A Quote by Jasper Fforde

Fiction wouldn't be much fun without its fair share of scoundrels, and they have to live somewhere. — © Jasper Fforde
Fiction wouldn't be much fun without its fair share of scoundrels, and they have to live somewhere.
I've wrecked my fair share of cars. I've had my fair share of injuries. If you put too much focus on it or you really worry about it, it's going to consume you. That's never good.
Scoundrels [...] simply don't die. The ones who die are always the gentle, sweet, and beautiful people. [...] Scoundrels live a long time. The beautiful die young.
It's true that I don't rearrange that much in the fiction, but I feel if you change even one name or the order of one event then you have to call it fiction or you get all the credits of non-fiction without paying the price.
But now you're unhappy," he pointed out. "And?" I challenged. "That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense. I laughed without humour. "Hasn't anyone told you? Life isn't fair." "I believe I have heard that somewhere before," he agreed dryly.
Look, I was taught, and I taught my children, if they ever came back from school saying 'Oh, so and so's father's got a helicopter, it's not fair,' I'd say, 'Fair? Whoever said life had to be fair? Is it fair that you live in Kensington Palace? That you've each got a pony? There are an awful lot of kids without a pony, you know.'
It's fair to say that white America wouldn't have elected an African-American president without the integrating effect of black music - from Louis Armstrong to hip-hop - and black drama and fiction, commercial as much as 'serious.'
We may live without poetry, music and art; We may live without conscience, and live without heart; We may live without friends; we may live without books; But civilized man cannot live without cooks. . . . He may live without books,-what is knowledge but grieving? He may live without hope,-what is hope but deceiving? He may live without love,-what is passion but pining? But where is the man that can live without dining?
There was once a community of scoundrels, that is to say, they were not scoundrels, but ordinary people.
All is for all! If the man and the woman bear their fair share of work, they have a right to their fair share of all that is produced by all, and that share is enough to secure them well-being. No more of such vague formulas as "The Right to work," or "To each the whole result of his labour." What we proclaim is The Right to Well-Being: Well-Being for All!
I'm entitled to collect my fair share of community property without being called names.
As governor, I don't want my fair share. I want more than my fair share.
I just love writing. It's magical, it's somewhere else to go, it's somewhere much more dreadful, somewhere much more exciting. Somewhere I feel I belong, possibly more than in the so-called real world.
After this many years of being a lead singer in a touring rock band, I've had my fair share of fun. But those days are long behind me.
Is it fair for the bears to come down to where humans live, looking for food? Is it fair for the Duke's soldiers to shoot at them? Is it fair for the bears to crush them with giant snowballs? Often, if you point out something that isn't fair, someone will reply, "Life isn't fair." What is to be done with such people?
The enemies of living life; outdated little liberals, afraid of their own independence; lackeys of thought, enemies of the person and freedom, decrepit preachers of carrion and rot! What do they have: gray heads, the golden mean, the most abject and philistine giftlessness, envious equality, equality without personal dignity, equality as understood by a lackey or a Frenchman of the year ninety-three...And scoundrells, above all, scoundrels, scoundrels everywhere!
You work and live to meet your daily needs rather than to maximize your potential. You simply exist from day to day, without much passion or enthusiasm for life. Meanwhile, your talents remain untapped, buried somewhere deep inside. This is an awful way to live.
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