"I lost sixty soldiers under my command." "Your fault?" I asked. "No, but they were all my responsibility, so it amounts to the same thing." - Jasper Fforde

"Why didn't he say so directly?" asked Sprockett, not unreasonably.
"This is Fiction," I explained. "The exigency of drama requires events to be clouded in ambiguity."

“Think of it this way: A single brain cell has no intelligence, but in company it can do extraordinary things. Perhaps the entirety of existence is the true, unifying intelligence that drives what occurs—for a reason that is quite beyond our understanding, or even to a higher plane where the concept of understanding is laughably redundant.”
It was an interesting concept. Mycroft had often theorized that the whole of existence was so large and hideously complex that it must be sentient. And if this were so, then it must have a truly warped sense of humor and have an abiding love of math and hydrogen—and a deep loathing for order.

"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."