, let's make a deal: If you do not voice all the withering comments about the weight or uselessness of this jacket that are no doubt swirling in that big brain of yours, then I will not mention the super-laser episode again. Agreed?" This jacket is really cutting into my shoulders, thought Artemis. And it's so heavy that I could not outrun a slug. But he said, "Agreed.

Maybe I’ll keep you.” Abbot chuckled and prodded Artemis’s back with his sword. “It’d be nice to have a pet human around. I could teach you tricks.” “I have a trick for you,” said Artemis, and he fired a single blast from the gun.

The craft's occupants clutched their armrests, and more than one of them closed their eyes. But not Artemis. He couldn't. There was something morbidly fascinating about flying into an uncharted tunnel at a reckless speed with only a kleptomaniac dwarf's word for what lay at the other end.

And one more thing. About my name — Artemis — you were right. In London, it is generally a female name, after the Greek goddess of archery. But every now and then a male comes along with such a talent for hunting that he earns the right to use the name. I am that male. Artemis the hunter. I hunted you.