“Too much damned TV. Thinks he's Sherlock Holmes.""That's professor Moriarty," corrected Foaly."Holmes, Moriarty, they both look the same with the flesh scorched off their skulls.”

“You don't understand!' Foaly objected.Trouble cut him off with a chop of his hand through the air. 'I never understand. That's why we pay you and your dork posse."Foaly objected again. 'They are not dorks!'Trouble found space for yet another holster. 'Really? That guy brings a Beanie Baby to work every day. And your nephew, Mayne, speaks fluent Unicorn.''They're not all dorks,' said Foaly, correcting himself.”

“Stupid. Stupid. Foaly, we are both imbeciles. I don't expect lateral thinking from the LEP, but from you..."... "What is it?" [Holly] asked, afraid of the answer, which must surely be terrible."Yeah," agreed Foaly, who always had time to feel insulted. "Why am I an imbecile?”

“Commander: What's that?Foaly: It's a finger, what does look like?”

“He threw his head back and sang, "'I am a centaur, yes, a centaur is what I am.' It's not like you to wax, Artemis""Foaly is singing," said Holly. "Surely that's illegal?”

“Look!" said Foaly, pointing with some urgency into the vast steel-gray gloom, "Someone who cares!”

“What's this?" he inquired, none too pleasantly. "A circus?""No, Julius. It's the end of the circus.""I see. And these are the clowns?"Foaly's head poked through the doorway."Pardon me for interrupting your extended circus metaphor, but what the hell is that?”