I'm trying to have a moment o' existential dreed here, right? Crivens, it's a puir lookout if a man canna feel the chilly winds o' fate lashing aroound his netheres wi'out folks telling him he's deid, eh?

A horse's skull always looks scary, even if someone has put lipstick on it.

All he knew was that you couldn't hope to try for the big stuff, like world peace and happiness, but you might just about be able to achieve some tiny deed that'd make the world, in a small way, a better place. Like shooting someone.

Take it from me, whenever you see a bunch of buggers puttering around talking about truth and beauty and the best way of attacking Ethics, you can bet your sandals it's all because dozens of other poor buggers are doing all the real work around the place.

He was, he would be the first to admit, a coward, an incompetent, and not even very good at being a failure.

Logic is a wonderful thing but doesn't always beat actual thought.

The trouble was that he was talking in philosophy but they were listening in gibberish.