Luck, like a Russian car, generally only works if you push it.

'I think,' he said slowly, 'that the only reason people think you can't kill a vampire by shoving its head up its own arse is because nobody's ever actually tried it. What do you think, guys?'

There was something - difficult to describe, when you've only got shoddy, post-modernist adjectives to work with - cheerfully revential in his manner, as if he had just seen the Messiah and remembered that the Messiah owed him twenty quid.

Tact comes as naturally to full-bore handguns as, say, ice-skating to African elephants, but there comes a time when an exceptional individual is prepared to stand up and break the mould.

'Listen,' Regalian said, 'I'm holding my watch close to the phone so you can hear the ticking. Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine - there, another gullible idiot's just been born, you have company.'

'Ah. That might be a problem. You see, I havn't actually got any money over here. Not as such.'
'I see.' Mr. Shark leaned back in his chair and scowled at the ceiling.
'You know, you're putting me in a very difficult position here.'
'Really? Your toes have just fallen off too, have they?'

Rossfleisch explained (at least, presumably it was his idea of an explanation, just as the grey fluid you get in styrofoam cups at raliroad stations is somebody's idea of tea.)

He raised his hand, pointed the Colt and fired.
 It would be an exaggeration to say that the whole of Skinner's life flashed before his eyes, because he'd had a long and interesting life and there simply wasn't time. He'd got as far as his sixth birthday party, when Jenny Mason ate too much jelly roll and was sick on Mom's new carpet, when he realised he was still alive.

'That maniac's just shot Eeyore!'

Before he could reply, Skinner caught the Piglet's bewildered, terrified stare and his heart sank. 'For the last time,' he said, 'we are not going to kill the pig. Over my dead body.'

Who the devil want to build a ventilation shaft slap bang in the middle of Sherlock Holmes' living room floor?

He didn't smile - he was from Yorkshire, after all - but in some inner chamber of his heart he was satisfied.

'You're a hero. Heroes are supposed to know these things.'
'Get stuffed,' replied the hero.
'You're formulating a plan of campaign, aren't you?'
'Get real. I'm trying to get this pxy chunk of gravel out of my - ah, that's got it. Right, where were we?'

Mr Hamlet?
  'Yeah. Whoosat? Look, have you got any idea what time it--?'
  This is Central Casting. We've got a job for you, if you'd be interested.
  'Be with you in a jiffy.'

"Mein Held"