Quotes from Terry Pratchett

It was said that life was cheap in Ankh-Morpork. This was of course, completely wrong. Life was often very expensive; you could get death for free.

It wasn't by eliminating the impossible that you got at the truth, however improbable; it was by the much harder process of eliminating the possibilities. You worked away, patiently asking questions and looking hard at things. You walked and talked, and in your heart you just hoped like hell that some bugger's nerve'd crack and he'd give himself up.

The smug mask of virtue triumphant could be almost as horrible as the face of wickedness revealed.

I REMEMBER WHEN ALL THIS WILL BE AGAIN.

Granny Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered, silvery world. "Where am I?" INSIDE THE MIRROR. "Am I dead?" THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, IS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NO AND YES. Esme turned, and a billion figures turned with her. "When can I get out?" WHEN YOU FIND THE ONE THAT'S REAL. "Is this a trick question?" NO. Granny looked down at herself. "This one," she said.

Questions don't have to make sense, Vincent, said Miss Susan. But answers do.

The Yen Buddhists are the richest religious sect in the universe. They hold that the accumulation of money is a great evil and a burden to the soul. They therefore, regardless of personal hazard, see it as their unpleasant duty to acquire as much as possible in order to reduce the risk to innocent people.

And all the stories had, somewhere, the witch. The wicked old witch. And Tiffany had thought: Where's the evidence?

But this didn't feel like magic. It felt a lot older than that. It felt like music.

But is all this true? said Brutha. Didactylos shrugged. Could be. Could be. We are here and it is now. The way I see it is, after that, everything tends towards guesswork. You mean you don't KNOW it's true? said Brutha. I THINK it might be, said Didactylos. I could be wrong. Not being certain is what being a philosopher is all about.

Anyway, why would you trust anything written down? She certainly didn't trust Mothers of Borogravia! and that was from the government. And if you couldn't trust the government, who could you trust? Very nearly everyone, come to think of it...

The Librarian was not familiar with love, which had always struck him as a bit ethereal and soppy, but kindness, on the other hand, was practical. You knew where you were with kindness, especially if you were holding a pie it had just given you.

If failure had no penalty success would not be a prize.

IT'S A SWORD, said the Hogfather. THEY'RE NOT /MEANT/ TO BE SAFE.

You need to believe in things that aren't true. How else can they become?

Granny Weatherwax was a witch. That was quite acceptable in the Ramtops, and no one had a bad word to say about witches. At least, not if he wanted to wake up in the morning the same shape as he went to bed.

Haven't you got any romance in your soul?' said Magrat plaintively. 'No,' said Granny. 'I ain't. And stars don't care what you wish, and magic don't make things better, and no one doesn't get burned who sticks their hand in a fire. If you want to amount to anything as a witch, Magrat Garlick, you got to learn three things. What's real, what's not real, and what's the difference.

Miss Tick sniffed. 'You could say this advice is priceless,' she said. 'Are you listening?' 'Yes,' said Tiffany. 'Good. Now ... if you trust in yourself ...' 'Yes?' '... and believe in your dreams ...' 'Yes?' '... and follow your star ...' Miss Tick went on. 'Yes?' '... you'll still get beaten by people who spent THEIR time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy. Goodbye.

Everyone has gods. You just don't think they're gods.

Someone got killed up here.... It was outside. A tall man. He had one leg longer'n the other. And a beard. He was probably a hunter. How'd you know all that? I just trod on 'im.

She folded her arms and then shouted, Right you thieving scunners! How dare you steal Miss Treason's funeral meats! Oh, waily, waily, it's the foldin' o' the arms, the foooldin' o' the aaaarmss! cried Daft Wullie, dropping to the ground and trying to cover himself with leaves. Around him Feegles started to wail and cower and Big Yan began to bang his head on the rear wall of the dairy.

Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.

Natural selection saw to it that professional heroes who at a crucial moment tended to ask themselves questions like 'What is my purpose in life?' very quickly lacked both.

War, Nobby. Huh! What is it good for? he said. Dunno, Sarge. Freeing slaves, maybe? Absol—well, okay. Defending yourself against a totalitarian aggressor? All right, I'll grant you that, but— Saving civilization from a horde of— It doesn't do any good in the long run is what I'm saying, Nobby, if you'd listen for five seconds together, said Fred Colon sharply. Yeah, but in the long run, what does, Sarge?