The best Quotes from Lockwood & Co.

To be honest, adults are pretty useless. 'Cause of their lack of sensitivity. They just get in the way.

"Well," Lockwood said, "if you judge success by the number of enemies you make, that was a highly successful evening."

Dave: "You're not our leader."
Lucy: "No, but I know what I'm doing, which is a nice alternative."

Lockwood: "Never touch a mummified body part if you don't know where it's been. That's my motto."
George: "Holds true with unmummified ones too. That's the motto I live by."

"Really?"
"No. I'm being ironic. Or is it sarcastic? I can never remember."
"Irony's cleverer, so you're probably being sarcastic."

It was a time of beginnings and a time of endings.

Stop worrying about the past. The past is for ghosts. We've all done things that we regret. It's what's ahead of us that counts.

Making tea is a ritual that stops the world from falling in on you.

I wasn't pretty, but as my mother once said, prettiness wasn't my profession.

In my eyes, refusing cake is an immoral act.

I don't know how old the man was... but he was definitely closer to coffin than crib.

"Is it just me," Kipps said, "or does that boy need punching?"
"It's not just you."

"Looks?" the skull said. "Who cares about that? It's superficial. Outward appearance doesn't interest me at all. Why do you think I hang around with you?" It chuckled. "Insult aside, that's just one way in which I'm superior to every one of you, except for Cubbins."

"It wasn't the body," he said. "I've seen worse things in our fridge."

"Plan F, we follow Plan F, right now."
"Is that the one where we run away?"
"Not at all. It's the one where we beat a dignified emergency retreat."

Nothing could keep me from you. Nothing in life or Death...

It was one of those moments when a great Don't Care wave hits you, and you float off on it, head back, looking at the sky.

At Lockwood & Co., George was famous for not being able to throw or catch with any accuracy. Back in the kitchen at Portland Row, even the casual passing out of fruit or bags of chips became an exercise fraught with danger.

It was higher and shriller than Holly's, so we knew that it was Kipps.

This was classic Lockwood. Friendly, considerate, empathetic. My personal impulse would have been to slap the girl soundly around the face and boot her moaning backside out into the night. Which is why he's the leader, and I'm not. Also why I have no female friends.

What, are you queuing now? Just how British are you people? Don't just stand in line! Kill somebody!

Well, when you're being held at gunpoint by a geriatric madman in a metal skirt, you've kind of hit rock bottom anyway. It can't really get much worse.

Let's have the baddish one first,' George said. 'I prefer my misery to come at me in stages, so I can acclimatize on the way.

A warm feeling filled me. It was made of tea and biscuits and sudden gratitude.

George had his faraway look, the one that made him look like a constipated owl.

Who says I'm dying? Did you see the amount of sheer effort it took me to escape the land of the dead? I'm not going back in now!

Ignoring the whispers of the skull, which kept suggesting different, unlikely kitchen utensils that could be used for murder, I sketched out a map of the room.

Ah, two firm friends, reunited at last! There should be sweet violin music playing for us, but I'll settle for the screams of the dying.

Death is fugitive; even when you're watching for it, the actual instant somehow slips between your fingers. You don't get that sudden drop of the head you see in movies. Instead you simply sit there, waiting for something to happen, and all at once you realize you've missed it.

If she'd repeatedly fallen over while crossing soft ground, you could have sewn a crop of beans in the chin-holes she left behind.

It's a commonly known fact that while cats can't stand ghosts, spiders love them.

More ghosts have been created in bedrooms than anywhere else.

She was so radiant, it was like the other-light was already on her.

It's a curious thing with George. With his glasses off, his eyes looked small and weak - blinky and a bit baffled, like an unintelligent sheep that's taken a wrong turn. But when he put them on again, they went all sharp and steely, more like the eyes of an eagle that eats dumb sheep for breakfast.

Okay, maybe I'd been a little ratty, but there's something about rotting corpses leaping at my face that puts me a bit on edge.

"Is mindless violence your solution to everything?" The ghost considered. "Pretty much, yeah."