Quotes About Terry Pratchett

Ella turned to the fireplace where a blackened kettle hung over what Granny Weatherwax always called an optimist's fire: two logs and hope.

He made a noise like an owl. Since Moist was no ornithologist, he did this by saying "woo woo.

His rabbitty features looked unusually determined, as if a hamster had spotted a gap in its treadmill.

We are armed with the truth. What can harm us if we are armed with the truth?' 'Well, a crossbow bolt can, e.g., go right through your eye and out the back of your head,' said Sergeant Colon.

How do you spell 'contravention'? said Carrot, turning over a page. I don't, said Nobby, pushing through the crowds.

If that's what bein' bad does to you, Nanny thought, I could of done with some of that years ago. The wages of sin is death but so is the salary of virtue, and at least the evil get to go home early on Fridays.

He had done regular live concerts from San Quentin jail until the civil rights people got him under the Cruel and Unusual Punishment clause.

Death sat in His garden, running a whetstone along the edge of His scythe. It was already so sharp that any passing breeze that blew across it was sliced smoothly into two puzzled zephyrs

Bugger off sweetheart Nanny's busy

Big fishy! said Wentworth again. That's right! Tiffany said, delighted. Big fishy! And what makes it particularly interesting is that a whale isn't a fish! It is in fact a mammal, just like a cow! Did you just say that? said her Second Thoughts, as all the pictsies stared at her an the boat spun in the surf. The first time he's ever said anything that wasn't about sweeties or weewee and you just corrected him?

Angua picked out the bottle and looked at the label. C.M.O.T. Dibbler's Genuine Authentic Soggy Mountain Dew, she read. He's going to die! It says, 'One hundred and fifty per cent proof'! Nah, that's just old Dibbler's advertising, said Nobby. It ain't got no proof . Just circumstantial evidence.

What shall we do?' said Twoflower. 'Panic?' said Rincewind hopefully. He always held that panic was the best means of survival; back in the olden days, his theory went, people faced with hungry sabre-toothed tigers could be divided very simply into those who panicked and those who stood there saying 'What a magnificent brute!' and 'Here, pussy.

Don't force me to draw my own conclusions. I do have a very big pencil.

Good so be would you if, duff plum of helping second A, said the Bursar. The table fell silent. Did anyone understand that? said Ridcully. The Bursar was not technically insane. He had passed through the rapids of insanity som time previously, and was now sculling around in some peaceful pool on the other side. He was quite often coherent, although not by normal human standards.

A year ago astronomers across the Discworld had been puzzled to see the stars gently wheel across the sky as the world-turtle executed a roll. The thickness of the world never allowed them to see why, but Great A'Tuin's ancient head had snaked out and down and had snapped right out of the sky the speeding asteroid that would, had it hit, have meant that no one would ever have needed to buy a diary ever again.

Nanny Ogg was about to say: What? You mean not compliant and self-effacing like what you is, Esme? But she stopped herself. You didn't juggle matches in a fireworks factory.

As I am sure some of you know, I boast of the fact that for a couple of years I was a volunteer librarian, working weekends for no more reward than a cup of tea, a sweet biscuit, and a blind eye to the enormous number of books that I was taking home.

Where you found the real McCoy, the real grace and the real heart-stopping evil, was right inside the human mind.

Terry Pratchett lives in England, an island off the coast of France, where he spends his time writing Discworld novels in accordance with the Very String Anthropic Principle, which holds that the entire Purpose of the Universe is to make possible a being that will live in England, an island off the coast of France, and spend his time writing Discworld novels. Which is exactly what he does. Which proves the whole business true. Any questions?

I dinna like this, Rob,' said a Feegle. 'It's too quiet.' 'Aye, Slightly Sane Georgie, it is that-' 'You are my sunshine, my only su-' 'Daft Wullie!' snapped Rob, without taking his eyes off the strange landscape. The singing stopped. 'Aye, Rob?' said Daft Wullie from behind him. 'Ye ken I said I'd tell ye when ye wuz guilty o' stupid and inna-pro-pre-ate behavior?' 'Aye, Rob,' said Daft Wullie. 'That wuz another one o' those times, wuz it?' 'Aye.

No' on this raid, Wullie. A'm staying here. I have every confidence that ye'll be a fiiinne leader on this raid an' not totally mess it up like ye did the last seventeen times!

And perhaps at the other end of the world there is a place where the screaming can't be heard, and I may find it in my heart to grant God absolution!

The dark organ music filled the Department of Post-Mortem Communications. Moist assumed it was all part of the ambience, although the mood would have been more precisely obtained if the tune it was playing did not appear to be Cantate and Fugue for someone Who Has Trouble with the Pedals.

And precisely because she was a witch, and therefore sensible, she put little faith in protective amulets and spells; she saved it all for a foot-long bread knife which she kept in her belt.