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"There's nothing so heavy as books, sir--unless it's bricks."
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"CHARTERIS [unfolding his arms in terror] No, please. Dont. As a philosopher, it's my business to tell other people the truth; but it's not their business to tell it to me. I dont like it: it hurts."

"How was I supposed to know 'lucked out' means 'I got screwed over' in Australian?"

"I believe the phrase you're looking for is 'too much money and not enough things to spend it on."

"Where did you find that one?''I have no idea. I'm a magnet for crazies, I guess.''They must be able to sense a kindred spirit.''Your one to talk. Don't you have more hordes of the undead to lead in a glorious revolution?''Zombies not undead. There's a fine distinction. And no. Right now I'm scouting new talent. The glorious revolution comes tomorrow."

"I wasn't sure what was worse: being oblivious or living within reality. (Eric)"

"Negative humor is forgotten immediately. It's the stuff that makes us feel better about our lives that lives long. Much more satisfying. Enter children's books."
Explore more quotes by Graham Greene

"It is the storyteller's task to elicit sympathy and a measure of understanding for those who lie outside the boundaries of State approval."

"He wasn't a patient. I expect someone cured him. You cure a lot of people in this country, don't you, with bullets?"

"He gave her a bright fake smile; so much of life was a putting off of unhappiness for another time. Nothing was ever lost by delay. He had a dim idea that perhaps if one delayed long enough, things were taken out of one's hands altogether by death."

"Rocinante was of more value for a true traveller than a jet plane. Jet planes were for business men."

"Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don't, why should we? They talk about people and the proletariat; I talk about the suckers and the mugs. It's the same thing."

"A black boy brought Wilson's gin and he sipped it very slowly because he had nothing else to do except to return to his hot and squalid room and read a novel - or a poem. Wilson liked poetry, but he absorbed it secretly, like a drug. The Golden Treasury accompanied him wherever he went, but it was taken at night in small doses - a finger of Longfellow, Macaulay, Mangan: 'Go on to tell how, with genius wasted, Betrayed in friendship, befooled in love...' His taste was romantic. For public exhibition he has his Wallace. He wanted passionately to be indistinguishable on the surface from other men: he wore his moustache like a club tie - it was his highest common factor, but his eyes betrayed him - brown dog's eyes, a setter's eyes, pointing mournfully towards Bond Street."
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