No. Men should die for lies. But the truth is too precious to die for.

Wisdom is one of the few things that looks bigger the further away it is.

If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards!

Little fussy Otto, in his red-lined black opera cloak with pockets for all his gear, his shiny black shoes, his carefully cut widow's peak and, not least, his ridiculous accent that grew thicker or thinner depending on who he was talking to, did not look like a threat. He looked funny, a joke, a music-hall vampire. It had never previously occurred to Vimes that, just possibly, the joke was on other people.

Juliet's version of cleanliness was next to godliness, which was to say it was erratic, past all understanding and was seldom seen.

My character - and for that matter my worst habits - could only be described by someone else. You can't open a box with the crowbar inside it.

You can't find a hermit to teach you herming, because of course that rather spoils the whole thing.