Vimes's lack of interest in other people's children was limitless.

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

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.

His progress through life was hampered by his tremendous sense of his own ignorance, a disability which affects all too few.

Everywhere I look, I see something holy.

I wonder if it's like this for mountain climbers, he thought. You climb bigger and bigger mountains and you know that one day one of them is going to be just that bit too steep. But you go on doing it, because it’s so-o good when you breathe the air up there. And you know you'll die falling.

Oh, where are my manners? Do sit down. Pull up a small child.