Douglas

“I needed to say something. Something romantic! Something to sweep her off her feet.
"You’re like a potato!" I shouted after her. "In a minefield."
She froze in place. Then she spun on me, her face lit by a half-grown fruit. “A potato,” she said flatly. “That’s the best you can do? Seriously?”
“It makes sense,” I said. “Listen. You’re strolling through a minefield, worried about getting blown up. And then you step on something, and you think, ‘I’m dead.’ But it’s just a potato. And you’re so relieved to find something so wonderful when you expected something so awful. That’s what you are. To me.”
“A potato.”
“Sure. French fries? Mashed potatoes? Who doesn’t like potatoes?”
“Plenty of people. Why can’t I be something sweet, like a cake?”
“Because cake wouldn’t grow in a minefield. Obviously.”
She stared down the hallway at me for a few moments, then sat on an overgrown set of roots.
Sparks. She seemed to be crying. Idiot! I thought at myself, scrambling through the foliage. Romantic. You were supposed to be romantic, you slontze! Potatoes weren’t romantic. I should have gone with a carrot.”
― Brandon Sanderson, Firefight

“You burn down an entire town, and don’t even invoke me?” an angry female voice asked from behind me.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” I shrugged, bending back to my work.
“It was a huge whopping fire!” she snorted. “I’m a fire goddess! That’s my primal function! Flaming hells, you were using thermite! Thermite!” she repeated. “How would I not be interested?”
“Did no one else invoke you?” I asked, as I continued to work.
“Certainly! Hundreds did! There was a fire elemental rolling around in there for a while! I showed up personally! But did my most famous lay worshipper bother to invoke me, and share the exquisite bliss of thousands of degrees of pure combustible magic? Minalan!” she pleaded. “Are you losing interest in me?”
“Now, now,” I chuckled, “the truth is I was just busy. Astyral was showing off, and I had to give him my full attention. Having a pretty goddess around, making sex noises while she watched the blaze, might have been distracting.”
“I don’t make sex noises!” she declared, defensively. “I . . . I just . . I’m a fire goddess, it’s what I do!” she said, nearly whining.”
― Terry Mancour, Necromancer

“This is rather as if you imagine a puddle waking up one morning and thinking, 'This is an interesting world I find myself in — an interesting hole I find myself in — fits me rather neatly, doesn't it? In fact it fits me staggeringly well, must have been made to have me in it!' This is such a powerful idea that as the sun rises in the sky and the air heats up and as, gradually, the puddle gets smaller and smaller, frantically hanging on to the notion that everything's going to be alright, because this world was meant to have him in it, was built to have him in it; so the moment he disappears catches him rather by surprise. I think this may be something we need to be on the watch out for.”
― Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt: Hitchhiking the Galaxy One Last Time

“There have been complaints?' said Miss Susan.
'Er, no ... er ... although Miss Smith has told me that the children coming up from your class are, er, restless. Their reading ability is, she says, rather unfortunately advanced ...'
'Miss Smith thinks a good book is about a boy and his dog chasing a big red ball,' said Miss Susan. 'My children have learned to expect a plot. No wonder they get impatient. We're reading Grim Fairy Tales at the moment.'
'That is rather rude of you, Susan.'
'No, madam. That is rather polite of me. It would have been rude of me to say that there is a circle of Hell reserved for teachers like Miss Smith.'
'But that's a dreadf-' Madam Frout stopped, and began again. 'You should not be teaching them to read at all yet!' she snapped. [...] 'I mean,' the headmistress mumbled, 'childhood is a time for play and-'
'Learning,' said Miss Susan.
'Learning through play,' said Madam Frout, grateful to find familiar territory. 'After all, kittens and puppies -'
' -grow up to be cats and dogs, which are even less interesting,' said Miss Susan, 'whereas children should grow up to be adults.' [...]
'What precisely was it you wanted, madam?' she said. It's just that I've left the class doing algebra, and they get restless when they've finished.'
'Algebra?' said Madam Frout [...] 'But that's far too difficult for seven-year-olds!'
'Yes, but I didn't tell them that and so far they haven't found out,' said Susan.”
― Terry Pratchett, Thief of Time