He noticed that the boy seemed rather less elbows than he remembered, stood a little more upright and, bluntly, could use a word like 'expectancy'. It was all that library.

Combien de gars se sont arrêtés de boire comme des trous à l'âge de vingt ans pour empêcher un inconnu de mourir d'une cirrhose à l'âge de quarante ?

People don't want to see what can't possibly exist.'- Mort

Do you want to find her book to see if she marries you?""I've read it, and she's dead," said Mort. "But only technically. I mean, not really dead.""Good, otherwise that would be necromancy.

NO ONE GETS PARDONED FOR LIVING.

They don't go in for the fancy or exotic, but stick to conventional food like flightless bird embryos, minced organs in intestine skins, slices of hog flesh and burnt ground grass seeds dipped in animal fats; or, as it is known in their patois, egg, sausage, bacon and a fried slice of toast.

HAVE YOU EVER BITTEN REDHOT ICE CUBE? THAT'S CURRY.

And he goes around killing people?” said Mort. He shook his head. “There’s no justice.”Death sighed. No, he said... there’s just me.

SEE THE MAN NEXT TO HIM? WITH THE LITTLE MOUSTACHE AND THE GRIN LIKE A LIZARD? Death pointed with his scythe. 'Yes?' HIS COUSIN, THE DUKE OF STO HELIT. NOT THE NICEST OF PEOPLE, said Death. A HANDY MAN WITH A BOTTLE OF POISON. FIFTH IN LINE TO THE THRONE LAST YEAR, NOW SECOND IN LINE. BIT OF A SOCIAL CLIMBER, YOU MIGHT SAY.