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‘Them as can do, has to do for them as can’t. And someone has to speak up for them as has no voices.’
This wasn’t food; it was what food became if it had been good and had gone to food heaven.
the legendary Lancre Blue, which had to be nailed to the table to stop it attacking other cheeses.
‘Fear’ was only one of thousands of words the pictsies probably didn’t know the meaning of.
‘Crivens!’ (She was sure it was a swear word.)
Fear was a damp cold mess, but anger had an edge. She could use it.
People who say things like ‘may all your dreams come true’ should try living in one for five minutes.
Farmers liked big wives. Farmwork was hard and there was no call for a wife who couldn’t carry a couple of piglets or a bale of hay.
feeling that only a sister has a right to call even a brother like Wentworth ‘horrible’.
‘Oh, no! That’s worse than a hundred years!’ ‘How?’ said Tiffany, bewildered. ‘If it was a hundred years I wouldn’t get a thrashing when I got home!’
This whole place is like … a pirate ship.’ ‘Yes, or a sheep tick,’
‘They’re not … exactly real. They’re like … dreams of themselves.
There was something about the way they shouted ‘Crivens!’ and attacked everything in sight that was so very comforting.
And they were in every colour sweets can be, such as Not-Really-Raspberry Red, Fake-Lemon Yellow, Curiously-Chemical Orange, Some-Kind-of-Acidy Green and Who-Knows-What Blue.
Her brother was suffering from tragic sweet deprivation.
‘Yes, that’s a very witchy thing, isn’t it,’ said the voice of the Queen. ‘Selfishness. Mine, mine, mine. All a witch cares about is what’s hers.’
It’s because she’s perfect. Completely perfect. Like a doll. No one real is as perfect as that.
And what there was about the Queen’s voice was this: it said, in a friendly, understanding way, that she was right and you were wrong. And this wasn’t your fault, exactly.
it was said in the same tone of voice that someone’d use to say ‘And the house was full of human skulls!’
they’d named him ‘Punctuality’ (reasoning that if children could be named after virtues like Patience, Faith and Prudence, what was wrong with a little good timekeeping?).
the Baron wasn’t a big thinker. His family had held the Chalk by not changing their mind about anything for hundreds of years.
there was a different way, involving people paying a little more attention to Miss Robinson. It wasn’t perfect, and not everyone was happy, but it worked.
You believe in your dreams, so you never have to think.
Tiffany kicked her on the leg. It wasn’t a witch thing. It was so nine years old,
You’re just … a child that’s got old.
Tiffany might have been the only person, in all the worlds that there are, to be happy to hear the sound of the Nac Mac Feegle.
There was some method in the way the Nac Mac Feegle fought. For example, they always chose the biggest opponent because, as Rob Anybody said later, ‘It makes them easier to hit, ye ken.’ And they simply didn’t stop. It was that which wore people down. It was like being attacked by wasps with fists.
Hooses, banks, dreams, ’tis a’ the same to us. There’s nothing we cannae get in or oot of.’ ‘Except maybe pubs,’
Snow had a smell like the taste of tin. Tin did have a taste, although admittedly it tasted like the smell of snow.
‘What’s worse than that?’ said Tiffany. ‘Normal stuff gone wrong,’ said Rob.
She could put up with monsters. But she didn’t want to face mad boots.
the universe is a lot more comp-li-cated than it looks from the ooutside.’
The sea was calm. It was peaceful. It was exactly the moment anyone sensible should distrust.
The sheep could survive the snow if the shepherd had some wits, Granny used to say.
This land is in my bones. Land under wave.
There’s always been someone watching the borders. They didn’t decide to. It was decided for them. Someone has to care. Sometimes, they have to fight. Someone has to speak for that which has no voice …
Some of us are not meant to just watch
All witches are selfish, the Queen had said. But Tiffany’s Third Thoughts said: Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours! Protect them! Save them! Bring them into the sheepfold! Walk the gale for them! Keep away the wolf! My dreams! My brother! My family! My land! My world! How dare you try to take these things, because they are mine!
I will fight for what is mine...
‘Come by, Lightning!’ shouted Tiffany. ‘Away to me, Thunder!’
it didn’t matter what orders she gave those dogs. They were not her dogs. They were working dogs.
Granny Aching took her pipe out of her mouth, and gave Tiffany the little nod that was, from her, a round of applause.
‘Oh, ye are a harrrrrd wumman, Quin,’ said William the gonnagle, ‘to set the lawyers ontae us…’
(taking into account ninety-seven counts of Using Language That Was Probably Offensive If Anyone Else Could Understand It),
‘Objection! I move for a writ of Habeas Corpus,’ said a small voice. ‘And enter a plea of Vis-ne faciem capite repletam, without prejudice.’
Potest-ne mater tua suere, amice.’
My fee will be—’ It gulped as a dozen glowing swords were swung towards him.
Nothing is real. Nothing lasts. Everything goes. All you can do is learn to dream.
She knew exactly where she was, and who she was, and what she was.
‘The secret is not to dream,’ she whispered. ‘The secret is to wake up. Waking up is harder. I have woken up and I am real.
I’ve been given something for a while, and the price of it is that I have to give it back.
But, at last, she was small and grey, like a monkey, with a large head and big eyes and a little downy chest that went up and down as she panted.
