Don T Call Us Dead Quotes & Sayings

I felt Alec's glare so I turned to look at him and smiled when I found him all but drilling holes into me with his eyes.
"If looks could kill, I'd be dead," I joked.
"My pretty eyes won't harm you, don't worry."
Conceited much?
"Did you just call your own eyes pretty?"
Alec devilishly grinned then and it made me slightly uneasy.
"No, you said I have pretty eyes."
Was he high?
"Are you in your right mind? I have never said you have pretty eyes-"
"Yes, you have. Right before you fell asleep. You said I have pretty eyes."
I felt my face heat up.
It was the shite he gave me to knock me out that said that, not me!
"Did I say anythin' else?" I murmured.
Alec leaned in close to me and whispered is a slow, seductive voice, "You said you like my voice, my abs, and my ass."
I audibly gasped. "I did not!"
Alec snickered. "You did."
I was mortified, absolutely mortified!
"I hate you right now. — L.A. Casey

Do you call that a head on your shoulders, or a blessed dead-eye?" cried Long John. "Don't rightly know, don't you! Perhaps you don't happen to rightly know who you was speaking to, perhaps? Come, now, what was he jawing - v'yages, cap'ns, ships? Pipe up! What was it?" "We — Robert Louis Stevenson

People think blood red, but blood don't got no colour. Not when blood wash the floor she lying on as she scream for that son of a bitch to come, the lone baby of 1785. Not when the baby wash in crimson and squealing like it just depart heaven to come to hell, another place of red. Not when the midwife know that the mother shed too much blood, and she who don't reach fourteen birthday yet speak curse 'pon the chile and the papa, and then she drop down dead like old horse. Not when blood spurt from the skin, on spring from the axe, the cat-o'-nine, the whip, the cane and the blackjack and every day in slave life is a day that colour red. It soon come to pass when red no different from white or blue or black or nothing. Two black legs spread wide and mother mouth screaming. A black baby wiggling in blood on the floor with skin darker than midnight but the greenest eyes anybody ever done seen. I goin' call her Lilith. You can call her what they call her. — Marlon James

And I know Blake had a bunch of fucking problems going on the night he was shot. But Mouse here made sure the hired guns were dead before they could hurt him. I don't know if I get to call him a hero, if that's allowed, because I'm a bad man, and he was my friend. But he was a hero to me. — Debra Anastasia

Ding dong, the witch was dead" murmured Merlin as Gwen headed down the path towards the lake. She turned around and smiled "you're not the wizard of OZ Merlin, you don't get to make that call" she replied icily before diving into the cool crisp water. — Louise Gann

Cold calling is not dead. To grow your business, you have to call people you don't know and don't know you — Timi Nadela

You make me feel too human, Joe. All I want is peace and quiet, not love. I'm a tired old lady, Joe, and I don't mind being what you call "half dead." In fact it's what I like. The twice I was in love I took an awful beating and I don't want it again! I want you to stop it! Don't devil me, Joe. I beg you, don't devil me ... — Clifford Odets

You can call me Benny," I offer, hoping to get on her good side. The last thing I need is some crazy woman - dead or otherwise - angry at me.
"No," she muses. "I think I'll just call you Ford."
"Why not Benny?"
"I'd rather keep calling you pansy, but I don't think that will go over too well with the people I work for."
"The mafia?"
"Keep pushing me, Ford. I may kill you myself. — Rebecca Harris

Last night, I killed a man. If I had to, I'd do it all over again. Afterwards I slept like a baby. There's a surprising amount of physical exertion in murder - they don't call it a dead weight for nothing. — A.E. Rawson

That night, the Raka conspirators had plenty of news to report, particularly Ochobu. Aly had not known that the mages of the Chain had been laboring to eliminate any mages who had worked magic on the Crown's behalf. So far they had killed seven of the most powerful.

Chelaol would call this count of the dead another 'good start,' Aly thought grimly. This crude business of counting up lives taken struck her as a bad idea. It took the horror from death. When Ochobu named four mages on Lombyn who had had been killed in the streets of their towns, it had been about numbers, not lives.

Maybe this is how you become a Rittevon, she thought. You get used to the dead being described as numbers, not fathers or daughters or grandparents.

She turned to Dove when Ochobu finished, 'don't ever be like this,' she urged. 'don't think that it doesn't matter if you only hear of murder as a number. If you keep it at a distance. — Tamora Pierce

You're a dead man, Roarke. You don't know it, but you've already stopped breathing. The walking dead. And when you finally realize you're dead, and drop to the ground and you're laying there, I'm going to step over your cold, lifeless body, open the doors of that department store you call a closet, and I torch it.
Eve Dallas — J.D. Robb

Cause I'll be by your side wherever you fall
In the dead of night whenever you call
And please don't fight these hands that are holding you
My hands are holding you — Tenth Avenue North

Do not oversleep and miss the school bus-
you'll be late.
That's a habit teachers generally
don't appreciate.
Never tell your friends at school
that you still wet your bed.
They are sure to tease you,
and you'll wish that you were dead.

Never call your teacher a name
when she's not near you.
Teachers' ears are excellent,
so they can always hear you.

Do not read a textbook when your hands
aren't clean-it's tricky
to separate the pages when the pages
get real sticky.
When you go out for a team
it's always wise to practice.
When you are a substitute,
the bench can feel like cactus.

Do not copy homework from a friend
who is a dummy.
If you do, I'm sure that you
will get a grade that's crummy.

And if your report card's bad,
don't blame it on your buddy.
Kiss up to your parents quick,
or they might make you study. — Bruce Lansky

Now, feel free to call me what I am-call me a corpse, call me dead, call me a killer if you want. I've killed people in battle, I'll admit. But don't call me what I'm not. I am not a freak, and I am not a cannibal, and-
I would have adeed, I'm not a monster, if it hadn't at that moment hit me that I was going all self-righteous on a girl whose world I had just turned upside down.
Smooth, Bram. When will you learn to shut up? — Lia Habel

The body cannot be afraid of death. The movement that is created by society or culture is what does not want to come to an end. . . . What you are afraid of is not death. In fact, you don't want to be free from fear. . . . It is the fear that makes you believe that you are living and that you will be dead. What we do not want is the fear to come to an end. That is why we have invented all these new minds, new science, new talk, therapies, choiceless awareness and various other gimmicks. Fear is the very thing that you do not want to be free from. What you call "yourself" is fear. The "you" is born out of fear; it lives in fear, functions in fear and dies in fear. — U.G. Krishnamurti

In The Highland Book of Platitudes, Marlais, there's an entry that reads, "Not all ghosts earn our memory in equal measure." I think about this sometimes. I think especially about the word "earn," because it implies an ongoing willful effort on the part of the dead, so that if you believe the platitude, you have to believe in the afterlife, don't you? Following that line of thought, there seem to be certain people - call them ghosts - with the ability to insinuate themselves into your life with more belligerence and exactitude than others - it's their employment and expertise. — Howard Norman

Idiot.
People say that those who call others idiots are the real idiots. I don't care if I'm an idiot, so I'll call you one. Idiot! You should have told me this earlier! Okay, he's dead! I'm gonna kill him for sure. He's totally dead, guaranteed! -Shizuo
Well, no. I'm the Headless Rider! I'm totally fine. -Celty
No, no, no. That's not even the problem here! If he pulled a blade on you, that's instant death. Gonna kill him ... -Shizuo
What about your job? Aren't you on a break right now? -Celty
I don't give a shit. -Shizuo
Come on. I'm not going to let you get fired because of me. Besides, I still need more information to track him down. I'll make the preparations, so just wait for now. -Celty
Fine. But try to make it quick. Gonna kill him ... — Ryohgo Narita

For life is a fire burning along a piece of string
or is it a fuse to a powder keg which we call God?
and the string is what we don't know, our Ignorance, and the trail of ash, which, if a gust of wind does not come, keeps the structure of the string, is History, man's Knowledge, but it is dead, and when the fire has burned up all the string, then man's Knowledge will be equal to God's Knowledge and there won't be any fire, which is Life. Or if the string leads to a powder keg, then there will be a terrific blast of fire, and even the trail of ash will be blown completely away. — Robert Penn Warren

At the Arrivals gate, we are greeted by a small crowd, watching us with hungry eyes or eyesockets. We drop our cargo on the floor: two mostly intact men, a few meaty legs, and a dismembered torso, all still warm. Call it leftovers. Call it takeout. Our fellow Dead fall on them and feast right there on the floor like animals. The life remaining in those cells will keep them from full-dying, but the Dead who don't hunt will never quite be satisfied. Like men at sea deprived of fresh fruit, they will wither in their deficiencies, weak and perpetually empty, because the new hunger is a lonely monster. It grudgingly accepts the brown meat and lukewarm blood, but what it craves is closeness, that grim sense of connection that courses between their eyes and ours in those final moments, like some dark negative of love. — Isaac Marion

Think about this: You don't know when these people are going to die. They could get into a car today and be killed on the way home. Did they ever hear about Jesus? God has put you in their lives to be His ambassador. You're His megaphone, through which He wants to call out to them to come to Him and be saved. — Ryan Dobson

Don't we all have a certain number of images that stay around in our head, which we undoubtedly call memories and improperly so, and which we can never get rid of because they return in our sky with the regularity of a comet - torn away also from a world about which we know almost nothing? They return more frequently than comets do, in fact. It would be better, then, to speak of them as loyal satellites, a bit capricious and therefore even troublesome: they appear, disappear, suddenly come back to badger our memory at night when we cannot sleep. But, little as we may care to, as our hearts tell us to, we can also observe them at will, coldly, scrutinize their shadows, colors, and relief. Only, they are dead stars: from them we shall never grasp anything other than the certainty that we have already seen them, examined them, questioned them without really understanding the laws that the line of their mysterious orbits obeyed. — Marc Auge

Not enough info makes for a lot of dead cats."
"Dead cats?"
"You know, 'Curiosity killed the cat.' And I have enough curiosity to start a feline genocide."
"Feline genocide?"
"Yeah. If you don't explain Apollo, the cat kingdom will crumble. Cats all over the world will suddenly plop down in unmoving masses of fur, their food will dry up in smelly chunks of fish, and when people call, 'Here, kitty kitty kitty,' no cats will come running; they'll just-" Walter suddenly stopped.
"What's wrong?" Ashley asked.
Walter stared straight ahead. "I just realized . . . if all those things happened, no one would notice the difference." ~Walter~ — Bryan Davis

Welcome in what?
In adult world??
I know it, people which are not sirious have a lot of money and don't know what to do. Every secret told to someone it's not anymore secured, if somebody know the secret, it's not anymore secret there is possibility somebody else to know from where somebody else...
It's really "OMG", the "Nerds" which most people call them do some positive things, the people which people call them cool what they do??
Say jokes which are even money, but we must laugh, I didn't get the joke?
It's not there the problem, the problem is that it's too stupid to get it, what do I see?
I change made, a stage from not secured to not sirious... People which fight are this which are not secured, people which are soldiers and work in police don't have anything else to do so they decide this to do, but after all when you become such you sign and the contract with the DEAD... — Deyth Banger

Why don't you just pretend that the asshole dropped dead? You can't call or write to a dead man. Put a couple of candles in front of his picture, say a few Hail Marys, and get it over with. — Isabel Lopez

That's my ocean. I have to pretend as best I can to be like people on the mean so people don't call me a robot. I'm not a robot. I'm real and I have feelings the same as everyone else. And I want a boyfriend. Except my ocean doesn't make me want to be dead. It makes me want to fight. I want you to fight too, Jeremey. I want us to carry our oceans together. — Heidi Cullinan

What's that map?" I asked.
"Spells of Coming Forth by Day," he said. "Don't worry. It's a good copy."
I looked at Carter for a translation.
"Most people call it The Book of the Dead," he told me. "Rich Egyptians were always buried with a copy, so they could have directions through the Duat to the Land of the Dead. It's like an Idiot's Guide to the Afterlife."
The captain hummed indignantly. "I am no idiot, Lord Kane."
"No, no, I just meant ... " Carter's voice faltered. "Uh, what is that? — Rick Riordan

On the phone
Bookseller: Hello Ripping Yarns.
Customer: Do you have any mohair wool?
Bookseller: Sorry, we're not a yarns shop, we're a bookshop.
Customer: You're called Ripping Yarns.
Bookseller: Yes, that's 'yarns' as in stories.
Customer: Well it's a stupid name.
Bookseller: It's a Monty Python reference.
Customer: So you don't sell wool?
Bookseller: No.
Customer: Hmf. Ridiculous.
Bookseller: ... but we do sell dead parrots.
Customer: What?
Bookseller: Parrots. Dead. Extinct. Expired. Would you like one?
Customer: Erm, no.
Bookseller: Ok, well if you change your mind, do call back. — Jen Campbell

I was always a drama queen. I remember playing in the kitchen, trying to get my mom to think I was dead and call the police. When she didn't, I would cry. I was always theatrical. I don't think any of my relatives are surprised. — Amy Lee

About time," Brianna said.
"Hey, sorry, we were kind of busy," Quinn snapped. "And I didn't exactly realize I was on a schedule."
"I don't like what I have to do here," Brianna said. She handed Quinn the note.
He read it. Read it again.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he demanded.
"Albert's dead," Brianna said. "Murdered."
"What?"
"He's dead. Sam and Dekka are off in the wilderness somewhere. Edilio's got the flu, he might die, a lot of kids have. A lot. And there are these, these monsters, these kind of bugs . . . no one knows what to call them . . . heading toward town." Her face contorted in a mix of rage and sorrow and fear. She blurted, "And I can't stop them!"
Quinn stared at her. Then back at the note.
He felt his contented little universe tilt and go sliding away.
There were just two words on the paper: "Get Caine. — Michael Grant

They're at the gates now, and there's no lock on them that Parks can see, but they don't open. Used to be electric, obviously, but bygones are bygones and in the brave new post-mortem world that just means they don't bloody work. "Over!" he yells. "Up and over!" Which is easily said. A head-high rampart of ornamental ironwork with functional spear points on top says different. They try, all the same. Parks leaves them to it, turns his back to them and goes on firing. The up side is that now he can be indiscriminate. Set to full auto and aim low. Cut the hungries' legs out from under them, turning the front-runners into trip hazards to slow the ones behind. The down side is that more and more of them keep coming. The noise is like a dinner bell. Hungries are crowding into the green space from the streets on every side, at what you'd have to call a dead run. There's no limit to their numbers, and there is a limit to his ammo. Which — M.R. Carey

As Eve strode down the bright white corridor of the dead, Peabody hustled beside her.
"Man, this place is always a little spooky, but this is beyond. You know how you half expect one of these bags to sit up and grab at you?"
"No. Wait out here. If one of them makes a run for it, give me a call."
"I don't think that's particularly funny." And watching the still black bags warily, Peabody took her post at the door. — J.D. Robb

I told myself that I didn't need any of that shit, but there it was, repeated to me day after day after day. And when you're surrounded by a bunch of mostly strangers experiencing the same thing, unable to call home, tethered to routine on ranchland miles away from anybody who might have known you before, might have been able to recognize the real you if you told them you couldn't remember who she was, it's not really like being real at all. It's plastic living. It's living in a diorama. It's living the life of one of those prehistoric insects encased in amber: suspended, frozen, dead but not, you don't know for sure. — Emily M. Danforth

I'll tell them," she said. "I'll tell them it was my fault."
He looked at her, gold eyes incredulous. "You can't lie to them."
"I'm not. I brought you back," she said. "You were dead, and I brought you back. I upset the balance, not you. I opened the door for Lilith and her stupid ritual. I could have asked for anything, and I asked for you." She tightened her grip on his shirt, her fingers white with cold and pressure. "And I would do it again. I love you, Jace Wayland - Herondale - Lightwood - whatever you want to call yourself. I don't care. I love you and I wil always love you, and pretending it could be any other way is just a waste of time. — Cassandra Clare

You're already dead inside. Years of living in Espoo have made you an empty husk of a human being. They don't call their hockey team the "Espoo Blues" for nothing. — Phil Schwarzmann

I'm an extremist? I don't think so. I think people that call me an extremist are extremely brain dead and soulless. — Ted Nugent

Hi Ayden!"
Oh, come on! I skidded a sharp right and hunkered down, peeking through shelves.
Ayden strode past the front desk. "Ladies. Don't you all look especially radiant today."
They giggled like toddlers. Pushovers.
"Ayden, could you help us put some of the books away on the taller shelves?"
"Can't. Sorry." He faced them but walked backwards, arms spread wide. "I'm on a mission. Maybe you can help. Did you happen to see a stunning redhead? Tall, leggy. I call her my goddess of a girlfriend."
More giggles. From me. Pull it together, Aurora.
A&E Kirk, Drop Dead Demons — A&E Kirk

Jackie, can you tell me if someone's dead or not?'
"Who it be? Maybe I heard something."
"Miranda Lopez." I pulled out the charm and balanced it on my fingertips, and then I realized the photo was probably a better likeness. I pocketed the milagro ad held up the Polaroid.
"I find out for you if you get me a dime."
I sighed and put the photo away. "You can't smoke crack. You're dead. And even if you weren't, I'm not gonna score for you. I'm a cop. "
"You so full of shit. You ain't no cop neither."
"Would I be wearing this fucking suit if I wasn't a cop?"
"I don't know. I always thought you sold cars or something."
I tucked my chin toward my chest and stomped toward my gate. Jackie couldn't help me. And how dare she call me a used car salesman? I wasn't always a dork in a blazer. Once upon a time I was actually cool. Until the Cook County Mental Health Centre, anyway. After that, I guess I kinda stopped caring. — Jordan Castillo Price

Most people would probably call me a ghost. I am, after all, dead. But I don't think of myself that way. It wasn't so long ago that I was alive, you see. I was only eighteen. I had my whole life in front of me. Now I suppose you could say I have all of eternity before me. I'm not sure exactly what that means yet. I'm told everything's going to be fine. But I have to wonder what I would have done with my life, who I might have been. That's what saddens me most about dying--that I'll never know. — Christopher Pike

Feminism is not dead, by no means. It has evolved. If you don't like the term, change it, for Goddess' sake. Call it Aphrodite, or Venus, or bimbo, or whatever you want; the name doesn't matter, as long as we understand what it is about, and we support it. — Isabel Allende

I don't know what they are. They aren't completely human, so I don't know what to call them." I pulled one of the bags over the man's head, then rolled it down to his waist. My fingers brushed Clare's; the feel of her skin sent a warm tingle firing up my arms. I met her gaze, and without thinking too much about it, I slid my right hand over hers. God, I had missed her.
"Owen, there is a dead body between us," she said, her gaze never straying from mine.
"Best be thankful for that, flower." I pushed down everything I wanted to say. There wasn't time, and her bloody kitchen definitely wasn't the place. — Elizabeth Morgan