You can't find a hermit to teach you herming, because of course that rather spoils the whole thing.

They say that there can never be two snowflakes that are exactly alike, but has anyone checked lately?

The entire universe has been neatly divided into things to (a) mate with, (b) eat, (c) run away from, and (d) rocks.

Do you know how wizards like to be buried?" "Yes!" "Well, how?" Granny Weatherwax paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Reluctantly.

You need to believe in things that aren't true. How else can they become?

Granny Weatherwax was not a good loser. From her point of view, losing was something that happened to other people.

They called themselves the Munrungs. It meant The People, or The True Human Beings. It's what most people call themselves, to begin with. And then one day the tribe meets some other People or, if it's not been a good day, The Enemy. If only they'd think up a name like Some More True Human Beings, it'd save a lot of trouble later on