Sig Sauer. Nine millimetres. Thirteen in the magazine. Big bullets. One of these hits you and it could blow your head off; something even the magic can't fix. Other than that you should be all right, presuming you remembered to wear the regulation above-ground micro-fibre jumpsuit recently patented by me. Then again, being a Recon jock, you probably didn't.

I have a lovely office at the back of my house; it's an old stable and you can see right out to the countryside on one side and into the house on the other side.

I can grow cameras!" she had shrieked at the Brill brothers during one briefing. "Who's to say that despicable centaur Foaly hasn't succeded in splicing surveillance equiptment to plants? So get rid of all the flowers. Rocks, too. I don't trust them. Sullen little blebers.

Don't hate me forever, Arty," whispered Holly. "I couldn't bear that.

Listen to me, goblin. You're stupid, let's accept that and move on.

Oh, I'm crazy all right. I do have plenty of psychoses. Multiple personality, delusional dementia, OCD. I've got them all, but most of all, I'm crazy about you.

(to Foaly) Captain Short's life is in danger, so push the button before I climb that tower and push it with your face!