Droll Quotes

Edge will contact you mind- to- mind and let you know what's going on."
"So I should be prepared to hear voices in my head ... other than the usual ones." Vance added the last part with a grin.
Cory gave him a droll stare and said, "Exactly. ~ Lanie Malone

Daphne turned to Simon with an amused expression. "I can't quite decide if she is being terribly polite or exquisitely rude."
"Exquisitely polite, perhaps?" Simon asked mildly.
She shook her head. "Oh, definitely not that."
"The alternative, of course, is - "
"Terribly rude?" Daphne grinned and watched as her mother looped her arm through Lord Railmont's, pointed him toward Daphne so that he could nod his good-bye, and led him from the room.
And then, as if by magic, the remaining beaux murmured their hasty farewells and followed suit.
"Remarkably efficient, isn't she?" Daphne murmured.
"Your mother? She's a marvel."
"She'll be back, of course."
"Pity. And here I thought I had you well and truly in my clutches."
Daphne laughed. "I don't know how anyone considered you a rake. Your sense of humor is far too superb."
"And here we rakes thought we were so wickedly droll."
"A rake's humor," Daphne stated, "is essentially cruel."
Her comment surprised him. He stared at her intently, searching her brown eyes, and yet not really knowing what it was he was looking for.
There was a narrow ring of green just outside her pupils, the color as deep and rich as moss. He'd never seen her in the daylight before, he realized.
"Your grace?" Daphne's quiet voice snapped him out of his daze.
Simon blinked. "I beg your pardon."
"You looked a thousand miles away," she said, her brow wrinkling.
Julia Quinn

Nay," she said stubbornly. "I have just been told that the only chance I have for freedom is in your hands and by all that is holy, you will deliver me my freedom or I shall see to it that you live out the rest of your life in merciless misery."
He gaped at her. On any other man such an expression would have looked foolish, but to credit Lord Stryder, even when taken by surprise, he still managed to carry off an air of supreme authority and handsomeness. "I beg your pardon? Have you gone completely mad?"
"Not I, but rather the king you love so well. It appears he would see us marry."
"My hairy arse."
She gave him a droll stare. "That is much more information about your person, Lord Stryder, than I care to know. ~ Kinley MacGregor

The other evening, in that cafe-cabaret in the Rue de la Fontaine, where I had run aground with Tramsel and Jocard, who had taken me there to see that supposedly-fashionable singer... how could they fail to see that she was nothing but a corpse?

Yes, beneath the sumptuous and heavy ballgown, which swaddled her and held her upright like a sentry-box of pink velvet trimmed and embroidered with gold - a coffin befitting the queen of Spain - there was a corpse! But the others, amused by her wan voice and her emaciated frame, found her quaint - more than that, quite 'droll'...

Droll! that drab, soft and inconsistent epithet that everyone uses nowadays! The woman had, to be sure, a tiny carven head, and a kind of macabre prettiness within the furry heap of her opera-cloak. They studied her minutely, interested by the romance of her story: a petite bourgeoise thrown into the high life following the fad which had caught her up - and neither of them, nor anyone else besides in the whole of that room, had perceived what was immediately evident to my eyes. Placed flat on the white satin of her dress, the two hands of that singer were the two hands of a skeleton: two sets of knuckle-bones gloved in white suede. They might have been drawn by Albrecht
Durer: the ten fingers of an evil dead woman, fitted at the ends of the two overlong and excessively thin arms of a mannequin...

And while that room convulsed with laughter and thrilled with pleasure, g ~ Jean Lorrain

Is this Dornish wine?" Tyrion asked him once, as he pulled a stopper from a skin. "It reminds me of a certain snake I knew. A droll fellow, till a mountain fell on him. ~ George R R Martin

Tate won't like it that we kept the truth from him."
"I'm resigned to that," Cecily said half-truthfully. "He would never have turned to me, anyway, even if he knew he had mixed blood. I've been living on dreams too long already."
"If you go away from him, he'll follow you," Leta said unexpectedly. "There's a tie, a bond, between you that can't be broken."
"There's Audrey," Cecily pointed out.
"Honey, there have been other Audreys," she replied. "He never brought them home or talked about them. They were loose relationships, and not very many at all-never any who were innocent."
"Audrey's lasted a long time."
Leta searched her eyes. "If he's sleeping with Audrey, Cecily, why can't he keep his hands off you?"
Cecily's heart turned over twice. "Wh…what?"
"Simple question," came the droll reply. She grinned at the younger woman's embarrassment. "When you came in the kitchen that last time you were here, before Tate left, your mouth was swollen and you wouldn't look straight at him. He was badly shaken. It doesn't take a mind-reader to know what was going on in my living room. It isn't like Tate to play games with innocent girls."
"He doesn't think I am, anymore," she returned curtly. "I let him think that Colby and I are…very close."
"Uh-oh."
She scowled. "Uh-oh, what?"
"The only thing that's kept him away from you this long is that he didn't want to take advantage of you," Leta replied. "If he thinks you're even slight ~ Diana Palmer

My brother betrayed me and our people. If I were as cold as I'd like to be, his hide would be on the floor so everyone could walk on him. Unfortunately, my other brothers were a little disturbed by that so we compromised with the wall."
"Understood," Ash said. "Where's the rest of the pack?"
"In the back.We're staying out of it. We don't like to kill our own."
Zarek snorted at that."Unless it's your brother."
Dante approached Zarek and the two of them had a mutual sneer-off."Law of the jungle.The betrayee gets to eat the betrayer."
Zarek gave him a droll stare."Law of my jungle. Kill them all and let Hades sort them out."
Dante actually laughed at that. "I like this one, Ash. He understands us."
"Gee, Z," Ash said jokingly. "I think you may have found a new friend after all. That should make Astrid happy. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

Damme, I've been waiting for you to come home these three hours, with nothing to do but read some dashed book or other!'
Hero found the thought of his spending an evening at home with a book so droll that she broke into a peal of laughter, which was so infectious that his lordship was obliged to join in. They went upstairs together in excellent accord, and when they parted outside Hero's door, Sherry did her the honor of informing her that she was a good little puss, and that he had always had a fondness for her. ~ Georgette Heyer

Sam gave Captain Suicide a droll stare. How did you die again? Oh wait, I know this. 'I can take 'em. I don't need to wait for reinforcements. I can do it myself.' How'd that work out for you again? ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

through the transcript. Some colleagues, at least, found the whole exercise droll. Fisher Ames, a Federalist ~ Michael Waldman

Imagine all contradictions, all possible incompatibilities
you will find them in the government, in the law-courts, in the churches, in the public shows of this droll nation. ~ Voltaire

'James and the Giant Peach' magnificently starts out Dahl's career as a blithe and droll Bad Uncle corrupter and affirmer of youth. Its influence can be subsequently traced down the decades in everything from Maurice Sendak to Lemony Snicket to J. K. Rowling. ~ Paul Di Filippo

I read from Mark Twain's lips one or two of his good stories. He has his own way of thinking, saying and doing everything. I feel the twinkle of his eye in his handshake. Even while he utters his cynical wisdom in an indescribably droll voice, he makes you feel that his heart is a tender Iliad of human sympathy. ~ Helen Keller

The proverbial German phenomenon of the verb-at-the-end about which droll tales of absentminded professors who would begin a sentence, ramble on for an entire lecture, and then finish up by rattling off a string of verbs by which their audience, for whom the stack had long since lost its coherence, would be totally nonplussed, are told, is an excellent example of linguistic recursion. ~ Douglas Hofstadter

An old lady had an Alderney cow, which she looked upon as a daughter. ....The whole town knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy Barker's Alderney, therefore great was the sympathy and regret when, in an unguarded moment, the poor cow fell into a lime-pit. She moaned so loudly that she was soon heard and rescued; but meanwhile the poor beast had lost most of her hair and came out looking naked, cold and miserable, in a bare skin. Everybody pitied the animal, though a few could not restrain their smiles at her droll appearance. Miss Betsy Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay; and it was said she thought of trying a bath of oil. This remedy, perhaps, was recommended by some one of the number whose advice she asked; but the proposal, if ever it was made, was knocked on the head by Captain Brown's decided "Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, ma'am, if you wish to keep her alive, But my advice is, kill the poor creature at once."
Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain heartily; she set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out to see the Alderney meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel.I have watched her myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed in grey flannel in London? ~ Elizabeth Gaskell

He looks like a man.'
'How descriptive,' Susan said in a droll tone. 'Remind me never to advise you to seek work as a novelist. ~ Julia Quinn

What did Nabokov and Joyce have in common, apart from the poor teeth and the great prose? Exile, and decades of near pauperism. A compulsive tendency to overtip. An uxoriousness that their wives deservedly inspired. More than that, they both lived their lives 'beautifully'
not in any Jamesian sense (where, besides, ferocious solvency would have been a prerequisite), but in the droll fortitude of their perseverance. They got the work done, with style. ~ Martin Amis

Alexia seemed to recall hearing one matron complain that the Italians were very passionate in their support of balls. ~ Gail Carriger

Let me be frank even though I'm Vincent and prefer to be called V. ~ Brian Celio

Droll thing life is
that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. The most you can hope from it is some knowledge of yourself
that comes too late
a crop of inextinguishable regrets. ~ Joseph Conrad

Between the optimist and the pessimist, the difference is droll. The optimist sees the doughnut; the pessimist the hole! ~ Oscar Wilde

Then his lips curved into a small droll smile. And that smile? It was lovely. Wonder ~ Kylie Scott

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow. ~ Clement Clarke Moore

That's the role... you know the droll... you just learn how to draw a drone. ~ Deyth Banger

The most interesting thing about artists is how they live ~ Marcel Duchamp

And a gun was taken," I said. "That was yours?" She handed me the cup and saucer. "Yes. A pistol my husband had given me." "Thirty-eight caliber." "Yes. A Colt, I think. I'd never fired it, and it wasn't loaded. My husband bought it as a joke several years ago." "A joke?" She smiled and sipped at her drink. "We were having an argument once, I don't even remember now what about, and I got so angry I told him that if I had a gun I'd shoot him. The next day he gave me the gun." Very droll. The rich are different. ~ Walter Satterthwait

What if this was a sign? Maybe I'm not supposed to be an Outsider.
He surprised her by taking her hand and threading his fingers through hers. "You already are an Outsider. You fit everywhere. You just don't see it yet."
She stared at their hands. He'd never done that before.
Roar gave her a droll look. "It's just odd having you lay your hand on my arm all the time," he said, responding to her thoughts.
Yes, but this feels intimate. Don't you think it does? I don't mean that I think we're being too intimate. I guess I do. Roar, sometimes it's really hard to get used to this.
Roar flashed a grin. "Aria, this isn't intimate. If I were being intimate with you, trust me, you'd know."
She rolled her eyes. Next time you say something like that, you should toss a red rose and then leave with a swish of your cape. ~ Veronica Rossi

I need dating advice. Fast."
Ash arched a single brow at that. "I'm useless. I've never been on one."
The three human men turned to gape at him.
"What?" Ash asked them defensively.
Nick started laughing. "Oh man, this is priceless. Don't tell me the great Acheron is a virgin?"
Ash gave him a droll look. "Yeah, Nick. I'm lily-white. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

Tough choice," Sin said in a droll tone. "What are the odds that any of this shit will actually work on me?"
"With your system? I suspect you need a horse tranquilizer or two. ~ Ais

Uncle Will frequently gave dramatic readings from the book he was writing on demon pox, which were very droll ~ Cassandra Clare

But: all journeys were return journeys. The farther one traveled, the nakeder one got, until, towards the end, ceasing to be animated by any scene, one was most oneself, a man in a bed surrounded by empty bottles. The man who says, "I've got a wife and kids" is far from home; at home he speaks of Japan. But he does not know - how could he? - that the scenes changing in the train window from Victoria Station to Tokyo Central are nothing compared to the change in himself; and travel writing, which cannot but be droll at the outset, moves from journalism to fiction, arriving promptly as the Kodama Echo at autobiography. From there any further travel makes a beeline to confession, the embarrassed monologue in a deserted bazaar. The anonymous hotel room in a strange city ... ~ Paul Theroux

Destiny. My destiny! Droll thing life is
that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. ~ Joseph Conrad

BECAUSE OF PIETY'S PENCHANT for taking itself too seriously, theology does well to nurture a modest, unguarded sense of comedy. Some droll sensibility is required to keep in due proportion the pompous pretensions of the study of divinity. I invite the kind of laughter that wells up not from cynicism about reflection on God but from the ironic contradictions accompanying such reflection. Theology is intrinsically funny. This comes from glimpsing the incongruity of humans thinking about God. I have often laughed at myself as these sentences went through their tortuous stages of formation. I invite you to look for the comic dimension of divinity that stalks every page. ~ Thomas C. Oden

March 18...[1945]
Brief morning reflection arisen from great love. In fact, the main point after all is that for forty years we have so much loved one another and do love one another; in fact, I am not at all sure at all that all this is going to come to an end. For certain, nothingness--en tant que individual consciousness, and there is the true nothingness--is altogether probable, and anything else highly improbable. But have we not continually experienced, since 1914 and even more since 1933 and with ever greater frequency in recent weeks, the most utterly improbable, the most monstrously fantastic things? Has not what was formerly completely unimaginable to us become commonplace and a matter of course? If I have lived through the persecutions in Dresden, if I have lived through February 13 and these weeks as a refugee--why should I not just as well live (or rather: die) to find the two of us somewhere, Eva and I, with angel wings or in some other droll form? It's not only the word "impossible" that has gone out of circulation, "unimaginable" also has no validity anymore. ~ Victor Klemperer

The clocks had nothing to do with time but were merely instruments, the clicking and ticking of silver and gold and bronze and pinchbeck arrows, a droll and slapstick rhapsody of lies. ~ Tabitha King

I can't help but recall, at this point, a horribly elitist but very droll remark by one of my favorite writers, the American "critic of the seven arts", James Huneker, in his scintillating biography of Frédéric Chopin, on the subject of Chopin's étude Op. 25, No. 11 in A minor, which for me, and for Huneker, is one of the most stirring and most sublime pieces of music ever written: "Small-souled men, no matter how agile their fingers, should avoid it."

"Small-souled men"?! Whew! Does that phrase ever run against the grain of American democracy! And yet, leaving aside its offensive, archaic sexism (a crime I, too, commit in GEB, to my great regret), I would suggest that it is only because we all tacitly do believe in something like Hueneker's' shocking distinction that most of us are willing to eat animals of one sort or another, to smash flies, swat mosquitos, fight bacteria with antibiotics, and so forth. We generally concur that "men" such as a cow, a turkey, a frog, and a fish all possess some spark of consciousness, some kind of primitive "soul" but by God, it's a good deal smaller than ours is - and that, no more and no less, is why we "men" feel that we have the perfect right to extinguish the dim lights in the heads of these fractionally-souled beasts and to gobble down their once warm and wiggling, now chilled and stilled protoplasm with limitless gusto, and not feel a trace of guilt while doing so. ~ Douglas R. Hofstadter

Designer Kisses"

I'm glum about your sportive flesh in the empire of blab,
and the latest guy running his trendy tongue like a tantalizing surge
over your molars, how droll. Love by a graveyard is redundant,
but the skin is an obstacle course like Miami where we are
inescapably consigned: tourists keeping the views new.
What as yet we desire, our own fonts of adoration. By morning,
we're laid out like liquid timepieces, each other's exercise in perpetual
enchantment, for there is that beach in us that is untranslatable; footprints
abound. I understand: you're at a clothes rack at Saks
lifting a white linen blouse at tear's edge wondering. ~ Major Jackson

Standing in front of the kitchen sink, Sandra was shaking her head, her eyes unfocused. "Okay. I'm so confused. About so many things. First of all," she pointed at me, "I need the whole story. When did this happen? I didn't even know you liked him. And secondly," she turned to Greg, "what is the deal with you guys and the efficiency of your man-gossip phone tree?"
Greg gave her a droll look. "Don't be a hater, Sandra. You ladies need to learn how to communicate more effectively. ~ Penny Reid

Why didn't you just let me run home?" she asked.
"I wanted you here," he said simply.
"But why?" she persisted.
He shrugged. "I don't know.Punishment, perhaps, for spying on me."
"I wasn't-" Sophie's denial was automatic, but she cut herself off halfway through, because of course she'd been spying on him.
"Smart girl," he murmured.
She scowled at him. She would have liked to have said something utterly droll and witty, but she had a feeling that anything emerging from her mouth just then would have been quite the opposite,so she held her tongue. Better to be a silent fool than a talkative one.
"It's very bad to spy on one's host," he said, planting his hands on his hips and somehow managing to look both authoritative and relaxed at the same time.
"It as an accident," she grumbled.
"Oh,I believe you there," he said. "But even if you didn't intend to spy on me, the fact remains that when the opportunity arose, you took it."
"Do you blame me?"
He grinned. "Not at all.I would have done precisely the same thing."
Her mouth fell open.
"Oh,don't pretend to be offended," he said.
"I'm not pretending."
He leaned a bit closer. "To tell the truth, I'm quite flattered."
"It was academic curiosity," she ground out, "I assure you."
His smile grew sly. "So you're telling me that you would have spied upon any naked man you'd come across?"
"Of course not!"
"As I said," he drawled, leaning back again ~ Julia Quinn

It's no surprise that the droll and (seemingly) all-knowing wizard behind the Chicago Style Q&A puts it all together-entertainingly-for manuscript editors in this real-world guide to job success and survival. The surprise is how urgent it is for every author, client, and boss who works with editors to embrace Carol Fisher Saller's 'subversiveness'-or suffer the next outcome from hell. ~ Arthur Plotnik

That clever mind, that sharp tongue and droll wit. His love for Ella, manifested in sacrifice and secret smiles; his sense of honor and duty; his pride in the face of unceasing subjugation. His joy of nature, his respect for all things living, his skill with ... well, everything. ~ Rachel Haimowitz

In the half darkness I winked to my other self, my mad dictator, and congratulated him on his droll victory. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth flowing from Shosha's head to my face. What did I have to lose? Nothing more than what everyone loses anyway. ~ Isaac Bashevis Singer