Being a werewolf meant having the dexterity and jaw power to instantly rip out a man’s jugular. It was a trick of her father’s that had always annoyed her mother, especially when he did it just before meals.
The Patrician relaxed, in a way which only then drew gentle attention to the foregoing moment of tension.
The Ramkins were more highly bred than a hilltop bakery, whereas Corporal Nobbs had been disqualified from the human race for shoving.
I don’t see why it matters what is written. Not when it’s about people. It can always be crossed out.
You can’t go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world for people. Otherwise it’s just a cage.
“Sodomy non sapiens,” said Albert under his breath. “What does that mean?” “Means I’m buggered if I know.”
The gods of the Disc have never bothered much about judging the souls of the dead, and so people only go to hell if that’s where they believe, in their deepest heart, that they deserve to go. Which they won’t do if they don’t know about it. This explains why it is so important to shoot missionaries on sight.
Not a man to mince words. People, yes. But not words.
Nanny Ogg looked under her bed in case there was a man there. Well, you never knew your luck.
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