There are, almost by definition, an unlimited number of Hells - potentially at least a personal one for every living sapient being.

His progress through life was hampered by his tremendous sense of his own ignorance, a disability which affects all too few.

I'm not really good at fun-to-know, human interest stuff. We're not 'celebrities', whose life itself is a performance. Good or bad or ugly, we are our words. They're what people meet.

It doesn't stop being magic just because you know how it works.

And, while it was regarded as pretty good evidence of criminality to be living in a slum, for some reason owning a whole street of them merely got you invited to the very best social occasions.

Rincewind could scream for mercy in nineteen languages, and just scream in another forty-four.

Of course, like all the informal inhabitants of the University the roaches were a little unusual, but there was something particularly unpleasant about the sound of billions of very small feet hitting the stones in perfect time. Rincewind stepped gingerly over the marching column. The Librarian jumped it. The Luggage, of course, followed them with a noise like someone tapdancing over a bag of crisps.