Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one.

Humans need fantasy to be human. To be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape.

It was sad music. But it waved its sadness like a battle flag. It said the universe had done all it could, but you were still alive.

Unseen University had never admitted women, muttering something about problems with the plumbing, but the real reason was an unspoken dread that if women were allowed to mess around with magic they would probably be embarrassingly good at it…

Humanity's a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there.

Were you proposing to shoot these people in cold blood, sergeant?""Nossir. Just a warning shot inna head, sir.

And that's what I don't like about magic, Captain. 'cos it's *magic*. You can't ask questions, it's magic. It doesn't explain anything, it's magic. You don't know where it comes from, it's magic! That's what I don't like about magic, it does everything by magic!

No enemies had ever taken Ankh-Morpork. Well technically they had, quite often; the city welcomed free-spending barbarian invaders, but somehow the puzzled raiders found, after a few days, that they didn't own their horses any more, and within a couple of months they were just another minority group with its own graffiti and food shops.

Of course fantasy is escapist. Most stories are. So what? Teachers are not meant to be jailers.