It Was Sad, Like Those Businessmen Who

Ponder Just Let It Happen. It's Because Their Minds Are So Often Involved With Deep And Problematic Matters, He Told Himself, That Their Mouths Are Allowed To Wander Around Making A Nuisance Of Themselves.

Modesty Is Only Arrogance By Stealth.

It Was Octarine, The Colour Of Magic. It Was Alive And Glowing And Vibrant And It Was The Undisputed Pigment Of The Imagination, Because Wherever It Appeared It Was A Sign That Mere Matter Was A Servant Of The Powers Of The Magical Mind. It Was Enchantment Itself. But Rincewind Always Thought It Looked A Sort Of Greenish-purple.

These Weren't Encouraged In The City, Since The Heft And Throw Of A Longbow's Arrow Could Send It Through An Innocent Bystander A Hundred Yards Away Instead Of The Innocent Bystander At Whom It Was Aimed.

Most Witches Don’t Believe In Gods. They Know That The Gods Exist, Of Course. They Even Deal With Them Occasionally. But They Don’t Believe In Them. They Know Them Too Well. It Would Be Like Believing In The Postman.