The Color of Magic: A Novel of Discworld

Only elves and trolls had survived the coming of Man to the Discworld; the elves because they were altogether too clever by half, and the trollen folk because they were at least as good as humans at being nasty, spiteful and greedy.

It had to be Death. No one else went around with empty eye sockets and, of course, the scythe over one shoulder was another clue.

It is a little known but true fact that a two legged creature can usually beat a four legged creature over a short distance, simply because of the time it takes the quadruped to get its legs sorted out.

Some might have taken him for a mere apprentice enchanter who had run away from his master out of defiance, boredom, fear and a lingering taste for heterosexuality.

well going on about pure logic and how the universe was ruled by logic and the harmony of numbers, but the plain fact of the matter was that the Disc was manifestly traversing space on the back of a giant turtle and the gods had a habit of going around to atheists’ houses and smashing their windows.

“Would you like something to eat?” asked Twoflower. He began to rummage through the bundle that he had tied to the rail, out of the damp. “Don’t you understand?” snarled Rincewind. “We are going over the Edge, godsdammit!” “Can’t we do anything about it?” “No!” “Then I can’t see the sense in panicking,” said Twoflower calmly.

It was as if the ocean had decided to create life without going through all that tedious business of evolution, and had simply formed a part of itself into a biped and sent it walking squishily up the beach.

That is to say: while it was true that they had just appeared in this particular set of dimensions, it was also true that they had been living in them all along. It is at this point that normal language gives up, and goes and has a drink.

“Mad,” said the Weasel. Bravd, galloping along a few feet away, nodded. “All wizards get like that,” he said. “It’s the quicksilver fumes. Rots their brains. Mushrooms, too.”