My agent pointed out one day that I had been quoted by a columnist in some American newspaper, and he noted with some glee that they simply identified me by name without reminding people who I was, apparently in the clear expectation that their readers would know who I am.

I thought jet planes were just trucks with more wings and less wheels.

I know that I am a small, weak man, but I have amassed a large library; I dream of dangerous places.

Someone out there was about to find that their worst nightmare was a maddened Librarian. With a badge.

Rincewind tried to force the memory out of his mind, but it was rather enjoying itself there, terrorizing the other occupants and kicking over the furniture.

There are some people who hate my guts. But that goes with the territory.

Chain-mail isn't much defence against an arrow. It certainly isn't when the arrow is being aimed between your eyes.