We're being lead by an idiot with a crayon.

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.

Let us proceed under the assumption that the fairy folk do exist, and that I am not a gibbering moron.

Will you miss him Holly?” he asked suddenly. [...] “No,” she said. “I will not miss him.” But her eyes told the real story.

I am charging you with the protection of my mother and friends, not to mention keeping my younger self off the Internet. He is as dangerous as Opal.

Don't you worry about that, Mr. Adamsson. Why don't you head back to Reykjavik and spend some of that extortionate fee you charged me for a couple of hours' usage of your frankly third-rate restaurant and perhaps find a friendless tree stump to listen to your woes?

I bet," said Mulch, "that you would set the world on fire just to watch it burn." Opal tapped the suggestion into a small electronic notepad on her pocket computer. Thanks for that. Now, tell me everything.