The only really sane person in there is Igor, and possibly the turnip. And I'm not sure about the turnip.

They've got something they do it with, I think it's called a mocracy, and it means everyone in the whole country can say who the new Tyrant is. One man ... one vet. ... Everyone has ... the vet. Except for women, of course. And children. And criminals. And slaves. And stupid people. And people of foreign extraction. And people disapproved of for, er, various reasons. And lots of other people. But everyone apart from them. It's a very enlightened civilization.

In the words of the philosopher Sceptum, the founder of my profession: am I going to get paid for this?

Its useful to go out of this world and see it from the perspective of another one.

That's what's so stupid about the whole magic thing, you know. You spend twenty years learning the spell that makes nude virgins appear in your bedroom, and then you're so poisoned by quicksilver fumes and half-blind from reading old grimoires that you can't remember what happens next.

Learnin’ how not to do things is as hard as learning how to do them.

"There's a door," he whispered. "Where does it go?" "It stays where it is, I think," said Rincewind.