I don't want to hurt you, Mistress Weatherwax," said Mrs Gogol. "That's good," said Granny. "I don't want you to hurt me either.

He talks pretty big for a gutter wizard," he muttered. "You don't understand at all," said the wizard wearily. "I'm so scared of you my spine has turned to jelly, it's just that I'm suffering from an overdose of terror right now. I mean, when I've got over that then I'll have time to be decently frightened of you.

My character - and for that matter my worst habits - could only be described by someone else. You can't open a box with the crowbar inside it.

Don't you *ever* let go?" "I haven't yet." "Why?" "I suppose... because in this world, after everyone panics, there's always got to be someone to tip the wee out of the shoe.

"Out of Print" is bookseller speak for "We can't be hedgehogged".

A world like that, which exists only because the gods enjoy a joke, must be a place where magic can survive. And sex too, of course.

Some things are fairly obvious when it's a seven-foot skeleton with a scythe telling you them.