Jasper Fforde Quotes

Noting with dismay that most cross-religion bickering occurred only because all the major religions were convinced that they were the right one and every other religion was the wrong one, the founders of the Global Standard Deity based their fledgling “portmanteau” faith on the premise that most religions want the same thing once all the shameless, manipulative power play had been subtracted: peace, stability, equality and justice—the same as the nonfaiths. As soon as they found that centralizing thread that unites all people and makes a dialogue of sorts with a Being of Supreme Moral Authority mostly optional, the GSD flourished.

"It's easy. A lobotomized monkey could do it."
"And where are we going to find a lobotomized monkey at this time of night?"

"Look here, St. Zvlkx," said Volescamper as they walked towards the marquee for tea and scones, "what was the thirteenth century like?"
"The Mayor wants to know what the thirteenth century was like—and no lip, sunshine."
"Filthy, damp, disease-ridden and pestilential."
"He said it was like London, Your Grace."

Mr. McGregor’s a nasty piece of work, isn’t he? Quite the Darth Vader of children’s literature.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "it is my considered opinion that most coincidences are simply quirks of chance—if you extrapolate the bell curve of probability you will find statistical abnormalities that seem unusual but are, in actual fact, quite likely, given the amount of people on the planet and the amount of different things we do in our lives."

“Incredibly enough, reality TV has just gotten worse.”
“Is that possible? I asked. “Wasn’t Celebrity Trainee Pathologist the pits?” I thought for a moment. “Actually, Whose Life Support Do We Switch Off? was worse. Or maybe Sell Your Granny. Wow, the choice these days makes it also tricky to decide.
Bowden laughed.
“I’ll agree that Granny lowered the bar for distasteful program makers everywhere, but RTA-TV, never one to shrink from a challenge, has devised Samaritan Kidney Swap. Ten renal-failure patients take turns trying to convince a tissue-typed donor—and the voting viewers—which one should have his spare kidney.”
I groaned. Reality TV was to me the worst form of entertainment—the modern equivalent of paying sixpence to watch lunatics howling at the wall down at the local madhouse.

But his hits were greater than the sum of his misses, and such is the way with greatness.

"Tell them ballocks."
"They'll pay me five hundred guineas."
"Cancel the ballocks thing—tell them you'll be honored and overjoyed."
"It's a sellout. I don't do sellouts. Not for that price anyway."

"I'll be honest," I said, "I have nothing against anyone who believes, but I think it's a dangerous nonsense."

"Did she believe you?"
"She's an excellent journalist—of course not."

"Write is only the word we use to describe the recording process," replied Snell as we walked along. "The Well of Lost Plots is where we interface the writer's imagination with the characters and plots so that it will make sense in the reader's mind. After all, reading is arguably a far more creative and imaginative process than writing; when the reader creates emotion in their head, or the colors of the sky during the setting sun, or the smell of a warm summer's breeze on their face, they should reserve as much praise for themselves as they do for the writer—perhaps more."

To fail spectacularly is a loser’s paradise.

"It was a coincidence."
"I don't believe in coincidences."
"Neither do I. That's a coincidence, isn't it?"

“I am surprised to see you because…you died six years ago!”
“I did?” inquired Mycroft with genuine concern. “Why does no one tell me these things?”
I shrugged, as there was really no good answer to this.

"It's simply part of wider research on a neural expansifier that increases the synaptic pathways in the brain. Aside from repairing traumatic damage and reversing the effects of dementia, it can potentially make dumb people smart."
"I'm trying hard, but I'm not sure I can think of a more useful invention."