Thief of Time (Discworld, #26; Death, #5)

by Terry Pratchett

WITCHES ARE MATRILINEAL, said Death. THEY FIND IT MUCH EASIER TO CHANGE MEN THAN TO CHANGE NAMES.

There’s no educating a smart boy.”

“Algebra?” said Madam Frout, perforce staring at her own bosom, which no one else had ever done. “But that’s far too difficult for seven-year-olds!” “Yes, but I didn’t tell them that and so far they haven’t found out,” said Susan.

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,

One of Igor’s former masters had made a tick-tock man, all levers and gearwheels and cranks and clockwork. Instead of a brain, it had a long tape punched with holes. Instead of a heart, it had a big spring. Provided everything in the kitchen was very carefully positioned, the thing could sweep the floor and make a passable cup of tea. If it wasn’t carefully positioned, or if the ticking, clicking thing hit an unexpected bump, then it’d strip the plaster off the walls and make a furious cup of cat.

“Sometimes thinking is like talking to another person, but that person is also you.”

They’ve been extinct three times.” “Three times, eh?” said Lobsang. “That’s a lot of times to go extinct. I mean, most species only manage it once, don’t they?”

“Look, that’s why there’s rules, understand? So that you think before you break ’em.”

But I thought they were just a superstition!” “No, they’re a substition,” said Susan. “I mean they’re real, but hardly anyone really believes in them. Mostly everyone believes in things that aren’t real.

She also knew what to do if you were sharing the same stretch of water with a hippopotamus, which was to find another stretch of water. Hippos only look big and cuddly from a distance. Close up, they just look big.