“Revolting’ was the last word I ever spoke as someone who’d never kissed a girl.” — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“I pitched my voice for Dirty Harry, but it was more Lisping Baggins.” — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“Beg pardon?" I detected large deposits of vanity. Vanity is the softest of bedrocks to sink shafts into.” — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“What women want is still what it's always been: either you or, more likely, not you.” — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“The potatoes were starch grenades. The canned carrots were revolting because that is their nature.” — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“Who decides which defects are funny and which ones are tragic? Nobody laughs at blind people or makes iron lung jokes.” — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“Lunatics are writers whose works write them, Bat." "Not all lunatics are writers, Mrs. Rey-believe me." "But most writers are lunatics, Bat-believe… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“But,' I ducked the subject, 'don't heaps of artists use pseudonyms?' 'Who?' 'Um . . .' Only Cliff Richard and Sid Vicious… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“Integrity is a bugger, it really is. Lying can get you into difficulties, but to really wind up in the crappers try… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“I put ten sugar cubes in my coffee. I drank it through my tongue, and my blood sang like the Archangel Gabriel… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“Disco's are tricky. You look a total wally if you dance too early but after one crucial song tips the disco over,… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“So do not fritter away your days. Sooner than you fear, you will stand before a mirror in a care home, look… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“The art teacher's scarlet book was called Story of the Eye by Georges Bataille. 'As the title suggests,' Mr Dunwoody saw the… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“Ayrs let long moments fall away. ‘You’re young, Frobisher, you’re rich, you’ve got a brain, and by all accounts you’re not wholly… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“A writer flirts with schizophrenia, nurtures synesthesia, and embraces obsessive-compulsive disorder. Your art feeds on you, your soul, and, yes, to a… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“Writing poetry's,' I looked around the solarium, but Madame Crommelynck's got a tractor beam, 'sort of . . . gay.' '"Gay"? A… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“Just as I was flung over the threshold, I embraced Grigoire the Swiss Fiancé in a rugger grip, determined that smug cockatoo… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“Snarling an oath from an Icelandic saga, I reclaimed my place at the head of the queue. "Oy!" yelled a punk rocker,… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“The night in question, I had put aside my perpetual lavatory read, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire , because… — David Mitchell Copy Share Image
“In the next room a freckly girl Julia's age sat in a wheelchair. One of her legs wasn't there. She'd probably love to have… — David Mitchell Copy Share
“... Ethical cyberexplorers are responsible, yeah? We are friendly ghosts in the machine, not poltergeists or hooligans. We are a growing breed. Over sixty-five… — David Mitchell Copy Share
“I succumbed. Late-fifteenth-century verb, Old French succomber or Latin succumbere, but a basic necessity of the human condition, especially mine.” — David Mitchell Copy Share
“The second tunnel’s a Ministry of Defence tunnel...dug for a nuclear bomb shelter. The entrance is in the garden center at Woolworth’s in Great… — David Mitchell Copy Share
War's an auction where whoever can pay the most in damage and still be standing wins. — David Mitchell Copy Share
The human world is made of stories, not people. The people the stories use to tell themselves are not to be blamed — David Mitchell Copy Share
So little is actually worthy of belief or disbelief. Better to strive to coexist than seek to disapprove . . . — David Mitchell Copy Share
I elbowed my way into the grubby café, bought a pie that tasted of shoe polish and a pot of tea with cork crumbs… — David Mitchell Copy Share
“A classical LP was playing... ... Jealous and sweet, this music was, sobbing and gorgeous, muddy and crystal. But if the right words existed… — david mitchell Copy Share
“Writing poetry's,' I looked around the solarium, but Madame Crommelynck's got a tractor beam, 'sort of . . . gay.' '"Gay"? A merry activity?'… — David Mitchell Copy Share
