If you're going to suggest I try dropping twenty feet down a pitch dark tower in the hope of hitting a couple of greasy little steps which might not even still be there, you can forget it," said Rincewind sharply."There is an alternative, then.""Out with it, man.""You could drop five hundred feet down a pitch black tower and hit stones which certainly are there," said Twoflower.

She knew a cutting, incisive, withering and above all a self-evident answer existed. It was just that, to her extreme annoyance, she couldn't quite bring it to mind.

Occasionally a few bubbles would eructate to the surface like the ghosts of beans on bath night.

There was something pleasant about an empty classroom. Of course, as any teacher would point out, one nice thing was that there were no children in it.

The Great God Om waxed wroth, or at least made a spirited attempt. There is a limit to the amount of wroth that can be waxed one inch from the ground, and he was right up against it.

Ah, I know that," said Tiffany, as the boat rocked on the swell. "Whales aren't dangerous, because they just eat very small things...""Row like the blazes, lads!" Rob Anybody yelled.

My Lord... what is Death like?" called the old man tremulously. "When I have investigated it fully, I will let you know," came the faintest of modulations on the breeze. "Yes," murmured the Loremaster. A thought struck him. "During daylight, please," he added.

There are eight levels of wizardry on the Disc; after sixteen years Rincewind has failed to achieve even level one. In fact it is considered opinion of some of his tutors that he is incapable even of achieving level zero, which most normal people are born at; to put it another way, it has been suggested that when Rincewind dies the average occult ability of the human race will actually go up by a fraction.

Rings try to find their way back to their owner. Someone ought to write a book about it.