Terry Pratchett’s “Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch” Quotes (17 Quotes)

Sister Mary was a nurse and nurses, whatever their creed, are primarily nurses, which had a lot to do with wearing your watch upside down, keeping calm in emergencies, and dying for a cup of tea.

All tapes left in a car for more than about a fortnight metamorphose into Best of Queen albums.

You can't second-guess ineffability, I always say.

Aziraphale collected books. If he were totally honest with himself he would have to have admitted that his bookshop was simply somewhere to store them. He was not unusual in this. In order to maintain his cover as a typical second-hand book seller, he used every means short of actual physical violence to prevent customers from making a purchase. Unpleasant damp smells, glowering looks, erratic opening hours - he was incredibly good at it.

But the purpose of the book is not the horror, it is horror's defeat.

DON'T THINK OF IT AS DYING, said Death. JUST THINK OF IT AS LEAVING EARLY TO AVOID THE RUSH.

He looked up at them, a scruffy Napoleon with his laces trailing, exiled to a rose-trellised Elba.

He was currently wondering vaguely who Moey and Chandon were.

He'd always known that the world was an interesting place, and his imagination had peopled it with pirates and bandits and spies and astronauts and similar. But he'd also had a nagging suspicion that, when you seriously got right down to it, they were all just things in books and didn't properly exist anymore.

Neither claimed any responsibility for Milton Keynes, but both reported it as a success.

Occasionally he would very nearly swear.

Oh, he did his best to make their short lives miserable, because that was his job, but nothing he could think up was half as bad as the stuff they thought up themselves.

One of the highlights of the first Good Omens tour was Neil and I walking through New York singing Shoehorn with Teeth. Well, we'd had a good breakfast. And you don't get mugged, either.

People couldn't become truly holy, he said, unless they also had the opportunity to be definitely wicked.

Shadwell hated all southerners and, by inference, was standing at the North Pole.

She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close.

She was convinced that she was anorexic, because every time she looked in the mirror she did indeed see a fat person.