The Wit And Wisdom Of Discworld

was writing before he’d finished the other end of the sentence. Somehow, though, it all seemed to work.
    *
    The gods play games with the fate of men. Not complex ones, obviously, because gods lack patience.
    Cheating is part of the rules. And gods play hard. To lose all believers is, for a god, the end. But a believer who survives the game gains honour and extra belief. Who wins with the most believers, lives.
    Believers can include other gods, of course. Gods believe in belief.
    *
    Lord Vetinari, despite his education, had a mind like an engineer. If you wished to open something, you found the appropriate spot and applied the minimum amount of force necessary to achieve your end. Possibly the spot was between a couple of ribs and the force was applied via a dagger, orbetween two warring countries and applied via an army, but the important thing was to find that one weak spot which would be the key to everything.
    *
    The dungeons of the Palace held a number of felons imprisoned ‘at his lordship’s pleasure’, and since Lord Vetinari was seldom very pleased they were generally in for the long haul.
    *
    Leonard of Quirm was so absent-mindedly clever that he could paint pictures that didn’t just follow you around the room but went home with you and did the washing-up.
    *
    ‘So how come you left the Evil Dark Lord business, Harry?’ said Cohen.
    ‘Werl, you know how it is these days,’ said Evil Harry Dread.
    The Horde nodded. They knew how it was these days.
    ‘People these days, when they’re attacking your Dark Evil Tower, the first thing they do is block up your escape tunnel,’ said Evil Harry.
    ‘Bastards!’ said Cohen. ‘You’ve got to let the Dark Lord escape. Everyone knows that.’
    ‘That’s right,’ said Caleb. ‘Got to leave yourself some work for tomorrow.’
    *
    ‘Anyone heard of Ning the Uncompassionate?’
    ‘Sort of,’ said Boy Willie. ‘I killed him.’
    ‘You couldn’t have done! What was it he always said? “I shall revert to this vicinity!”‘
    ‘Sort of hard to do that,’ said Boy Willie, pulling out a pipe and beginning to fill it with tobacco, ‘when your head’s nailed to a tree.’
    *
    ‘How about Pamdar the Witch Queen?’ said Evil Harry. ‘Now there was—’
    ‘Retired,’ said Cohen.
    ‘She’d never retire!’
    ‘Got married,’ Cohen insisted.
    ‘But she was a devil woman!’
    ‘We all get older, Harry. She runs a shop now. Pam’s Pantry. Makes marmalade,’ said Cohen.
    ‘What? She used to queen it in a throne on top of a pile of skulls!’
    ‘I didn’t say it was very good marmalade.’
    *
    Hughnon Ridcully, Chief Priest of Blind Io, shared many of the characteristics of his brother Mustrum. He also saw his job as being, essentially, one of organizer. There were plenty of people who were good at the actual believing, and he left them to it. It took a lot more than prayer to make sure the laundry got done and the building was kept in repair.
    *
    There were so many gods now … at least two thousand. Many were, of course, still very small. But you hadto watch them. Gods were very much a fashion thing. Look at Om, now. One minute he was a bloodthirsty little deity in some mad hot country and then suddenly he was one of the top gods. It had all been done by not answering prayers, but doing so in a sort of dynamic way that left open the possibility that one day he might and then there’d be fireworks.
    *
    And then, of course, you had your real newcomers like Aniger, Goddess of Squashed Animals. Who would have thought that better roads and faster carts would have led to that? But gods grew bigger when called upon at need, and enough minds had cried out, ‘Oh god, what was that I hit?’
    *
    Death tries to come to grips with Schroedinger’s Cat:
    In the study of his dark house on the edge of Time, Death looked at the wooden box.
    P ERHAPS I SHALL TRY ONE MORE TIME , he said.
    He reached down and lifted up a small kitten, patted it on the head, lowered it gently into the box, and closed the lid.
    T HE CAT DIES WHEN THE AIR RUNS OUT?
    ‘I suppose it might, sir,’ said Albert, his manservant. ‘But I don’t reckon that’s the point. If I understand it right, you don’t know if the cat’s dead or alive until you look at it.’
    T HINGS WILL HAVE COME TO A PRETTY PASS , A LBERT, IF I DID NOT KNOW WHETHER A THING WAS DEAD OR ALIVE WITHOUT HAVING TO GO AND LOOK.
    ‘Er … the way the theory goes, sir, it’s the act of lookin’ that