The figure stopped to cough long and hard, making a noise like a wall being hit repeatedly with a bag of rocks. Moist saw that it had a beard of the short bristled type that suggested that its owner had been interrupted halfway through eating a hedgehog.
Their families cordially detested one another.
If I were you, I'd sue my face for slander.
Om rubed his head. This wasn't god-like thinking. It seemed simpler when you were up here. It was all a game. You forgot that it wasn't a game down there. People died. Bits got chopped off. We're like eagles up here, he thought. Sometimes we show tortoise how to fly. Then we let go.
Some pirates achieved immortality by great deeds of cruelty or derring-do. Some achieved immortality by amassing great wealth. But the captain had long ago decided that he would, on the whole, prefer to achieve immortality by not dying.
I wonder if it's like this for mountain climbers, he thought. You climb bigger and bigger mountains and you know that one day one of them is going to be just that bit too steep. But you go on doing it, because it's so-o good when you breathe the air up there. And you know you'll die falling.
When you can flatten entire cities at a whim, a tendency towards quiet reflection and seeing-things-from-the-other-fellow's-point- of-view is seldom necessary.
There was no safety. There was no pride. All there was, was money. Everything became money, and money became everything. Money treated us as if we were things, and we died.
We who think we are about to die will laugh at anything.
It is at this point that normal language gives up, and goes and has a drink.
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.
One day a tortoise will learn how to fly.
Sometime later the islanders on a little rimward atoll were amazed to find, washed into their little local lagoon, the wave-rocked corpse of a hideous sea monster, all beaks, eyes and tentacles. They were further astonished at its size, since it was rather larger than their village. But their surprise was tiny compared to the huge, stricken expression on the face of the dead monster, which appeared to be have been trampled to death.
If you kept changing the way people saw the world, you ended up changing the way you saw yourself.
An Assassin, a real Assassin had to look like one-black clothes, hood, boots, and all. If they could wear any clothes, any disguise, then what could anyone do but spend all day in a small room with a loaded crossbow pointed at the door?
Why not? If enough people believe, you can be god of anythingà
Theres no stink more sorrorful than the stink of wet, burnt paper. It means: the end.
When Mister Safety Catch Is Not On, Mister Crossbow Is Not Your Friend.
It is embarrassing to know that one is a god of a world that only exists because every improbability curve must have its far end; especially when one can peer into other dimensions at worlds whose Creators had more mechanical aptitude than imagination. No wonder, then, that the Disc gods spend more time in bickering than in omnicognizance.
Neither claimed any responsibility for Milton Keynes, but both reported it as a success.
Probably the last man who knew how it worked had been tortured to death years before. Or as soon as it was installed. Killing the creator was a traditional method of patent protection.
That's what's so stupid about the whole magic thing, you know. You spend twenty years learning the spell that makes nude virgins appear in your bedroom, and then you're so poisoned by quicksilver fumes and half-blind from reading old grimoires that you can't remember what happens next.
In defiance of Miss Maccalariat I'd like to commit hanky-panky with you, Miss Adora Belle Dearheart... well, certainly hanky, and possibly panky when we get to know one another better.
But here's some advice, boy. Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come around again. That's why they're called revolutions.
Words are the litmus paper of the mind.
They say that the prospect of being hanged in the morning concentrates a man's mind wonderfully; unfortunately, what the mind inevitably concentrates on is that, in the morning, it will be in a body that is going to be hanged.
Bishops move diagonally. That's why they often turn up where the kings don't expect them to be.
It was a backwards memory of an event in his future so terrifying that it had generated harmonics of fear all the way along his lifeline.
More Terry Pratchett Quotations (Based on Topics)
Mind - God - Time - Man - Life - People - World - Death & Dying - Books - Thought & Thinking - Facts - Truth - Place - Cats - Kings & Queens - Wisdom & Knowledge - Fire - Water - Money & Wealth - View All Terry Pratchett Quotations
More Terry Pratchett Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Going Postal
- Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch
- Night Watch
- Small Gods
- The Color of Magic
Leo Buscaglia - Virginia Woolf - Napolean Hill - C. S. Lewis - Aesop - Lewis Carroll - Laura Ingalls Wilder - James Allen - Ian Fleming - Emily Post