The Wit And Wisdom Of Discworld

good thinking.’
    ‘But you haven’t got a weapon!’
    Yes I have. I wrested it from the guard while he was considering the question,’ said Casanunda.
    *
    Ponder Stibbons tries to explain parallel universes to Ridcully:
    ‘Parallel universes, I said. Universes where things didn’t happen like—’ He hesitated. ‘Well, you know that girl?’
    ‘What girl?’
    ‘The girl you wanted to marry?’
    ‘How’d you know that?’
    ‘You were talking about her just after lunch.’
    ‘Was I? More fool me. Well, what about her?’
    ‘Well … in a way, you did marry her,’ said Ponder.
    Ridcully shook his head. ‘Nope. Pretty certain I didn’t. You remember that sort of thing.’
    ‘Ah, but not in this universe—’
    ‘You suggestin’ I nipped into some other universe to get married?’ said Ridcully.
    ‘No! I mean, you got married in that universe and not in this universe,’ said Ponder.
    ‘Did I? What? A proper ceremony and everything?’
    Yes!’
    ‘Hmm.’ Ridcully stroked his beard. ‘You sure?’
    ‘Certain, Archchancellor.’
    ‘My word! I never knew that.’
    Ponder felt he was getting somewhere.
    ‘So—’
    Yes?’
    ‘Why don’t I remember it?’
    Ponder had been ready for this.
    ‘Because the you in the other universe is different from the you here,’ he said. ‘It was a different you that got married. He’s probably settled down somewhere. He’s probably a great-grandad by now.’
    ‘He never writes, I know that,’ said Ridcully. ‘And the bastard never invited me to the wedding.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Him.’
    ‘But he’s you!’
    ‘Is he? Huh! You’d think I’d think of me, wouldn’t you? What a bastard!’

    It wasn’t that Ridcully was stupid.
    Truly stupid wizards have the life expectancy of a glass hammer. He had quite a powerful intellect, but it was powerful like a locomotive, and ran on rails and was therefore almost impossible to steer.

    Shawn took a deep breath and leaned over the battlements.
    ‘Halt! Who Goes There?’ he said.
    ‘It’s me, Shawn. Your mum.’
    ‘Oh, hello, Mum. Hello, Mistress Weatherwax.’
    ‘Let us in, there’s a good boy.’
    ‘Friend or Foe?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘It’s what I’ve got to say, Mum. It’s official. And then you’ve got to say Friend.’
    ‘I’m your mum.’
    You’ve got to do it properly, Mum,’ said Shawn, ‘otherwise what’s the point?’
    ‘It’s going to be Foe in a minute, my lad.’
    ‘Oooaaaww, Mum!’
    ‘Oh, all right. Friend, then.’
    ‘Yes, but you could just be saying that—’
    *
    A witch’s cottage is a very specific architectural item. It is not exactly built, but put together over the years as the areas of repair join up, like a sock made entirely of darns. The chimney twists like a corkscrew. The roof is thatch so old that small but flourishing trees are growing in it, the floors are switchbacks, it creaks at night like a tea clipper in a gale. If at least two walls aren’t shored up with balks of timber then it’s not a true witch’s cottage at all, but merely the home of some daft old bat who reads tea leaves and talks to her cat.
    *
    The bandit chief knocked on the coach door. The window slid down.
    ‘I wouldn’t like you to think of this as a robbery,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to think of it more as a colourful anecdote you might enjoy telling your grandchildren about.’
    A wizard’s staff poked out. The chieftain saw the knob on the end.
    ‘Now, then,’ he said, pleasantly. ‘I know the rules. Wizards aren’t allowed to use magic against civilians except in genuine life-threatening situa—’
    There was a burst of octarine light.
    ‘Actually, it’s not a rule,’ said Ridcully ‘It’s more a guideline.’
    *
    ‘I thought that sort of thing was, you know,’ the king grinned sickly, ‘folklore?’
    ‘Of course it’s folklore, you stupid man!’
    ‘I do happen to be king, you know,’ said Verence reproachfully.
    ‘You stupid king, your majesty.’
    ‘Thank you.’

    ‘Elves are beautiful. They’ve got style. Beauty. Grace.
    That’s what matters. If cats looked like frogs we’d realize what nasty, cruel little bastards they are. Style. That’s what people remember.’

    ‘Nanny, would you like to be a bridesmaid?’
    ‘Not really, dear. Bit old for that sort of thing.’ Nanny hovered. ‘There isn’t anything you need to ask me, though, is there?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘What with your mum being dead and you having no female relatives and