Creators aren't gods. They make places, which is quite hard. It's men that make gods. This explains a lot.

The truth is a fog, in which one man sees the heavenly host and the other one sees a flying elephant.

Not all questions are answered, but fortunately some answers are questioned.

It doesn't stop being magic just because you know how it works.

Of course, like all the informal inhabitants of the University the roaches were a little unusual, but there was something particularly unpleasant about the sound of billions of very small feet hitting the stones in perfect time. Rincewind stepped gingerly over the marching column. The Librarian jumped it. The Luggage, of course, followed them with a noise like someone tapdancing over a bag of crisps.

She got on with her education. In her opinion, school kept on trying to interfere with it.

Happiness is not the natural state of mankind, and is never achieved from the outside in.