It was a large room, heavily outfitted with the usual badly ventilated furnaces, rows of bubbling crucibles, and one stuffed alligator. Things floated in jars. The air smelled of a limited life expectancy.
Men at Arms, Terry Pratchett
Carrot and Angua in the Dwarven diner
“I come in here quite a lot,” said Carrot. “The food’s good and, of course, it pays to keep your ear to the ground.”
“That’d certainly be easy here,” said Angua, and laughed.
“Pardon?”
“Well, I mean, the ground is…so much…closer…”
She felt a pit opening wider with every word. The noise level had suddenly dropped again
“Er,” said Carrot, staring fixedly at her. “How can I put this? People are talking in Dwarfish…but they’re listening in Human.”
Men at Arms, Terry Pratchett
It wasn’t much of a room. It was mainly brown. Brown oilcloth flooring, brown walls, a picture over the brown bed of a brown stag being attacked by brown dogs on a brown moorland against a sky which, contrary to established meteorological knowledge, was brown. There was a brown wardrobe. Possibly, if you fought your way through the mysterious old coats* hanging in it, you’d break through into a magical fairyland full of talking animals and goblins, but it’d probably not be worth it.
Men at Arms, Terry Pratchett
No clowns were funny. That was the whole purpose of a clown. People laughed at clowns, but only out of nervousness. The point of clowns was that, after watching them, anything else that happened seemed enjoyable. It was nice to know there was someone worse off than you. Someone had to be the butt of the world.
- Men at Arms, Terry Pratchett
Bjorn didn’t waste time asking questions. A lot of things become a shade urgent when you’re dead.
“I believe in reincarnation,” he said.
I KNOW.
“I tried to live a good life. Does that help?”
THAT IS NOT UP TO ME. Death coughed. OF COURSE,…SINCE YOU BELIEVE IN REINCARNATION…YOU’LL BE BJORN AGAIN.
He waited.
“Yes. That’s right,” said Bjorn. Dwarfs are known for their sense of humor, in a way. People point them out and say: “Those little devils haven’t got a sense of humor.”
Men at Arms, Terry Pratchett
Vines and Carrot arguing about democracy vs monarchy.
“But that’s not right, see? One man with the power of life and death.”
“But if he’s a good man—” Carrot began.
“What? What? OK. OK. Let’s believe he’s a good man. But his second-in-command—is he a good man too? You’d better hope so. Because he’s the supreme ruler, too, in the name of the king. And the rest of the court…they’ve got to be good men. Because if just one of them’s a bad man the result is bribery and patronage.”
Men at Arms, Terry Pratchett
“But I don’t teach people to be witches. I teach people about witches. Witches learn in a special school. I just show them the way, if they’re any good. All witches have special interests, and I like children.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re much easier to fit in the oven,” said Miss Tick.
But Tiffany wasn’t frightened, just annoyed.
“That was a nasty thing to say,” she said.
“Well, witches don’t have to be nice,” said Miss Tick, pulling a large black bag from under the table. “I’m glad to see you pay attention.”
Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men
Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men
All witches are selfish, the Queen had said. But Tiffany’s Third Thoughts said: Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours! Protect them! Save them! Bring them into the sheepfold! Walk the gale for them! Keep away the wolf! My dreams! My brother! My family! My land! My world! How dare you try to take these things, because they are mine!
I have a duty!
Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men
“Well, that still makes them familiars, doesn’t it?” Tiffany retorted, feeling annoyed. “Witches have animals they can talk to, called familiars. Like your toad there.”
“I’m not familiar,” said a voice from among the paper flowers. “I’m just slightly presumptuous.”
Terry Pratchett, Wee Free Men
“Listen, the Feegle think they’re in heaven! They think they died and came here!”
“And?” said the toad.
“Well, that can’t be right! You’re supposed to be alive here and then die and end up in some heaven somewhere else!”
“Well, that’s just saying the same thing in a different way, isn’t it? Anyway, lots of warrior tribes think that when they die, they go to a heavenly land somewhere,” said the toad. “You know, where they can drink and fight and feast forever? So maybe this is theirs.”
“But this is a real place!”
“So? It’s what they believe. Besides, they’re only small. Maybe the universe is a bit crowded and they have to put heavens anywhere there’s room? I’m a toad, so you’ll appreciate that I’m having to guess a lot here. Maybe they’re just wrong. Maybe you’re just wrong. Maybe I’m just wrong.”
Terry Pratchett, Wee Free Men
“They think written words are even more powerful,” whispered the toad. “They think all writing is magic. Words worry them. See their swords? They glow blue in the presence of lawyers.”
Terry Pratchett, Wee Free Men
“Aha,” she said. There was nothing to knock on, so she added “Knock, knock” in a louder voice.
A woman’s voice from within said: “Who’s there?”
“Tiffany,” said Tiffany.
“Tiffany who?” said the voice.
“Tiffany who isn’t trying to make a joke.”
“Ah. That sounds promising. Come in.”
Terry Pratchett, Wee Free Men
It seemed to Tiffany that although the owners of the three voices were fighting things that couldn’t possibly fight back, including a teddy bear with only one leg, the fight still wasn’t going all one way.
Terry Pratchett, Wee Free Men
A lot of the stories were highly suspicious, in her opinion. There was the one that ended when the two good children pushed the wicked witch into her own oven. Tiffany had worried about that after all that trouble with Mrs. Snapperly. Stories like this stopped people thinking properly, she was sure. She’d read that one and thought, Excuse me? No one has an oven big enough to get a whole person in, and what made the children think they could just walk around eating people’s houses in any case? And why does some boy too stupid to know a cow is worth a lot more than five beans have the right to murder a giant and steal all his gold? Not to mention commit an act of ecological vandalism? And some girl who can’t tell the difference between a wolf and her grandmother must either have been as dense as teak or come from an extremely ugly family. The stories weren’t real. But Mrs. Snapperly had died because of stories.
Terry Pratchett, Wee Free Men
