Why We Love Everything Christopher Moore Ever Wrote

“People, generally, suck.” ― Christopher Moore, The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror

“Christmas crept into Pine Cove like a creeping Christmas thing: dragging garland, ribbon, and sleigh bells, oozing eggnog, reeking of pine, and threatening festive doom like a cold sore under the mistletoe.” ― Christopher Moore, The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror

“Nobody's perfect. Well, there was this one guy, but we killed him....” ― Christopher Moore, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal

“Love: the sickest of Irony’s sick jokes. The place where logic and order go to die.” ― Christopher Moore, Coyote Blue

“Love needs room to grow. Like a rose. Or a tumor.” ― Christopher Moore, Fool

“I've seen more intelligence in the crotch lice of harem whores.” ― Christopher Moore, Practical Demonkeeping

“Actually, orcas aren't quite as complex as scientists imagine. Most killer whales are just four tons of doofus dressed up like a police car.” ― Christopher Moore, Fluke: Or, I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings

“Last time I really got to know myself it turned out there was a whole gang of bitches in there to deal with. I felt like the receptionist at a rehab center. They all had nice tits though, I gotta say.” ― Christopher Moore, Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove

“She's evil. Evil, evil, evil. I want to see her naked.” ― Christopher Moore, Bloodsucking Fiends

“The music coming from inside sounded like robots fucking. And complaining about it. In rhythmic monotone. European robots.” ― Christopher Moore, You Suck: A Love Story

“She knew it should bother her more, being evil and all, but after she put on a little mascara and some lipstick and poured herself another cup of blood-laced coffee, she found that she was okay with it.” ― Christopher Moore, You Suck: A Love Story

“Kayso, Foo finally came home and I jumped into his arms and sort of rode him to the ground with a massive tongue kiss so deep that I could taste the burned cinnamon toast of his soul, but then I slapped him, so he didn't think I was a slut. (Shut up, he had wood.) --Being the Journal of Abby Normal” ― Christopher Moore, Bite Me