After a while, another voice said: One, two, three, four- And the universe came into being. It was wrong to call it a big bang. That would just be noise, and all that noise could create is more noise and a cosmos full of random particles. Matter exploded into being, apparently as chaos, but in fact as a chord. The ultimate power chord.

Rincewind could scream for mercy in nineteen languages, and just scream in another forty-four.

Vimes's lack of interest in other people's children was limitless.

There have been better attempts at marching, and they have been made by penguins.

My experience in Amsterdam is that cyclists ride where the hell they like and aim in a state of rage at all pedestrians while ringing their bell loudly, the concept of avoiding people being foreign to them.

I mistrust the term graphic novel because it sounds like a good thing to put on a tee-shirt. That's why the French like them.

Cake is not the issue here.