Tmi Inside Joke Quotes

Little James Herondale, age two, was in fact holding a dagger quite well. He stabbed it into a sofa cushion, sending out a burst of feathers.
"Ducks," he said, pointing at the feathers. ~ Cassandra Clare

Funny stories on set - there are thousands of them, but they are only funny to the people who were on the movies. You start to have inside jokes and gallows humor. You have all kinds of things you laugh at, but as soon as you tell somebody, the joke falls flat because they don't know the context of it. ~ Bruce Campbell

Spider?" I'd said, with a question mark in my voice.
"Yeah."
"You know at school . . . what did you do that for? Wade in like that?"
Spider frowned. "He was disrespectful, Jem. What you said - I could tell it was real. It was what you were really feeling. He had no right to make a joke of it."
"Yeah, I know, he's a tosser, but it's nothing to do with you. You made a right show of yourself. You made a show of me."
"I didn't want him to get away with it."
"Yeah, but I don't need a knight in shining armor. I can look after myself." He was smiling a bit now. I paused. "It's not funny, man. It's made everything worse," I said quietly. "I've got comments all the time now, 'bout you and me. Sly comments."
He looked away, studied his hands. The knuckles on the right one were nearly healed up now.
My mouth had gone dry, but I had to get this clear with him. "You do know there's no 'you and me,' don't you, Spider?"
He looked up. "What?"
"We're not like . . . together. Just mates."
There was something about his sullenness when he said, "Yeah, 'course. Just mates. Mates is good," that made me think he felt the exact opposite. I was churning inside, cursing that day under the bridge. People were so bloody difficult. Why had I ever got involved?
He stood up, came toward me, putting an arm out. I thought, Shit, he's going to hug me. Hasn't he listened to anything? But his hand formed a fist, and he lightly punched my arm. "Listen, ~ Rachel Ward

So I pulled the ridiculously small, unwrapped, box from the sleeve of my yukata (as they don't have pockets) and rather overly self-consciously handed it to her. She took the pitiful little box, held it up to her ear and gave it a cautious little rattling shake. -You didn't just put a couple of dried old beans in here, as a joke, did you? She suddenly glared at me suspiciously.
I heard a stifled bark from Yumi at that, and a deep gasp from Uncle Suzuki and Aunt Anda, followed by a moment of silence. -Of course not, you silly old goose, I snapped back, -just open it and you'll see what's inside! ~ Andrew James Pritchard

electrical wires dragged down by the weight of the ice and flickering balefully, a row of sleet-covered planes stranded in an airport, a huge truck that's jackknifed and tipped over and is lying on its side with smoke coming out. An ambulance is on the scene, a fire truck, a huddle of raingear-clad operatives: someone's been injured, always a sight to make the heart beat faster. A policeman appears, crystals of ice whitening his moustache; he pleads sternly with people to stay inside. It's no joke, he tells the viewers. Don't think you can brave the elements! His frowning, frosted eyebrows are noble, like those on the wartime bond-drive posters from the 1940s. Constance remembers those, or believes she does. But she may just be remembering history books or museum displays or documentary films: so hard, sometimes, to tag those memories accurately. Finally, a minor touch of pathos: a stray dog is displayed, semi-frozen, wrapped in a child's pink nap blanket. A gelid baby ~ Margaret Atwood

I feel like a blank space covered in skin. There is no place for this walking blank thing among the warm beings, the ones with something inside, the people who can have a drink and laugh at a joke and look into their features and see something other than the wretchedness I see in mine, the day that immeasurably thin skin falls away and I simply disappear. Into the ocean. My ocean. The one that will swallow me whole if I let it. ~ Mikel Jollett

Hell-on-skis, can you hear me? This is flying cupcake. ~ Joss Stirling

My father worked behind closed doors inside the house, had a huge ancient Latin dictionary on a wrought-iron stand, spoke Spanish on the phone, and drank sherry and ate raw meat, in the form of chorizo, at five o'clock. Until the day in the yard with my playmate I thought this was what fathers did. Then I began to catalog and notice. They mowed lawns. They drank beer. They played in the yard with their kids, walked around the block with their wives, piled into campers, and, when they went out, wore joke ties or polo shirts, not Phi Beta Kappa keys and tailored vests. ~ Alice Sebold

Exchanging Hats

Unfunny uncles who insist
in trying on a lady's hat,
--oh, even if the joke falls flat,
we share your slight transvestite twist

in spite of our embarrassment.
Costume and custom are complex.
The headgear of the other sex
inspires us to experiment.

Anandrous aunts, who, at the beach
with paper plates upon your laps,
keep putting on the yachtsmen's caps
with exhibitionistic screech,

the visors hanging o'er the ear
so that the golden anchors drag,
--the tides of fashion never lag.
Such caps may not be worn next year.

Or you who don the paper plate
itself, and put some grapes upon it,
or sport the Indian's feather bonnet,
--perversities may aggravate

the natural madness of the hatter.
And if the opera hats collapse
and crowns grow draughty, then, perhaps,
he thinks what might a miter matter?

Unfunny uncle, you who wore a
hat too big, or one too many,
tell us, can't you, are there any
stars inside your black fedora?

Aunt exemplary and slim,
with avernal eyes, we wonder
what slow changes they see under
their vast, shady, turned-down brim. ~ Elizabeth Bishop

The more south we were, the more deep a sky it seemed, till, in the Valley of Mexico, I thought it held back an element too strong for life, and that the flamy brilliance of blue stood off this menace and sometimes, like a sheath or silk membrane, shoed the weight it held in sags. So when later he would fly high over the old craters on the plain, coaly bubbles of the underworld, dangerous red everywhere from the sun, and then coats of snow on the peak of the cones - gliding like a Satan - well, it was here the old priests, before the Spaniards, waited for Aldebaran to come into the middle of heaven to tell them whether or not life would go on for another cycle, and when they received their astronomical sign built their new fire inside the split and emptied chest of a human sacrifice. And also, hereabouts, worshipers disguised as gods and as gods in the disguise of birds, jumped from platforms fixed on long poles, and glided as they spun by the ropes - feathered serpents, and eagles too, the voladores, or fliers. There still are such plummeters, in market places, as there seem to be remnants or conversions or equivalents of all the old things. Instead of racks or pyramids of skulls still in their hair and raining down scraps of flesh there are corpses of dogs, rats, horses, asses, by the roads; the bones dug out of the rented graves are thrown on a pile when the lease is up; and there are the coffins looking like such a rough joke on the female form, sold in the open shops, bl ~ Saul Bellow

Like water leaking through a dam," said Piper.
"Yeah," smiled Percy. "We've got a dam hole."
"What?" Piper asked.
"Nothing," he said. "Inside joke. ~ Rick Riordan

A Pope usually worked fourteen-hour days, seven days a week, and died of exhaustion in an average of 6.3 years. The inside joke was that accepting the papacy was a cardinal's 'fastest route to heaven. ~ Dan Brown

A few minutes after discovering we had a goal but no plan, Brent was laughing heartily at a pathetic joke I had made. It reminded me of the first
day on campus when I had thought his laughter sounded like a melody. It did now, even more so. It was music, beautiful, in a manly way, like a
sensual, slow jazz. I loved jazz.
"Jazz, huh?" Brent asked, his voice suddenly husky.
"Uh ... what?"
"My laugh reminds you of jazz? Is there anything about me you don't find attractive?" He rubbed his hand over his lips trying to cover his smirk.
"So tell me, how much do you love jazz?"
I'm sure my face was pinker than the inside of a watermelon. "I didn't say any of that."
"You didn't have to say it, Yara, I could hear it." Brent tapped the side of his head. "I can hear your thoughts."
"You're not serious."
"Oh, but I am," he said, completely straight-faced. ~ Lani Woodland

Cal," I whisper into her sleep, "if you go, you know what? You'll break my liver." I want to pretend that it's a joke, that she will wake up and laugh with me, throwing her head back the way she did last night, bit this time the words are true ... she will break my liver, break my heart, kill everything inside alive inside me. ~ Brad Barkley

Something snapped inside Maryse. He is not a Herondale. He is a Lightwood. Jace Lightwood. He's my son. ~ Cassandra Clare

There is a joke about a little girl who is filling in a hole in her garden when a neighbor looks over the fence. He politely asks, "Hi! What are you up to?" "My goldfish died," replies the girl tearfully, "and I've just buried him." The neighbor asks, "Isn't that an awfully big hole for a goldfish?" The little girl tamps down the soil and replies, "That's because he's inside your stupid cat. ~ Steven Pinker

Never put a razor inside your nose - even as a joke. ~ Jake Johannsen

The thirteen-year-old boy's cheeks were flushed with the wine that his father, half as a joke, had forced upon him. He burrowed into the silken quilts and let his head fall back on the pillow, his breath warm and heavy. The tracery of blue veins under his close-cropped hair throbbed around his earlobes, and the skin was so extraordinarily transparent that one could almost see the fragile mechanism inside. Even in the half-light of the room, his lips were red. And the sounds of breathing that came from this boy, who looked as though he had never experienced anguish, seemed to be the mocking echo of a sad folksong. ~ Yukio Mishima

Their nasty whispering made me angry. They had a neat way of tucking their point inside something softseeming and neighborly. The cutting edge was hidden in a joke or a piece of advice. It was like being sliced by a tiny blade hidden in a goose feather; it took a moment to realize the wound. ~ Ananda Braxton-Smith

Hang on – what are you wearing?" Keefe asked as she threw back her covers, revealing the sparkly slogans on her tunic. "Is that a Bangs Boy reference? Because you know I haven't let him into the Foster Fan Club, right?"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "It's an inside joke – and Linh made this for me."

"Yeah, well, it still breaks the fan club rules. As penance, I'm giving you a tunic that says, 'Empaths Give Me All the Feels," and I expect to see you wear it twice as much as Bang Boys. ~ Shannon Messenger

I had a tattoo once," said Kaidan. "Last year, just before we left England."
"What do you mean, you had one 'once'?"
"Bloody thing was gone by the morning!" His voice was indignant. "Sheets were black with ink. I put myself through all of that for hours, and my body just pushed it back out!"
And once again we were both in a fit of hysterics, sharing the world's best inside joke. We were doubled over, unable to breathe, and I accidentally snorted. Kaidan pointed at me and laughed harder, clutching his stomach.
"What was your tattoo?" I managed to push the words out.
"You had to ask. It was a deadly-looking pair of black wings on my shoulder blades."
Kaidan and I started roaring again, muscles clenching from the exertion.
We had no way of knowing it would be our last reason to laugh for a very long time. ~ Wendy Higgins

Piper: it looks like we have hole. Percy: Yeah we've got a dam hole! (LOL-ing) Piper: What! Percy: Inside joke. (still LOL-ing) Piper: Whatever. ~ Rick Riordan

In the end, you won't remember much beyond those final all-nighters, the gauche inside joke that sullies an acknowledgments page that only four human beings will ever read, the awkward photograph with your advisor at graduation. All that remains might be the sensation of handing your thesis to someone in the departmental office and then walking into a possibility-rich, almost-summer afternoon. It will be difficult to forget. ~ Anonymous

Inside joke is like a symbol of friendship without having to do the work required of an actual friendship. So ~ Gillian Flynn

Good morning, baby. You know that the government has a responsibility for their own actions. ~ Zechariah Barrett

That didn't change her plans, however. She would seduce him - and then she would slice his heart in two. A symbolic gesture, really. An inside joke between them. Well, for herself. He might not get. - Bianka of Lasyter ~ Gena Showalter

Every single member is so precious to me and like family to me.. I may joke around with them a lot but I can't talk seriously with them..because it's awkward for me. But on the inside, I really do think of each one of you so much and I want you all to know that. ~ Kim Hyo-yeon

It's a Thing thing. You wouldn't understand. ~ Rick Riordan

1.I WON'T SHAM

Why pretend all is well, yet in hurt
When inside I'm dying for your affection?
Why should l flout you?
When my heart yearns for communion?

'l don't care' cries the broken hearted
When inside the heart cries for love
When the very reason they are crying
Is them they are pretending to slur

'l never loved you' cries the divorced
When their heart bleeds for love, just one act of love
The one that brought them together at first
The very reason they even got married

'l hate you' cries the frustrated
When fulfillment is all they long for
The reality of which is still a fallacy to them
If only they could hold on just a little longer

'That's a dry joke' cries the scowling
When laughter is what they long for
In as much as they pretend to frown
Merriment is still so true in their hearts

But, l hate to say goodbye, when all l want is to be with you
I hate to walk away, when l could have gone with you
You'd make me sad by waving goodbye
When all that's true is for you and me to be together

I hate to shout at you, when l can just speak tenderly
l hate to hang you down on the phone,
When l could have said a little more to make you blissful
I hate to say goodnight when l'm not heavy-eyed myself

All that's real to me is l abhor to be a dummy
But hold on my love, l WON'T SHAM.... ~ TinMasun

His brother Blerg had a red ball with Kurt Cobain's face on it. Blerg kept looking back and forth between me and the ball like he was trying to imagine me without the choppy haircut. ~ Rick Riordan

So," Marlboro Man began over dinner one night. "How many kids do you want to have?" I almost choked on my medium-rare T-bone, the one he'd grilled for me so expertly with his own two hands.
"Oh my word," I replied, swallowing hard. I didn't feel so hungry anymore. "I don't know…how many kids do you want to have?"
"Oh, I don't know," he said with a mischievous grin. "Six or so. Maybe seven."
I felt downright nauseated. Maybe it was a defense mechanism, my body preparing me for the dreaded morning sickness that, I didn't know at the time, awaited me. Six or seven kids? Righty-oh, Marlboro Man.
Righty…no.
"Ha-ha ha-ha ha. Ha." I laughed, tossing my long hair over my shoulder and acting like he'd made a big joke. "Yeah, right! Ha-ha. Six kids…can you imagine?" Ha-ha. Ha. Ha." The laughter was part humor, part nervousness, part terror. We'd never had a serious discussion about children before.
"Why?" He looked a little more serious this time. "How many kids do you think we should have?"
I smeared my mashed potatoes around on my plate and felt my ovaries leap inside my body. This was not a positive development. Stop that! I ordered, silently. Settle down! Go back to sleep!
I blinked and took a swig of the wine Marlboro Man had bought me earlier in the day. "Let's see…," I answered, drumming my fingernails on the table. "How 'bout one? Or maybe…one and a half?" I sucked in my stomach--another defensive move in an attempt to deny what I didn't ~ Ree Drummond

I began to wonder, as spring wore on to summer in that my fifteenth year, if I would ever meet anyone who could look me in the eye, who could say sorry without making a joke of it, who could cry without embarrassment, have a row and still stay friends. As for mentioning the word 'love', well... it provoked sniggers, not much else. The hunger of it all ached inside me. Maybe Mother knew. Maybe she could guess what I never told her, could not even tell myself; that I was desperate for something more than smiles and jokes and surfaces; that I was beginning to wonder if it was possible to stretch out your hand in the darkness and find it grasped by another hand, not evaded, rejected, or ignored. ~ Penelope Wilcock

Lucian's voice rang inside my head, loud and clear, "Move your ass, Elena, and no matter what, trust your reflexes." Relying on my clumsy butt was more like it. I'd made a joke, That was a good sign. ~ Adrienne Woods