In the words of the philosopher Sceptum, the founder of my profession: am I going to get paid for this?

I would like permission to fetch a note from my mother, sir' Ridcully sighed. 'Rincewind, you once informed me, to my everlasting puzzlement, that you never knew your mother because she ran away before you were born. Distinctly remember writing it down in my diary. Would you like another try?' 'Permission to go and find my mother?'

Vimes had got around to a Clean Desk policy. It was a Clean Floor strategy that eluded him at the moment.

Either dragons should exist completely or fail to exist at all, he felt. A dragon only half-existing was worse than the extremes.

That, lad," he said proudly, "was some of the worst poetry I have heard for a long time. It was offensive to the ear and a torrrture to the soul....We'll make a gonnagle out of ye yet!

He moved on, in the centre of a widening circle. He wasn't an enemy, he was a nemesis.

As we all know, the Discworld is a flat planet - like a geological pizza, but without the anchovies.