My experience in Amsterdam is that cyclists ride where the hell they like and aim in a state of rage at all pedestrians while ringing their bell loudly, the concept of avoiding people being foreign to them.

She was a beefy young woman and, whatever piece of music she was playing, it was definitely losing.

Mort was already aware that love made you feel hot and cold and cruel and weak, but he hadn't realized that it could make you stupid.

Nanny Ogg could see the future in the froth on a beer mug. It invariably showed that she was going to enjoy a refreshing drink which she almost certainly was not going to pay for.

I mistrust the term graphic novel because it sounds like a good thing to put on a tee-shirt. That's why the French like them.

All was black, gloomy and awful. There was no light at the end of the tunnel - or if there was, it was an oncoming train.

History has a habit of changing the people who think they are changing it