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No, there wasn't a word in the books about searching for your ropes and instruments in the shadows; about trying to keep clean in a half bucket of tepid water; about the cobbles digging into your chest. Nor about the slow numbing of the arms, the creeping paralysis of the muscles as the fingers tried to work against the cow's powerful expulsive efforts. There was no mention anywhere of the gradual exhaustion...

Penguin, you really need better translators.

"Uncle?" "What?" "Existence is the first given?" I shrugged. "That's what Shizumaat says; I'll buy it." "But, Uncle, how do we know that existence is real?" I lowered my head, looked at Zammis, shook my head, then resumed stitching the boots. "Take my word for it." The Drac grimmaced. "But, Uncle, that is not knowledge; that is faith."

But a feather does not fly of its own accord; it is borne up by the air. So too I am not imbued with human doctrine or strong powers. Nor do I desire on good bodily health. Rather, I depend entirely on God's help.

"Uncle?"
"Yes, Zammis?"
"What's a planet?"

No one cares about the dead human, but the goddamn machines've got a whole lobby for 'em... Life's getting aweful cheap...