Christopher Brookmyre > Quotes

“Well, are you not going to give the man a round of applause?" he asked. "I mean, that was fucking amazing, didn't you think? Honestly, if you'd asked me ten minutes ago, hypothetically, if it was possible to cut your own head off, I'd have said unequivocally no. You've really got to hand it to the bloke -- though it's fair to say luck was involved. I mean, there's no way he could do it again.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Be My Enemy

“Parlabane found the word 'pro-active' enormously useful, as it immediately exposed the speaker as an irredeemable arsehole, whatever previous impression might have been given. Once upon a time, he remembered, people and companies just did things. But that ceased to be impressive enough, and for a while they 'actively' did things. Now they 'pro-actively' did things, but it was still the same bloody things that they were doing when they just plain old did things. Meaningless wank-language.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Quite Ugly One Morning

“Truth was, if you were going to believe something, it was best to believe in stuff that made the world seem a more interesting place.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Not the End of the World

“3 people get stranded on a remote Island

A Banker, a Daily Mail reader & an Asylum seeker

All they have to eat is a box of 10 Mars bars

The Banker says "Because of my expertise in asset management, I''ll look after our resources"

The other 2 agree

So the Banker opens the box, gobbles down 9 of the Mars bars and hands the last one to the Daily Mail reader

He then says " I'd keep an eye on that Asylum seeker, he's after your Mars Bar”
― Christopher Brookmyre, When the Devil Drives

“Just for a while": Death's opening chat-up line in His great seduction, before he drugged you with soporific comforts, distracted you with minor luxuries and ensnared you with long-term payment plans.

Join the Rat Race "just for a while."

Concentrate on your career "just for a while."

Move in with your girlfriend "just for a while."

Find a bigger place, out in the burbs "just for a while."

Lie down in that wooden box "just for a while.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, A Big Boy Did It and Ran Away

“Is the burden of independent thought wearing you down? Do you dread the indecision that awaits every time you open your wardrobe? Are you embarrassed by your reticence when you hear other people discuss current affairs, music, relationships, etcetera? Don't worry, you're not alone. Help is just a pair of clippers away! We've helped thousands of sad losers avoid confronting their loneliness and inadequacy, and we can do the same for you. We'll tell you what to wear. We'll tell you what to think. We'll tell you what music to listen to. and most importantly, we'll bring you together with lots of people exactly the same as yourself — it's just like having friends!”
― Christopher Brookmyre, A Big Boy Did It and Ran Away

“People didn't really like McDonald's, same as her mum didn't really like Catholicism, but when you were new in town, at least it was a known quantity. So that'll be a Quarter-Pounder and a Communion Wafer meal-deal to go.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Pandaemonium

“Was there anything quite so under-rated in this shallow, plastic, global-corporate, tall-skinny-late, kiddy-meal-and-free-toy, united-colours-of-fuck-you-too world, than a good old-fashioned, no-frills, retail blow-job?”
― Christopher Brookmyre, The Sacred Art of Stealing

“Just because you disagreed with the Poll Tax and detested Margaret Thatcher—"
"Detest is a little inappropriate," Parlabane said. "Maybe closer to say I spent the entire Eighties wishing I was pissing on her rotting corpse.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Be My Enemy

“St Michael’s RC secondary sat on a promontory overlooking the town of Auchenlea. The choice of site was an indirect consequence of a past mistake in vocational guidance, leading someone who had a pathological hatred of children into town planning, rather than the more traditional field of teaching.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, One Fine Day in the Middle of the Night

“About Parlabane, Brookmyre says:
"To fully acknowledge the extent of the debt I owe Douglas Adams - as a reader and a writer - would very possibly crash this server, so I will merely cite one significant example. I am frequently asked who was the inspiration for my investigative journalist Jack Parlabane; whether he has some real-life antecedent or represents some indulgent alter-ego of mine. The truth is that Parlabane was entirely inspired by Ford Prefect: I always adored the idea of a character who cheerfully wanders into enormously dangerous situations and effortlessly makes them much worse.”
― Christopher Brookmyre

“Love Is: being able to keep your fucking mouth shut.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Country of the Blind

“I can't ask you to banish your fears, your anxiety or your anger...But don't let them use you up.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, All Fun and Games Until Somebody Loses an Eye

“He checks the horns. They're small: not truncated like Hellboy's, but wee, budding, trainer-bra efforts. Definitely not the thing that killed Dazza. In demon terms, he's looking at a midget or a waen. He recalls the ten second rule, and though they only clashed for a moment, it was more than enough. He understands. He has the measure. There is no paralysis by fear. There will be no subconscious surrender to superior mental force and aggression.
In short, he can take this cunt.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Pandaemonium

“... when they hear hooves they look for zebras instead of horses”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Quite Ugly One Morning

“This is Glesca.... Any time you're confused, take a wee minute to remind yourself of that inescapable fact: this is Glesca. We don't do subtle, we don't do nuanced, we don't do conspiracy. We do pish-heid bampot bludgeoning his girlfriend to death in a fit of paranoid rage induced by forty-eight hours straight on the batter. We do coked-up neds jumping on a guy's heid outside a nightclub because he looked at them funny. We do drug-dealing gangster rockets shooting other drug-dealing gangster rockets as comeback for something almost identical a fortnight ago. We do bam-on-bam. We do tit-for-tat, score-settling, feuds, jealousy, petty revenge. We do straightforward. We do obvious. We do cannaemisswhodunit. When you hear hoofbeats on Sauchiehall Street, it's gaunny be a horse, no' a zebra...'.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Where the Bodies Are Buried

“You're with Rapier squad. Mopping-up detail, under Sergeant Gortoss." He gestured along the corridor in the opposite direction from where Ross had just come.

"Turn left at the first pile of flaming debris and look for the most homicidally deranged bastard you can find. Ordinarily he'd be in a maximum-security prison, but when there's a war on, he's just the kind of chap you want inside the tent pissing out."

"Yes sir," said Ross, by which he meant, "Holy mother of fuck.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Bedlam

“And what is it with these fucking people and teenage virgins anyway? Have they ever actually shagged one? I have, more than once, and none of the encounters would appear on my list of sexual highlights.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, A Snowball in Hell

“He felt water run down his back from the damp brickwork he was sitting against, and as he worried distantly about corrosion he realised you can always fall a little further. A moment ago he thought he'd bottomed out, but now he was concerned about personal rust. Mother of fuck.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Bedlam

“Art and savagery, aesthetics and violence. Were they contradictory or symbiotic?”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Not the End of the World

“He spent a very uncomfortable few moments trying to remember his prepared position for explaining to God that he had nonetheless been right not to believe in Him on the basis of all available evidence, and that his empiricism and advocacy of sceptical enquiry was vindicated because faith-based belief had proven hugely detrimental to humankind's welfare. At the same time, another part of his brain was busy thinking: "Please don't let the Catholics be right, please don't let the Catholics be right.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Bedlam

“dawn was thinking about breaking, at the stage where it was rolling about under the sheets after its alarm had gone off, weighing up the pros and cons of getting out of bed.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Quite Ugly One Morning

“Is it colour?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘You don’t let me down.You are my ambassador to pr0n, man.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Be My Enemy

“Non è che siamo degli emarginati, è che abbiamo imparato cos'è che non ci serve.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, The Sacred Art of Stealing

“I mean, I've known you a few days longer than she has and I don't fucking trust you."
"Yeah, but you're paid not to trust me."
"I wouldn't trust you in my spare time either.”
― Christopher Brookmyre

“Cotton equals death,’ Lex told him. ‘Cotton holds moisture against the skin and prevents you warming yourself. Trust me, I’m Canadian.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, All Fun and Games Until Somebody Loses an Eye

“... ci sono errori che fin dall'inizio sai di dover commettere, di voler commettere, a dispetto di cosa ti dica la coscienza, la logica o la paura”
― Christopher Brookmyre, The Sacred Art of Stealing

“There can be only one”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Be My Enemy

“Told you I had some flavours," she said. "You like?"

Ross just gaped, and possibly trembled a little.

"You, er, made that yourself?"

"Yeah. That's what pisses me off about this place. You could be any incarnation of womanhood you an think of - so why do so many choose to conform to some fifteen-year-old dork's idea of it? Even in a world like Calastria, they'll still choose an appearance that's defined by sexuality. Do they think the guys try to look sexy when they're suiting up to fight dragons?"

"Er, not so much," Ross agreed, but her last remark had inadvertently channelled his inner fifteen-year-old dork. "There's going to be dragons?" he asked.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Bedlam

“He had recently heard some chinless Tory fuckpuddle say that London was a world-class city being held back by the rest of the UK. Parlabane had reckoned that if he poured all his money and efforts into fitting out his toilet he could almost certainly have himself a truly world class shite-house. Obviously there would be little in the way of cash or other physical resources for the development and upkeep of the living room and the kitchen, etc... but if anyone asked, he could tell them he had a world-class bog and it was just a shame the rest of the house was holding it back.”
― Christopher Brookmyre, Dead Girl Walking