The duke had a mind that ticked like a clock and, like a clock, it regularly went cuckoo.

He stared at his feet. “I’m still very ignorant,” he said, “but at least I’m ignorant about really important things.

Granny Weatherwax was not lost. She wasn't the kind of person who ever became lost. It was just that, at the moment, while she knew exactly where SHE was, she didn't know the position of anywhere else.

The characters are the plot. What they do and say and the things that happen to them are, in a sense, what the plot is. You can't take character and plot apart from each other, really.

You can't trust folk songs. They always sneak up on you.

It was lonely on the hill, and cold. And all you could do was keep going. You could scream, cry, and stamp your feet, but apart from making you feel warmer, it wouldn’t do any good. You could say it was unfair, and that was true, but the universe didn’t care because it didn’t know what “fair” meant. That was the big problem about being a witch. It was up to you. It was always up to you.

What're quantum mechanics?" "I don't know. People who repair quantums, I suppose.