He was the sort of person who stood on mountaintops during thunderstorms in wet copper armour shouting 'All the Gods are bastards.'

Dedication: My thanks to the people who showed me that opera was stranger than I could imagine. I can best repay their kindness by not mentioning their names here.

I don't read an awful lot of fiction and when I do, it tends to be lightweight stuff.

Books bend space and time. One reason the owners of those aforesaid little rambling, poky secondhand bookshops always seem slightly unearthly is that many of them really are, having strayed into this world after taking a wrong turning in their own bookshops in worlds where it is considered commendable business practice to wear carpet slippers all the time and open your shop only when you feel like it.

On the Disc, the Gods aren't so much worshipped, as they are blamed.

Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.

If per capita was a problem, decapita could be arranged.