Belief sloshes around in the firmament like lumps of clay spiralling into a potter's wheel. That's how gods get created, for example. They clearly must be created by their own believers, because a brief resume of the lives of most gods suggests that their origins certainly couldn't be divine. They tend to do exactly the things people would do if only they could, especially when it comes to nymphs, golden showers, and the smiting of your enemies.

It is possibly worth mentioning at this point that Mr. Young thought that paparazzi was a kind of Italian linoleum.

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

He sighed. It had come to this. He was a responsible authority, and people could use terms like "core values" at him with impunity.

Fantasy doesn't have to be fantastic. American writers in particular find this much harder to grasp. You need to have your feet on the ground as much as your head in the clouds. The cute dragon that sits on your shoulder also craps all down your back, but this makes it more interesting because it gives it an added dimension.

This is where the gods play games with the lives of men, on a board which is at one and the same time a simple playing area and the whole world. And Fate always wins.

Where's the pleasure in bein' the winner if the loser ain't alive to know they've lost?