I'm right there with you, darlin'. Unless you step on a landmine, in which case I'm way back in the Operations Room.

If it looks like a Dwarf, and it smells like a Dwarf, then it's probably a Dwarf or a latrine wearing dungerees.

And it's amazing how much noise people ignoring each other can make.

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.

I have to tell you, Arty, a screw up this early in the proceedings doesn't exactly fill me with confidence. I hope you're as clever as you keep telling everyone you are." "I never tell anybody exactly how clever I am. They would be too scared.

It'll be messy, but after a day you'll be zipping around as though you were a thousand years old again.

Orion brightened. "I have an idea." "Yes?" said Foaly, daring to hope that a spark of Artemis remained. "Why don't we look for some magic stones that can grant wishes? Or, if that doesn't work, you could search my naked body for some mysterious birthmark that means I am actually the prince of somewhere or other.