Unseen University was much bigger on the inside. Thousands of years as the leading establishment of practical magic in a world where dimensions were largely a matter of chance in any case had left it bulging in places where it shouldn't have places. There were rooms containing rooms which, if you entered them, turned out to contain the room you'd started with, which can be a problem if you are in a conga line.

At some time in the recent past someone had decided to brighten the ancient corridors of the University by painting them, having some vague notion that Learning Should Be Fun. It hadn’t worked. It’s a fact known throughout the universes that no matter how carefully the colors are chosen, institutional decor ends up as either vomit green, unmentionable brown, nicotine yellow or surgical appliance pink. By some little-understood process of sympathetic resonance, corridors painted in those colors always smell slightly of boiled cabbage—even if no cabbage is ever cooked in the vicinity.

You can't kill me, I've got a magic... AAAARGH !

It is possible to live well with dementia and write best-sellers 'like wot I do.

"I'm sorry, I just got carried away," hissed Aziraphale.

The thing with crowns is, it isn't the putting them on that's the problem, it's the taking them off.

And what had he wanted? He'd never sat down to think about it. But mostly, he wanted yesterday to be different from today.