...they come to us, these restless dead,Shrouds woven from the words of men,With trumpets sounding overhead(The walls of hope have grown so thinAnd all our vaunted innocenceHas withered in this endless frost)That promise little recompenseFor all we risk, for all we've lost...

Nothing is impossible to kill. It's just that sometimes after you kill something you have to keep shooting it until it stops moving

Speak English at this table or I will fire you so fast you'll wind up standing at the airport wondering how you got from here to there without any goddamn pants on.

Alive or dead, the truth won't rest. Rise up while you can.

I just find it interesting that kids apparently used to cry when Bambi's mother died. George and I both held our breaths, and then cheered when she didn't reanimate and try to eat her son.

And then everything was in the hands of gravity, which has never had much love for the terminally stupid.

There is nothing so patient, in this world or any other, as a virus searching for a host.

There was one thing no one considered, however: Australia was populated by Australians. While the rest of us were trying to adapt to a world that suddenly seemed bent on eradicating the human race, the Australians had been dealing with a hostile environment for centuries. They looked upon our zombie apocalypse, and they were not impressed.

I just don’t understand why anyone would want to get their caffeine in a less-efficient form.