'It is always useful to face an enemy who is prepared to die for his country,' he read. 'This means that both you and he have exactly the same aim in mind.'
General Tacticus had a few clues.

And that seemed to be it. Not 'This is 71-hour Ahmed, Cultural Attache or '71-hour Ahmed, my bodyguard' or even '71-hour Ahmed, walking strongroom and moth killer'. It was clear that the next move was up to Vimes.
'That's...er...that's an unusual name,' he said.
'Not at all,' said the Prince smoothly. 'Ahmed is a very common name in my country.'

Sergeant Colon cleared his throat. 'I know something about seaweed , sir.'
'Yes sergeant?'
'Yessir! If it's wet, sir, it means it's going to rain.'
'Well done, sergeant.' said Lord Vetinari, without turning his head. 'I think it's quite possible that I will never forget you said that.'

And Sam Vimes ran. He tore off his cloak and whirled away his plumed hat, and he ran and ran.
There would be trouble later on - for now, gloriously uncomplicated and wonderfully clean, and hopefully with never an end, under a clear sky, in a world untarnished...there was only the chase.

And there was nothing finer than a wizard dressed up formally, until someone could find a way of inflating a Bird of Paradise, possibly by using an elastic band and some kind of gas.

"You, sir, are no gentleman," said Rust.
"I knew there was something about me that I liked."
Lord Rust and Commander Vimes discussing their differences.

Jugglers will tell you that juggling with items that are identical is always easier than a mixture of all shapes and sizes. This is even the case with chainsaws, although of course when the juggler misses the first chainsaw it is only the start of his problems. Some more will be along very shortly.

"Taxation, gentlemen, is very much like dairy farming. The task is to extract the maximum amount of milk with the minimum of moo. And I am afraid to say that these days all I get is moo."
...occasioned, no doubt, by the rise to prominence of the Guild of Accountants.

"Chapter Fifteen, Elementary Necromancy", she read out loud. "Lesson One: Correct Use of Shovel..."
Well, it did say Elementary Necromancy...

"In the words of General Tacticus, let us take history by the scrotum. Of course, he was not a very honourable fighter."
...but apparently an effective one.

"And I promise you this," he shouted, "if we succeed, no-one will remember. And if we fail, no-one will forget!"
Another one in the series of famous battle-cries...

"Let's all get our throats cut, boys!"
More famous Ankh-Morporkian battle-cries...

"The Ankh-Morpork soldiers and Klatchians have started fighting, sir. And the D'regs are fighting both of them."
"What, before the battle's officially declared? Can't you get disqualified for that?"
You get the feeling that Vimes does not really take military protocol seriously.

It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone's fault. If it was Us, what did that make Me? After all, I'm one of Us. I must be. I've certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No-one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them. We're always one of Us. It's Them that do the bad things.

It was a terrible thing to think, but there was something itchy about the thought of Nobby being allowed in the gene pool, even at the shallow end.

He had the look of a lawn mower just after the grass had organised a workers' collective. There was a definite suggestion that, deep inside, he knew this was not really happening. It could not be happening because this sort of thing did not happen. Any contradictory evidence could be safely ignored

Selachii thumped the table. "Very well then, by jingo!" he snarled. "Alone!"
"We could certainly do with one," said Lord Vetinari. "We need the money."
Jingoism - 0, Pragmatism - 1.

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