The Wit & Wisdom of Discworld - By Terry Pratchett Page 0,33
the air.
It was a perfect fit.
‘There!’ she said. ‘See? You could have wasted the whole day’
‘Especially because there must be hundreds of five-and-a-half—’
‘– narrow fit –’
‘—narrow fit wearers in a city this size,’ Granny went on. ‘Unless, of course, you happened to sort of go to the right house right at the start. If you had, you know, a lucky guess?’
‘But that’d be cheatin’,’ said Nanny.
She nudged the Prince.
‘I’d just like to add,’ she said, ‘that I don’t mind doin’ all the waving and opening things and other royal stuff, but I draw the line at sleepin’ in the same bed as sunny jim here.’
‘Because he doesn’t sleep in a bed,’ said Granny.
‘No, he sleeps in a pond,’ said Nanny.
‘Because he’s a frog,’ said Granny.
‘This is Greebo. Between you and me, he’s a fiend from hell.’
‘Well, he’s a cat,’ said Mrs Gogol. ‘It’s only to be expected.’
No one knew better than Granny Weatherwax that hats were important. They weren’t just clothing. Hats defined the head. They defined who you were. No one had ever heard of a wizard without a pointy hat - at least, no wizard worth speaking of. And you certainly never heard of a witch without one … It wasn’t the wearing of the hats that counted so much as having one to wear. Every trade, every craft had its hat. That’s why kings had hats. Take the crown off a king and all you had was someone good at having a weak chin and waving to people. Hats had power. Hats were important.
*
‘You always used to say I was wanton, when we was younger,’ said Nanny.
‘You was, of course,’ said Granny. ‘But you never used magic for it, did you?’
‘Din’t have to,’ said Nanny happily. ‘An off-the-shoulder dress did the trick most of the time.’
‘Right off the shoulder and on to the grass, as I recall,’ said Granny.
*
Every established kitchen has one ancient knife, its handle worn thin, its blade curved like a banana, and so inexplicably sharp that reaching into the drawer at night is like bobbing for apples in a piranha tank.
*
‘Look at the three of you,’ Lily said. ‘The maiden, the mother and the crone.’
‘Who are you calling a maiden?’ said Nanny Ogg.
‘Who are you calling a mother?’ said Magrat.
Granny Weatherwax glowered briefly like the person who has discovered that there is only one straw left and everyone else has drawn a long one.
*
‘Don’t you talk to me about progress. Progress just means bad things happen faster.’
*
‘How come you’re in the palace guard, Casanunda? All the rest of ‘em are six foot tall and you’re – of the shorter persuasion.’
‘I lied about my height, Mrs Ogg.’
*
‘I don’t want to hurt you, Mistress Weatherwax,’ said Mrs Gogol.
‘That’s good,’ said Granny. ‘I don’t want you to hurt me either.’
† Always in front of you in any queue, for a start.
IN the beginning was the Word. And the Word was: ‘Hey, you!’
For Brutha the novice is the Chosen One. He wants peace and justice and brotherly love.
He also wants the Inquisition to stop torturing bin? now, please…
Brother Preptil, the master of the music, had described Brutha’s voice as putting im in mind of a disappointed vulture arriving too late at the dead donkey.
*
There was something creepy about that boy [Brutha], Nhumrod thought. It was the way he looked at you when you were talking, as if he was listening.
*
‘It’s a big bull,’ said the tortoise.
‘The very likeness of the Great God Om in one of his worldly incarnations!’ said Brutha proudly. ‘And you say you’re him?
‘I haven’t been well lately,’ said the tortoise.
*
‘How should I know? I don’t know!’ lied the tortoise.
‘But you … you’re omnicognizant,’ said Brutha.
‘That doesn’t mean I know everything.’
Brutha bit his lip. ‘Um. Yes. It does.’
*
Everyone in the city knew Cut-Me-Own-Hand-Off Dhblah, purveyor of suspiciously new holy relics, suspiciously old rancid sweetmeats on a stick, gritty figs, and long-past-their--sell-by dates.
*
‘I – I do not know how to ride, my lord,’ said Brutha.
‘Any man can get on a mule,’ said Vorbis. ‘Often many times in a short distance.’
*
It was a small mule and Brutha had long legs; if he’d made the effort he could have remained standing and let the mule trot out from underneath.
‘My grandmother used to give me a thrashing every morning because I would certainly do something to deserve it during the day’ said Brutha.
If you spend your whole time thinking about the universe, you tend to forget the less important bits of it. Like your pants.