What's the good of having mastery over cosmic balance and knowing the secrets of fate if you can't blow something up?

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

I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?" Death thought about it. CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE.

Aziraphale. The Enemy, of course. But an enemy for six thousand years now, which made him a sort of friend.

SOONER OR LATER ALL MEN MUST DIE. EVERYTHING DIES IN THE END. I CAN BE ROBBED BUT NEVER DENIED, I TOLD MYSELF. WHY WORRY? “I too cannot be cheated,” snapped Fate.

-Oh yes? Can you identify yourself? -Certainly. I'd know me anywhere.

Yes, sir, thank you, sir, and I wouldn’t trust me one little inch, sir. I knows a bad one when I sees them. I have a mirror.