Feet of Clay (Discworld, #19; City Watch, #3)

by Terry Pratchett

People kept on talking about the true king of Ankh-Morpork, but history taught a cruel lesson. It said—often in words of blood—that the true king was the one who got crowned.

Rumor is information distilled so finely that it can filter through anything. It does not need doors and windows—sometimes it doesn’t even need people. It can exist free and wild, running from ear to ear without ever touching lips.

Lord Vetinari represented stability. It was a cold and clinical kind of stability, but part of his genius was the discovery that stability was what people wanted more than anything else.

“They think they want good government and justice for all, Vimes, yet what is it they really crave, deep in their hearts? Only that things go on as normal and tomorrow is pretty much like today.”

Whoever had created humanity had left in a major design flaw. It was its tendency to bend at the knees.

And, while it was regarded as pretty good evidence of criminality to be living in a slum, for some reason owning a whole street of them merely got you invited to the very best social occasions.

And if anything happens to Vetinari, Vimes added to himself as the dejected Carrot went out, no one will be able to say you were anywhere near him.

vimes is never beating the 'cares about carrot' allegations

If you were going to be successful in the world of crime, you needed a reputation for honesty.

“What is this place?” Cheery whispered. “It’s . . . a place where people can be themselves,” said Angua slowly. “People who . . . have to be a little careful at other times. You know?”

love how angua finds out that cheery’s a girl and immediately takes her to the ankh morpork equivalent of a gay bar

“We’re all lyin’ in the gutter, Fred. But some of us’re lookin’ at the stars . . .”

OSCAR WILDE REFERENCE???

Silence descended again. That was it, wasn’t it? Things were “reliable” now. Whatever else you said about old Vetinari, he made sure today was always followed by tomorrow. If you were murdered in your bed, at least it would be by arrangement.

When you’ve made up your mind to shout out who you are to the world, it’s a relief to know that you can do it in a whisper.

“The big trouble,” he added, “is that everyone wants someone else to read their minds for them and then make the world work properly. Even golems, perhaps.”

“D*mn!” said Carrot, a difficult linguistic feat.

“Money is all you can think about when all you have is a price,”

Only crimes could take place in darkness. Punishment had to be done in the light.