Rincewind could scream for mercy in nineteen languages, and just scream in another forty-four.
After the stampede the artist Three Solid Frogs got to his feet, retrieved his brush from his nostril, pulled his easel out of a tree, and tried to think placid thoughts.
Just because it's not nice doesn't mean it's not miraculous.
++?????++ Out of Cheese Error. Redo From Start.
"Luck is my middle name," said Rincewind, indistinctly. "Mind you, my first name is Bad."
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.
"Stercus, stercus, stercus, moriturus sum."
The Emperor had all the qualifications for a corpse except, as it were, the most vital one.
"I know about people who talk about suffering for the common good. It's never bloody them! When you hear a man shouting "Forward, brave comrades!" you'll see he's the one behind the bloody big rock and the one wearing the only really arrow-proof helmet!"
Many an ancient lord's last words had been, "You can't kill me because I've got magic aaargh."
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