The Fifth Elephant (Discworld, #24; City Watch, #5)

by Terry Pratchett

It is in the nature of the universe that the person who always keeps you waiting ten minutes will, on the day you are ten minutes tardy, have been ready ten minutes early and will make a point of not mentioning this.

It was funny how people were people everywhere you went, even if the people concerned weren’t the people the people who made up the phrase “people are people everywhere” had traditionally thought of as people. And even if you weren’t virtuous, as you had been brought up to understand the term, you did like to see virtue in other people, provided it did not cost you anything.

“No one knows how to do officering, Fred. That’s why they’re officers. If they knew anything, they’d be sergeants.”

A marriage is always made up of two people who are prepared to swear that only the other one snores.

“This is not a weapon. This is for killing people,” he said. “Uh . . . most weapons are,” said Inigo. “No, they’re not. They’re so you don’t have to kill people. They’re for . . . for having. For being seen. For warning. This isn’t one of those. It’s for hiding away until you bring it out and kill people in the dark.

Killing a stranger without malice or satisfaction, other than the craftsman’s pride in a job well done, is such a rare talent that armies spend months trying to instill it into their young soldiers. Most people will shy away from killing people they haven’t been introduced to.

Gaspode was, if not the victor, then at least the survivor of many a street fight, and as such would not have gone up against this animal even if backed up by a couple of lions and a man with an ax. Instead, he sidled over to a female wolf who was watching the fire haughtily. “Yo, bitch,” he said.

“’Fraid so.” Vimes narrowed his eyes. “I was blackboard monitor for a while, too.”

“Then can you tell the creature that if he uses that word again in the presence of myself or any of my staff there will be, as we diplomats say, repercussions. Wrap that up in diplomacy and give it to him, will you?”

Shelter . . . that was essential. The time of day and a precise location were no use to the dead. They always knew what time it was and where they were.

“You’ll know when we’ve got onto the famous Ankh-Morpork sense of humor when I start talking about breasts and farting!”

“You seem to have lost your trousers, sir.” “Yes, it’s the famous Ankh-Morpork sense of humor once again,” growled Vimes.

Mr. Vimes is going to go completely bursar. He’s going to go totally Librarian-poo.

Practically from the moment she’d been able to talk she’d been taught how to listen. And when Sybil listened to people she made them feel good about themselves. It was probably something to do with being a . . . a big girl. She tried to make herself seem small, and by default that made those around her feel bigger.