It's lies. It's all lies. Some of them are just prettier than others, that's all. People see what they think is there.

Watching a dog try to chew a large piece of toffee is a pastime fit for gods. Mr. Fusspot's mixed ancestry had given him a dexterity of jaw that was truly awesome. He somersaulted happily around the floor, making faces like a rubber gargoyle in a washing machine.

It's not worth doing something unless you were doing something that someone, somewere, would much rather you weren't doing.

I particularly admire are Mark Twain and Jerome K. Jerome who wrote in a certain tone of voice which was humane and understanding of humanity, but always ready to annotate its little foibles. I think I'd lay my cards down on that, and say that it's that that I'm trying to do.

Everything makes sense a bit at a time. But when you try to think of it all at once, it comes out wrong.

Find the story, Granny Weatherwax always said. She believed that the world was full of story shapes. If you let them, they controlled you. But if you studied them, if you found out about them... you could use them, you could change them.

I could be wrong. Not being certain is what being a philosopher is all about.