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She sang in harmony. Not, of course, with her reflection in the glass, because that kind of heroine will sooner or later end up singing a duet with Mr. Bluebird and other forest creatures and then there’s nothing for it but a flamethrower.
“You still reckon I should’ve asked Mr. Ivy?” she said. “That’s what I would have done . . .” the woman mumbled. “You don’t like him? You think he’s a bad man?” said Granny, adjusting her hat pins. “No!” “Then what’s he ever done to me, that I should hurt him so?”
The leopard does not change his shorts,
The smug mask of virtue triumphant could be almost as horrible as the face of wickedness revealed.
There was something . . . sort of damp about him, the kind of helpless hopelessness that made people angry rather than charitable, the total certainty that if the whole world was a party he’d still find the kitchen.
There was something glossy about him, and also a sort of urgent, hungry enthusiasm, the kind you get when someone has just read a really interesting book and is determined to tell someone all about it.
It was the sort of grin that Agnes supposed was called infectious but, then, so was measles.
“There’s no point in lookin’ at a dog an’ sayin’ that’s not a dog ’cos a dog don’t look like that,” said Nanny simply.
She’d wipe the smile off that Count’s face for him. From the inside, if I know Esme.”
“My granny used to say if you’re too sharp you’ll cut yourself,” said Agnes.
“What did Granny mean, ‘from can to can’t’?” said Magrat. “Oh, from the first moment in the morning when you can see to the last moment in the evenin’ when you can’t,” said Nanny.
pixie. On a scale of ethereal from one to ten he looked as if he was on some other scale, probably one buried in deep ocean sludge.
Listen, Magrat, I’d rather have ’em in here pissin’ out than outside pissin’ in. There’s more of them and they’ll make your ankles all wet.”
“Are you kicking my bucket, Igor?”*
Her life had just flashed past her eyes and wasn’t it dull? Perdita added.
“Mercy’s a fine thing, but judgin’ comes first. Otherwise you don’t know what you’re bein’ merciful about.
“You’d certain enjoy yourself at the Synod, anyway. They’ve been known to argue for days about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.” He could almost feel Granny’s mind working. At last she said, “What size pin?” “I don’t know that, I’m afraid.” “Well, if it’s an ordinary household pin, then there’ll be sixteen.” “Sixteen angels?” “That’s right.” “Why?” “I don’t know. Perhaps they like dancing.”
“There’s no grays, only white that’s got grubby. I’m surprised you don’t know that. And sin, young man, is when you treat people as things. Including yourself. That’s what sin is.”
“You don’t look better.” “Young man, if we’re going to wait for me to look interestin’ we’ll be here for years.”
You say that you people don’t burn folk and sacrifice people anymore, but that’s what true faith would mean, y’see? Sacrificin’ your own life, one day at a time, to the flame, declarin’ the truth of it, workin’ for it, breathin’ the soul of it. That’s religion. Anything else is just . . . is just bein’ nice. And a way of keepin’ in touch with the neighbors.”
Don’t chase faith, ’cos you’ll never catch it.” She added, almost as an aside, “But, perhaps, you can live faithfully.”
Then they’d tried what Jason persisted in referring to as a backal attack,
Peace-time Army Knife. He might have had time to select the Device for Dissecting Paradoxes, or the Appliance for Detecting Small Grains of Hope, or the Spiral Thing for Ascertaining the Reality of Being, but as it happened it was the Instrument for Ending Arguments Very Quickly that won the day.
“Only animals can’t help what they are,”
“Don’t go spilling allegory all down your shirt.”
“Everywhere I look I see something holy.”
WHY NOT VYSYT OUR GIFTE SHOPPE?
The light faded from can to can’t.
