The Wit And Wisdom Of Discworld

the odd pork pie and occasional sausage in a bun and that very fact interested him. There was something about the stuff that drove you back for more. There had to be some secret ingredient, or maybe the brain just didn’t believe what the taste buds told it, and wanted to feel once again that flood of hot, greasy, not entirely organic, slightly crunchy substances surfing across the tongue. So you bought another one.
    And, it had to be said, there were times when a Dibbler sausage in a bun was just what you wanted. Sad, yet true. Everyone had moments like that. Life brought you so low that for a vital few seconds that charivari of strange greases and worrying textures was your only friend in all the world.
    *
    The Watch armour fitted like a glove. He’d have preferred it to fit like a helmet and breastplate. It was common knowledge that the Watch’s approach to uniforms was one-size-doesn’t-exactly-fit-anybody and that Commander Vimes disapproved of armour that didn’t have that kicked-by-trolls look. He liked it to make it clear that it had been doing its job.

    ‘I’m an Igor, thur. We don’t athk quethtionth.’
    ‘Really? Why not?’
    ‘I don’t know, thur. I didn’t athk.’

    Students, eh? Love ’em or hate ’em, you’re not allowed to hit ’em with a shovel.

    ‘I’m afraid I have to close the office now, reverend.’ The voice of Ms Houser broke into Cribbins’s dreams …
    Ms Houser was standing there, not gloriously naked and pink as so recently featured in the reverie, but in a plain brown coat and an unsuitable hat with feathers in it.
    *
    Talking to the Watch was like tap-dancing on a landslide. If you were nimble you could stay upright, but you couldn’t steer and there were no brakes and you just knew that it was going to end in a certain amount of fuss.
    *
    The price of a good woman was proverbially above rubies, so a bad one was presumably a lot more.
    *
    He slapped Hubert twice across the face and pulled a jar out of his pocket.
    ‘Mr Hubert? How many fingerth am I holding up?’
    Hubert slowly focused. ‘Thirteen?’ he quavered.
    Igor relaxed, and dropped the jar back into his pocket. ‘Jutht in time. Well done, thur!’
    *
    All heads turned. A path [in the crowd] cleared itself for Lord Vetinari; paths do for men known to have dungeons in their basements.
    *
    ‘The law must be obeyed, Miss Dearheart [said Lord Vetinari]. Even tyrants have to obey the law.’ He paused, looking thoughtful, and continued: ‘No, I tell a lie, tyrants do not have to obey the law, obviously, but they do have to observe the niceties. At least, I do.’
    *
    It was 6 a.m., and the fog seemed glued to the windows, so thick that it should have contained croutons.
    *
    ‘Is he allowed to do that?’
    ‘I think that comes under the rule of Quia Ego Sic Dico.’
    ‘Yes, what does that mean?’
    ‘ “Because I say so”, I think.’
    ‘That doesn’t sound like much of a rule!’
    ‘Actually it’s the only one he needs.’
    *
    ‘Every problem is an opportunity,’ said Moist.
    ‘Well, if you upset Vetinari again you will have a wonderful opportunity to never have to buy a hat.’
    ‘No, I think he likes a little opposition.’
    ‘And are you any good at knowing how much?’
    ‘No. It’s what I enjoy. You get a wonderful view from the point of no return.’
    *
    Moist von Lipwig quizzes staff at the bank about the cost of making money:
    ‘So how do you get paid?’
    There was a moment’s silence, and then Mr Shady said, like a man talking to a child: ‘This is a mint, sir.’
    ‘You make your own wages? Well, at least you’re in a profitable business,’ said Moist cheerfully. ‘I mean, you must be making money hand over fist!’
    ‘We manage to break even, sir, yes,’ said Shady, as if it was a close-run thing.
    ‘Break even? You’re a mint!’ said Moist. ‘How can you not make a profit by making money?’
    ‘Overheads, sir. There’s overheads wherever you look.’
    ‘Even underfoot?’
    ‘There too, sir,’ said Shady. ‘It’s ruinous, sir, it really is. Y’see, it costs a ha’penny to make a farthin’ an’ nearly a penny to make a ha’penny. A penny comes in at a penny far-thin’. Sixpences costs tuppence farthin’, so we’re in pocket there. Half a dollar costs seven pence. And it’s only sixpence to make a dollar, a definite improvement, but that’s ‘cos we does ‘em here. The real buggers are the mites, ‘cos they’re worth half a farthin’ but cost