His movements could be called cat-like, except that he did not stop to spray urine up against things.

If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards!

This was the definition of eternity; it was the space of time devised by the Great God Om to ensure that everyone got the punishment that was due to them.

Cats don't hunt seals. They would if they knew what they were and where to find them. But they don't, so that's all right.

It was like being in a Jane Austen novel, but one with far less clothing.

If the government ever imposes a tax on books - and I wouldn't put it past them - I'm in dead trouble.

YOU FEAR TO DIE? "It's not that I don't want... I mean, I've always...it's just that life is a habit that's hard to break.