What Did I Tell You About Mister

Any Sensible Ruler Would Have Killed Off Leonard, And Lord Vetinari Was Extremely Sensible And Often Wondered Why He Had Not Done So. He'd Decided That It Was Because, Imprisoned In The Priceless, Inquiring Amber Of Leonard's Massive Mind, Underneath That Bright Investigative Genius Was A Kind Of Willful Innocence That Might In Lesser Men Be Called Stupidity. It Was The Seat And Soul Of That Force Which, Down The Millennia, Had Caused Mankind To Stick Its Fingers In The Electric Light Socket Of The Universe And Play With The Switch To See What Happened - And Then Be Very Surprised When It Did.

…we Were Born Vampires." "i Thought You Became –" "— Vampires By Being Bitten? Dear Me, No. Oh, We Can Turn People Into Vampires, It’s An Easy Technique, But What Would Be The Point? When You Eat… Now What Is It You Eat? Oh Yes, Chocolate… You Don’t Want To Turn It Into Another Agnes Nitt, Do You? Less Chocolate To Go Around." He Sighed. "oh Dear, Superstition, Superstition Everywhere We Turn.

"multiple Exclamation Marks," He Went On, Shaking His Head, "are A Sure Sign Of A Diseased Mind."

Stupid Men Are Often Capable Of Things The Clever Would Not Dare To Contemplate.

The Truth Is That Even Big Collections Of Ordinary Books Distort Space, As Can Readily Be Proved By Anyone Who Has Been Around A Really Old-fashioned Secondhand Bookshop, One That Looks As Though They Were Designed By M. Escher On A Bad Day And Has More Stairways Than Storeys And Those Rows Of Shelves Which End In Little Doors That Are Surely Too Small For A Full-sized Human To Enter. The Relevant Equation Is: Knowledge = Power = Energy = Matter = Mass; A Good Bookshop Is Just A Genteel Black Hole That Knows How To Read.