Todd Barry Quotes

The attractive lady whom I had only recently been introduced to dropped into my lap... I chose not to dump her off.

What's the most humiliating thing? When you take someone to dinner or you cook somebody dinner and they get food poisoning. I mean, how bad do you feel?

When I go on holiday and people ask me what I do, I tell them I do some internet stuff and I've done a couple of books and I hope they just leave it at that.

I think privacy is important, and it's important you don't bore people with your own boring self.

I don't mind if someone yells a motto out of their car at me. 'No touching! No touching!' No harm is done.

You shouldn't inflict yourself on the public when your fifteen minutes is up.

There would be some times where people wouldn't know how to act around me. Does he drink? Can I cuss? What can I do? And then there was other circumstances where it was, I just don't respect what you're trying to do.

With friends, if you keep making an effort to reach out and you keep getting hurt, you eventually stop trying. But it's much harder to give up on family. Somewhere deep down you want it to work so badly that you keep making the same mistake over and over again.

Mind your own Brazilian!" The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. Oops. OK. The trick when you've said something embarrassing by mistake is not to overreact. Instead, keep your chin up and pretend nothing happened.

What would the world be like if people said whatever they were thinking, all the time, whenever it came to them? How long would a blind date last? About 13 seconds, I think. Oh, sorry, your rear end is too big. That's ok, your breath stinks anyway. See you later.

I never quite got the hang of the getting drunk & fondling the thighs [of all the cumbersome young males] business... whether that makes me a gallant & proper gentleman, a cowardly wuss or an unadventurous prude, I cannot make out

Most people who seek attention and regard by announcing that they're writing a novel are actually so devoid of narrative talent that they can't hold the attention of a dinner table for thirty seconds, even with a dirty joke.

Too many people write books as a calling card.

To make even fewer friends try talking about politics as much as you talk about yourself.

What matters is not whether you put your fork or knife together because you've finished your meal, or something like that. What matters is that you don't offend people, or hurt their feelings by mistake by saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing.

I am happy to exhibit, but not to put myself on exhibition.

I guess the main thing I definitely don't enjoy is having a job which involves selling things. You become an author because you think you're good at writing. Not because you love to promote yourself. I enjoy some of it and I've had a really fun few years so basically I have nothing to complain about. But what I don't like is the thought that it's going to go on for the rest of my life.

There's just nothing funnier than, like, a guy awkwardly explaining to another guy that he's hurt his feelings, and then later, awkwardly, you know, forgiving him for doing that.

It's somewhat of a contradiction, .. I guess the quieter the voice, the more necessary it is to push it. It's not going to leap out at you and scream. I also can't control how a book is marketed. To say the book marketing is aggressive, fine, I'm happy with that. Push the book. That doesn't mean that my personality or writing style changes.

It does get frustrating having the cameras on you all the time, because if you make mistakes, then the whole world knows about it. Like, it's not just your family and friends, it's everyone. Sometimes I'll watch myself on TV and ask myself, What am I doing, I am the biggest geek. My friends will call me and say, "OMG. Have you seen that commercial of you, you look like such a nerd."

But if a stranger in the train asks me my occupation, I never answer "writer" for fear that he may go on to ask me what I write, and to answer "poetry" would embarrass us both, for we both know that nobody can earn a living simply by writing poetry.

Phillip looked to Eloise. "Perhaps introductions are in order?" "Oh," Eloise said, gulping. "Yes, of course. These are my brothers." "I'd gathered," he said, his voice as dry as dust. She shot him an apologetic look, which, Phillip thought, was really the least she could do after nearly getting him tortured and killed, then turned to her brothers and motioned to each in turn, saying, "Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Gregory. These three," she added, motioning to A, B, and C, "are my elders. This one"—she waved dismissively at Gregory—"is an infant.

If guys don't want me to write bad songs about them, they shouldn't do bad things.

If you want to hurt me, fine. Take my books. Burn down my house. Shave my head while I am sleeping. But nobody, nobody screws with my dog.

How many times can you say, "No yanking on one another's genitals?" Everything is hilarious until someone starts crying.