Fry Quotes

“There can't be that many individual souls. Not souls like mine. There isn't room. There can't be.”
― Stephen Fry, The Liar

“When listening to the lightning storms in your area on a standard AM radio, you will hear a sound like bacon frying and this is the electromagnetic energy that the storm is generating. Plants react to this energy and may show vigorous growth during lightning seasons.”
― Steven Magee, Electrical Forensics

“... Our language, tiger, our language: hundreds of thousands of available words, frillions of legitimate new ideas... And yet, oh, and yet, we, all of us, spend all our days saying to each other the same things time after weary time: "I love you," "Don't go in there," "Get out," "You have no right to say that," "Stop it," "Why should I," "That hurt," "Help," "Marjorie is dead.”
― Stephen Fry

“Oh, I play this rather defeated father and husband who's going through a divorce.'
'You!' the actor is unable or unwilling to hide the contempt, outrage and disapproval in his voice. 'What the hell would you know about that?'
I grin tightly and move on. So I should be playing nothing but celibate gay men? Is that how acting works?”
― Stephen Fry, The Fry Chronicles

“For the gaming fishermen there was the Whatoosie River and its native cocka-snoek, the main game fish of the resident Skegg’s Valley Dynamite Fishing Club. Cocka-snoek were wily and tough and rather too bright for mere fish. You wouldn’t catch much with a rod around here. Many inexperienced visitors would find the bait stolen from their hooks, which punctuated the discovery that their lines had somehow got snagged and tangled irretrievably around some underwater obstruction – sometimes tied together with neat little bows. Often, several direct hits with hand grenades were needed to stun the creatures long enough just to catch them, gut them and fry them, but these former military types had become experts at it. For a modest fee, tours could be arranged via the booking office, which included an overnight stay on the banks of the river where one could drop off to a great night’s sleep after a satisfying meal of cocka-snoek done on an open fire, and the sound the bits of shrapnel made rattling in your stomach.”
― Christina Engela, Loderunner