The Wit And Wisdom Of Discworld

‘Do you have a book I remember reading once? It had a red cover and it turned out they were twins.’
    *
    The hub or nerve centre of the coach business was a big shed next to the stable. It smelled - no, it stank - no, it fugged of horses, leather, veterinary medicine, bad coal, brandy and cheap cigars. That’s what a fug was. You could have cut cubes out of the air and sold it for cheap building material.
    *
    Ankh-Morpork was a lot more civilized these days. Between them the Watch and the Guilds had settled things down enough to ensure that actually being attacked while going about your lawful business in Ankh-Morpork was now merely a possibility instead of, as it once was, a matter of course. And the streets were so clean now that you could sometimes even see the street.
    *
    The Mended Drum could be depended upon. If someone didn’t come out of the door backwards and fall down in the street just as you passed, then there was something wrong with the world.
    *
    Stanley took down, from the shelf, the Book of Regulations. He turned the pages methodically until he came to the bookmark he’d put in a minute ago, on the page What To Do In Case Of Fire.
    So far he’d done 1: Upon Discovery of the Fire, Remain Calm.
    Now he came to 2: Shout ‘Fire!’ in a Loud, Clear Voice.
    ‘Fire!’ he shouted, and then ticked off 2 with his pencil.
    Next was: 3: Endeavour to Extinguish Fire If Possible.
    Stanley went to the door and opened it. Flames and smoke billowed in. He stared at them for a moment, shook his head, and shut the door.
    Paragraph 4 said: If Trapped by Fire, Endeavour to Escape. Do Not Open Doors If Warm. Do Not Use Stairs If Burning. If No Exit Presents Itself Remain Calm and Await a) Rescue or b) Death.
    This seemed to cover it.
    *
    … Anoia, a minor goddess of Things That Stick In Drawers. Often, but not uniquely, a ladle, but sometimes a metal spatula or, rarely, a mechanical egg-whisk that nobody in the house admits to ever buying. The desperate mad rattling and cries of ‘How can it close on the damn thing but not open with it? Who bought this? Do we ever use it?’ is as praise unto Anoia. She also eats corkscrews.
    *
    Ankh-Morpork never slept; the city never did more than doze, and would wake up around 3 a.m. for a glass of water.

    Ridcully practised the First Available Surface method of filing.

    ‘Was there something else, Mr Stibbons?’
    Ponder looked at his clipboard. ‘There’s a polite letter from Lord Vetinari asking on behalf of the city whether the University might consider including in its intake, oh, twenty-five per cent of less able students, sir?’
    ‘Can’t have a bunch of grocers and butchers telling a university how to run itself, Stibbons!’ Ridcully saidfirmly. ‘Thank them for their interest and tell them we’ll continue to take one hundred per cent of complete and utter dullards, as usual. Take ‘em in dull, turn ‘em out sparklin’, that’s always been the UU way!’
    *
    If there’s one thing a wizard hates, it’s having to wait while the person in front of them is in two minds about coleslaw. It’s a salad bar, they say, it’s got the kind of stuff salad bars have, if it was surprising it wouldn’t be a salad bar, you’re not here to look at it. What do you expect to find? Rhino chunks? Pickled coelacanth?
    The Lecturer in Recent Runes ladled more bacon bits into his salad bowl, having artfully constructed buttresses of celery and breastworks of cabbage to increase its depth five times.
    *
    ‘The Grand Trunk will remain closed in the interim,’ said Lord Vetinari.
    ‘It’s private property!’ Greenham burst out.
    ‘Tyrant, remember,’ said Vetinari.

    See a pin and pick it up, and all day long you’ll have a pin.

 
    K OOM Valley? That was where the trolls ambushed the dwarfs, or the dwarfs ambushed the trolls. It was far away. It was a long time ago.
    But if he doesn’t solve the murder of just one dwarf, Commander Sam? Vimes of Ankfe-Morpork City Watch is going to see it fought again, right outside his office.
    With his beloved Watch crumbling around him and war-drums sounding, he rnust unravel every clue, outwit every assassin and brave any darkness to find the solution. And darkness is following him.
    Oh … and at six o’clock every day, without fail, with no excuses, he rnust go home to read Where’s My Cow?, with all the right farmyard noises, to his little boy.
    There are some things you have to do.
    Vimes is chatting to his