|The Colour of Magic||
The duke had a mind that ticked like a clock and, like a clock, it regularly went cuckoo.
"I'd like to know if I could compare you to a summer's day. Because -- well, June 12th was quite nice, and..."
Various daughters and daughters-in-law came in to cook and clean on a sort of rota. Every flat surface was stuffed with ornaments brought back by far-travelling members of the family. Sons and grandsons kept the log-pile stacked, the roof shingled, the chimney swept; the drinks cupboard was always full, the pouch by her rocking chair always stuffed with tobacco.
Above the hearth was a huge pokerwork sign saying "Mother". No tyrant in the whole history of the world had ever achieved a domination so complete.
(Nanny Oggs cottage)
On nights such as this, evil deeds are done. And good deeds, of course. But mostly evil deeds.
Granny Weatherwax didn't hold with looking at the future, but now she could feel the future looking at her. She didn't like its expression at all.
Ninety percent of true love is acute, ear-burning embarrassment.
Witches are not by nature gregarious, at least not with other witches, and they certainly don't have leaders. Granny Weatherwax was the most highly regarded of the leaders they didn't have.
'Witches just aren't like that,' said Magrat. 'We live in harmony with the great cycles of Nature, and do no harm to anyone, and it's wicked of them to say we don't. We ought to fill their bones with hot lead.'
|The Light Fantastic|
|Lords and Ladies|
|Men at Arms|
|Feet of clay|
|The last continent|
|The fifth elephant|
|Thief of time|
|The last hero|
|The wee free men|
|A hat full of sky|