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

It's a god-eat-god world.

Vimes had got around to a Clean Desk policy. It was a Clean Floor strategy that eluded him at the moment.

They obeyed, as wise men do when a woman puts her foot down . . .

What do you call those things at the bottom of rivers? Frogs? Stones? Unsuccessful gangsters?

If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn't as cynical as real life.

Welcome to fear, said Moist to himself. It's hope, turned inside out. You know it can't go wrong, you're sure it can't go wrong... But it might.