Colon has always thought that heroes had some special kind of clockwork that made them go out and die famously for god, country and apple pie, or whatever particular delicacy their mother made. It had never occurred to him that they might do it because they'd get yelled at if they didn't.

"And what would humans be without love?" Rare, said Death.

I imagine that fish have no word for water.

He looked up at them, a scruffy Napoleon with his laces trailing, exiled to a rose-trellised Elba.

He'd been wrong, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and it was a flamethrower.

Evil in general does not sleep, and therefore doesn't see why anyone else should.

I don't hold with paddlin' with the occult," said Granny firmly. "Once you start paddlin' with the occult you start believing in spirits, and when you start believing in spirits you start believing in demons, and then before you know where you are you're believing in gods. And then you're in trouble." "But all them things exist," said Nanny Ogg. "That's no call to go around believing in them. It only encourages 'em.