Fresh wounds," said Angua. "But one of them did shoot one of the other in the leg by accident." "I think you'd better put in your report as -self inflicted- wounds while resisting arrest," said Vimes.

Noble dragons don't have friends. The nearest they can get to the idea is an enemy who is still alive.

But is all this true?" said Brutha. Didactylos shrugged. "Could be. Could be. We are here and it is now. The way I see it is, after that, everything tends towards guesswork." "You mean you don't KNOW it's true?" said Brutha. "I THINK it might be," said Didactylos. "I could be wrong. Not being certain is what being a philosopher is all about.

A true beanie should have a propellor on the top.

And what had he wanted? He'd never sat down to think about it. But mostly, he wanted yesterday to be different from today.

Mort was hurt by this. It was one thing not to want to marry someone, but quite another to be told they didn't want to marry you.

Elves are wonderful. They provoke wonder. Elves are marvellous. They cause marvels. Elves are fantastic. They create fantasies. Elves are glamorous. They project glamour. Elves are enchanting. They weave enchantment. Elves are terrific. They beget terror. The thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake, and if you want to find snakes look for them behind words that have changed their meaning. No one ever said elves are nice. Elves are bad.