I was a very keen reader of science fiction, and during the time I was going to libraries, it was good, written by people who knew their science.

And all the stories had, somewhere, the witch. The wicked old witch. And Tiffany had thought: Where's the evidence?

They always gives me bath salts," complained Nobby. "And bath soap and bubble bath and herbal bath lumps and tons of bath stuff and I can't think why, 'cos it's not as if I hardly ever has a bath. You'd think they'd take the hint, wouldn't you?

Most gods throw dice, but Fate plays chess, and you don't find out til too late that he's been playing with two queens all along.

And what do you really do? asked Tiffany. The thin witch hesitatied for a moment, and then: We look to ... the edges, said Mistress Weatherwax. There's a lot of edges, more than people know. Between life and death, this world and the next, night and day, right and wrong ... an' they need watchin'. We watch 'em, we guard the sum of things. And we never ask for any reward. That's important.

...Roland de Chumsfanleigh (it wasn't his fault).

I think you should be proud of not being worse than just deeply introverted and socially maladjusted.