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They're on a mission from Glod.



Wizards were rumoured to be wise -- in fact, that's where the word came from.
[ footnote: From the Old wys-ars, lit.: one who, at the bottom, is very smart.]


The man gave a shrug which indicated that, although the world did indeed have many problems, this was one of them that was not his.


...the garden was pretty much the same. There was the strange topiary and the pond with the skeletal fish. There were, pushing jolly wheelbarrows and carrying tiny scythes, what might have been garden gnomes in a mortal garden but here were cheery little skeletons in black robes.
Death's Domain.


'Of course, just because we've heard a spine-chilling, blood-curdling scream of the sort to make your very marrow freeze in your bones doesn't automatically mean there's anything wrong.'


It is said that whosoever the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad. In fact, whosoever the gods wish to destroy, they first hand the equivalent of a stick with a fizzing fuse and Acme Dynamite Company written on the side. It's more interesting, and doesn't take so long.


SQUEAK
The Death Of Rats sums things up.


The question seldom addressed is where Medusa had snakes. Underarm hair is an even more embarassing problem when it keeps biting the top of the deodorant bottle.


People came to Ankh-Morpork to seek their fortune. Unfortunately, other people sought it too.


The class was learning about some revolt in which some peasants had wanted to stop being peasants and, since the nobles had won, had stopped being peasants really quickly.


The hippo of recollection stirred in the muddy waters of the mind.


Smoke was coming out of the stricken piano. The Librarian's hands were walking through the keys like Casanunda in a nunnery.


They looked at one another in incomprehension, two minds driving opposite ways up a narrow street and waiting for the other man to reverse first.


The students were staring at her in the manner of those who have heard of the species 'female' but have never expected to get this close to one.


"Ah, we certainly know what goes into good beer in Ankh-Morpork," he said.
The wizards nodded. They certainly did. That's why they were drinking gin and tonic.


The Patrician was a pragmatist. He never tried to fix things that worked. Things that didn't work, however, got broken.


'What duck?'
The Duck Man, in all his glory.


There was a roar like the scream of a camel who has just seen two bricks.


'Yes,' said the skull. 'Quit while you're a head, that's what I say.'


When she lectured to the school, pointed chin trembling, on the perils to be found outside in the town, three hundred healthy enquiring minds decided that 1) they should be sampled at the earliest opportunity, and logical thought wondered 2) exactly how Miss Butt knew about them.


"In my experience," said Glod, "what every true artist wants, really wants, is to be paid."


He was, by and large, against the idea of a permanent office. On the positive side it made him easier to find, but on the negative side it made him easier to find. The success of Dibbler's commercial strategy hinged on him being able to find customers, not the other way round.


"Don't you dare patronise me!"
"That's right," said Ponder. "There's no reason why Death has to be a male. A woman could be almost as good as a man in the job."
Nothing like a bit of political correctness.


"I thought you said dis was a one-horse town," said Cliff, as they pulled up in the rutted, puddled area that was probably glorified by the name of Town Square.
"It must have died," said Asphalt.


Stibbons spent weeks grinding lenses and blowing glassware and had finally produced a device which showed the tremendous amount of tiny animals there were in one drop of water taken from the river Ankh. The Archchancellor had taken a look and then remarked that anything in which that much life could exist had to be healthy.


Bear-baiting, bull-harassing, dog-fighting and sheep-worrying were currently banned in Ankh-Morpork, although the Patrician did permit the unrestricted hurling of rotten fruit at anyone suspected of belonging to a street theatre group.


Going into the Mended Drum and calling yourself 'Vincent the Invulnerable' was clearly suicide by Ankh-Morpork standards.


"He's wierd. He just sits there all the time. We call him Beau Nidle, sir."
Death joins the Klatchian Foreign Legion.


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