It doesn't matter how you live and die, it's how the bards wrote it down.

Night poured over the desert. It came suddenly, in purple. In the clear air, the stars drilled down out of the sky, reminding any thoughtful watcher that it is in the deserts and high places that religions are generated. When men see nothing but bottomless infinity over their heads they have always had a driving and desperate urge to find someone to put in the way.

I wish that the people who sing about the deeds of heroes would think about the people who have to clear up after them.

The short conversation that follows eventually led to a tree religion. Its tenet of faith was this: a tree that was a good tree and led a clean decent and upstanding life could be assured of a future life after death. If it was very good indeed it would eventually be reincarnated as five thousand rolls of lavatory paper.

…We were born vampires." "I thought you became –" "— vampires by being bitten? Dear me, no. Oh, we can turn people into vampires, it’s an easy technique, but what would be the point? When you eat… now what is it you eat? Oh yes, chocolate… you don’t want to turn it into another Agnes Nitt, do you? Less chocolate to go around." He sighed. "Oh dear, superstition, superstition everywhere we turn.

I don't think a baker reads an awful lot about bread.

Death was standing behind a lectern, poring over a map. He looked at Mort as if he wasn’t entirely there. You haven't heard of the bayof mante, have you? He said. “No, sir,” said Mort. Famous shipwreck there. “Was there?” there will be, said Death, if I can find the damn place.