only to people!' shouted Rincewind. He drew his sword and, with a smooth overarm throw, completely failed to hit the troll.

Some things are fairly obvious when it's a seven-foot skeleton with a scythe telling you them.

'Don't think of it as dying,' said Death. 'Just think of it as leaving early to avoid the rush.'

Rincewind had always been happy to think of himself as a racist. The One Hundred Meters, the Mile, the Marathon -- he'd run them all.

It was so loud and so deep, it wasn't really sound at all, just something that turned the air hard and then hit you with it.

I've lost both parents in the last two years, so you pick up on that stuff. That's the most terrible thing about being an author - standing there at your mother's funeral, but you don't switch the author off. So your own innermost thoughts are grist for the mill.

Bishops move diagonally. That's why they often turn up where the kings don't expect them to be.