If wits were pins, the man would be a veritable hedgehog.

It did seem hard to be doing something heroic while everyone was too busy to notice.

The world is like a broken wrist that healed the wrong way, and will never be the same again.

You’re a peach full of poison, you know that?" Mosca snapped back, but could not quite keep a hint of admiration from her tone.

I want my chirfugging goose back!

If you want someone to tell you what to think..." "You will never be short of people willing to do so.

Yes, I know,’ she said in answer to the unasked, for there was no time for explanations. ‘Yes. My face is spoilt.’ Grandible’s jowl wobbled and creased. Then, for the first time that Neverfell could remember, he changed to a Face she had never seen before, a frown more ferocious and alarming than either of the others. ‘Who the shambles told you that?’ he barked. ‘Spoilt? I’ll spoil them.’ He took hold of her chin and examined her. ‘A bit sadder, maybe. A bit wiser. But nothing rotten. You’re just growing yourself a rind at last. Still a good cheese.