A Quote by Eoin Colfer
I waved my hand in front of my face, obi-wan style. "I am not here." Niall's mucas glands kicked into overdrive. "Eoin's dead! And his ghost is standing right there on the grass!" Donal let out a long suffering sigh. "Eoin is being a writer." Niall calmed down, becuase everyone knows writers are weird and are always doing stupid thingss.
Related Quotes
Niall Horan was in the right place at the right time, he's the luckiest guy in the world and he knows that.
Niall: Help! Louis: Did anyone hear that? Niall: Help!! Louis: SOMEBODY NEEDS HELP! RAAH! (Pulls open shirt and has Superman shirt underneath) Superman is here!!
If I waved that in front of a museum curator, he'd promptly lose control of his salivary glands.
I lost my father when I was four, so maybe that was always in the background. Losing my brother kicked it into overdrive. When you get to such an intense place of suffering, you either have the choice to continue suffering or figure a way not to.
I was Obi-Wan multiple years in a row. Alec Guinness' Obi-Wan. I was a Dalmatian once because I loved '101 Dalmatians,' and I think I was a Care Bear once and maybe a Spartan cheerleader from the 'SNL' skit. I'm terrible with Halloween, because I come up with these elaborate costumes and never follow through.
When I passed the Chancellor he arose, waved his hand at me, and I waved back at him. I think the writers showed bad taste in criticizing the man of the hour in Germany.
His home was populated by things and creatures from Niall Lynch's dreams, and his mother was just another one of them
Exactly. They're stupid. Who cares?" "I care. They bother me. And that's why I'm stupid. That makes me exponentially more stupid than stupid. I'm stupid to the power of stupid." She waved her hand. The moon blew away. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." I looked at her out of the corner of my eye.
I was just looking at moving to Cambridge, and a house I was looking at cost a million dollars. Because somehow, that's what a house costs. And I was thinking, "How can it be?" And I was thinking, "What am I doing? Am I going to be Niall Ferguson, that horrible man?
One time, Niall sat on the floor for hours trying to find a way of putting his M&M's in alphabetical order.
Niall Ferguson is an intellectual fraud whose job, for years, has been to impress dumb, rich Americans with his accent and flatter them with his writings.
Am I in the picture? Am I getting in or out of it? I could be a ghost, an animal or a dead body, not just this girl standing on the corner?
No writer who knows the great writers who did not receive the Prize can accept it other than with humility. There is no need to list these writers. Everyone here may make his own list according to his knowledge and his conscience.
A writer can be identified just through his sigh, as a mouthful of words are flooded out in his single sigh.
Being a writer, writing for a living, is one long persistence game. Everyone wants you to quit. Quite often, you want to quit. You get kicked down. You come up swinging. You keep going. Either you are committed to it, or you aren't.
Even today I work with Niall O'Brien, who is far more technically astute than I am, but I still have the clearest idea of every detail I want in my photograph.
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