‎No one remembers the singer. The song remains.

It was so loud and so deep, it wasn't really sound at all, just something that turned the air hard and then hit you with it.

Everywhere's been where it is ever since it was first put there. It's called geography.

"There's a door," he whispered. "Where does it go?" "It stays where it is, I think," said Rincewind.

Bill Door was impressed. Miss Flitworth could actually give the word "revenue", which had two vowels and one diphthong, all the peremptoriness of the word "scum.

But there was more to it than that. As the Amazing Maurice said, it was just a story about people and rats. And the difficult part of it was deciding who the people were, and who were the rats.

The trouble with thinking was that, once you started, you went on doing it.