Hey, if you can't remember, don't worry about it. I'm having a few memory problems myself in this place. Little things like how long I've been here, what my purpose in life is, which feet to put my shoes on. Stuff like that.

What's that supposed to mean? A wolf's head on a stick. Big wolf barbecue tonight? Bring your own wolf?

"That was horrible. Horrible. That poor little guy." Pex was unrepentant. "Yeah, well, he asked for it. Calling us... all those things." But buried alive?! That's like in that horror movie. Y'know the one with all the horror." "I think I saw that one. With all the words going up on the screen at the end?" "Yeah, that was it. Tell you the truth, those words kinda ruined it for me."

A fifeteen-year old, of to save the world, with faries. - Angeline Fowl

Too much damned TV. Thinks he's Sherlock Holmes." "That's professor Moriarty," corrected Foaly. "Holmes, Moriarty, they both look the same with the flesh scorched off their skulls.

...to be injured on this tundra would lead to a quick and painful death—or at the very least abject humiliation before the popping flashes of the tourist season's tail end, which was slightly less painful than a painful death, but lasted longer.

Oh, I'm crazy all right. I do have plenty of psychoses. Multiple personality, delusional dementia, OCD. I've got them all, but most of all, I'm crazy about you.