I wish that the people who sing about the deeds of heroes would think about the people who have to clear up after them.

Every intelligent being, whether it breathes or not, coughs nervously at some time in its life.

Guilt was the grease in which the wheels of the authority turned.

I certainly don't sit down and plan a book out before I write it. There's a phrase I use called "The Valley Full of Clouds." Writing a novel is as if you are going off on a journey across a valley. The valley is full of mist, but you can see the top of a tree here and the top of another tree over there. And with any luck you can see the other side of the valley. But you cannot see down into the mist. Nevertheless, you head for the first tree.

He found that he had this sudden desperate longing for the fuming, smoky streets of Ankh-Morpork, which was always at its best in the spring, when the gummy sheen on the turbid waters of the Ankh River had a special iridescence and the eaves were full of birdsong, or at least birds coughing rhythmically

Quick, someone's coming! Look real!

He'd been an angel once. He hadn't meant to Fall. He'd just hung around with the wrong people.