They Can Ta'k Our Lives But They

Even A Really Bad Creator Would At Least Have Started With Earth, Air, Fire, Water And Surprise.

Words Are The Litmus Paper Of The Mind.

The Ideal Death, I Think, Is What Was The Ideal Victorian Death, You Know, With Your Grandchildren Around You, A Bit Of Sobbing. And You Say Goodbye To Your Loved Ones, Making Certain That One Of Them Has Been Left Behind To Look After The Shop.

When Millions Of Tons Of Angry Elephant Come Spinning Through The Sky, And There Was No One There To Hear It, Does It - Philosopically Speaking - Make A Noise

It Wasn't That Nanny Ogg Sang Badly. It Was Just That She Could Hit Notes Which, When Amplified By A Tin Bath Half Full Of Water, Ceased To Be Sound And Became Some Sort Of Invasive Presence.