כפי שחלק מהקוראים הותיקים יכולים לשער, של טרי פראצ'ט.
ולכן, כל הזכויות שמורות לTerry Pratchett (c)
אני אעביר לכאן את הציטוטים שאספתי עד עכשיו ואעדכן מדי פעם, לכן קישור לפוסט הזה יופיע ברשימות.
אולי בהמשך יהיה לי כוח להוסיף ציטוטים גם מסדרות כמו כישור הזמן ורומח הדרקון, so stay tuned.
The Colour of Magic:
רינסווינד משך החוצה את אחת החבילות השטוחות. היו בה עוגיות שהתגלו כקשות כמו עץ-יהלום.
"לאול האואות," מלמל, ממשש בשיניו בזהירות.
"עוגיות-העיכול-לנוסעים של קפיטן שונמרי, אלה," אמר האישון מבעד לפתח הדלת שבקופסה השחורה [כמו מצלמה. XD]. "הצילו הרבה נפשות בים, הם הצילו."
"או, בטח. משתמשים בהן בתור רפסודות, או סתם זורקים אותן אל הכרישים ומסתכלים איך הם טובעים?"
Let's just say that if complete and utter chaos was lightning, he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards'
That's what's so stupid about the whole magic thing, you know. You spend twenty years learning the spell that makes nude virgins appear in your bedroom, and then you're so poisoned by quicksilver fumes and half-blind from reading old grimoires that you can't remember what happens next.
Twoflower was a tourist, the first ever seen on the Discworld. Tourist, Rincewind had decided, meant "idiot."
'But it'll kill him!' 'It could have been worse.' 'What?' 'It could have been us.'
It was all very well going on about pure logic and how the universe was ruled by logic and the harmony of numbers, but the plain fact of the matter was that the Disc was manifestly traversing space on the back of a giant turtle and the gods had a habit of going round to atheists' houses and smashing their windows.
'We've strayed into a zone with a high magical index,' he said. 'Don't ask me how. Once upon a time a really powerful magic field must have been generated here, and we're feeling the after-effects.' 'Precisely,' said a passing bush.
'You're your own worst enemy, Rincewind,' said the sword.
Rincewind looked up at the grinning men. 'Bet?'
Some pirates achieved immortality by great deeds of cruelty or derring-do. Some achieved immortality by amassing great wealth. But the captain had long ago decided that he would, on the whole, prefer to achieve immortality by not dying.
This is to say: while it was true that they had just appeared in this particular set of dimensions, it was also true that they had been living in them all along. It is at this point that normal language gives up, and goes and has a drink.
It was octarine, the colour of magic. It was alive and glowing and vibrant and it was the undisputed pigment of the imagination, because wherever it appeared it was a sign that mere matter was a servant of the powers of the magical mind. It was enchantment itself. But Rincewind always thought it looked a sort of greenish-purple.
I've seen excitement, and I've seen boredom. And boredom was best. [Rincewind.
'What's this wine — crushed octopus eyeballs?'
'Sea grape,' said the old man.
'Great,' said Rincewind, and swallowed a glassful. 'Not bad. A bit salty, maybe.'
'Sea grape is a kind of small jellyfish,' explained the stranger.
'[...] Why has your friend gone that strange colour?'
'Culture shock, I imagine,' said Twoflower.
The Light Fantastic:
The Disc, being flat, has no real horizon. Any adventurous sailors who get funny ideas from staring at eggs and oranges for too long and set out for the antipodes soon learned that the reason why distant ships sometimes looked as though they were disappearing over the edge of the world was that they were disappearing over the edge of the world.
If the laws of action and reaction had anything to do with it, it should have flopped to the ground a few feet away. But no-one was listening to them.
"At least you can tell us where Rincewind is now!"
Death shrugged. It was a gesture he was particularly well built for.
THE FOREST OF SKUND, RIMWARDS OF THE RAMTOP MOUNTAINS.
"What is he doing there?"
FEELING VERY SORRY FOR HIMSELF,
Rincewind gave the nearest tree a kick. With unerring aim it ped an acorn on him. He said "Ow." The tree, in a voice like a very old doorswinging open, said "Serves you right."
There was a long silence.
Rincewind said, "Did you say that?"
"And that too?"
He thought for a bit. Then he tried, "I suppose you wouldn't happen to know the way out of the forest, possibly, by any chance?"
"No. I don't get about much." said the tree.
Fairly boring life, I imagine." said Rincewind.
"I wouldn't know. I've never been anything else."
Rincewind looked at it closely. It seemed pretty much like every other tree he'd seen.
"Are you magical?" he said.
"No one's ever said," said the tree, "I suppose so."
Rincewind thought: I can't be talking to a tree. If I was talking to a tree I'd be mad, and I'm not mad, so trees can't talk.
"Goodby," he said firmly.
"Hey, don't go," the tree began, and then realized the hoplessness of it all.
'What shall we do?' said Twoflower. 'Panic?' said Rincewind hopefully.
Rincewind felt that the darkness was full of unimaginable horrors- and the trouble with unimaginable horrors was that they where only too easy to imagine.
"Rincewind," said a voice. Rincewind had never heard a lizard speak, but if one did it would have a voice like that
"Um," he said, "yes?"
"You ought to say 'where am I?"
"Would I like to know?"
"Alright, where am I?"
"Can I wake up now, please?"
He wasn't good or evil or cruel or extreme in any way but one, which was that he had elevated greyness to the status of a fine art and cultivated a mind that was as bleak and pitiless and logical as the slopes of Hell.
It was the sort of grin people use when they stare at your left ear and tell you in an urgent tone of voice that they are being spied on by secret agents from the next galaxy. It was not a grin to inspire confidence. More horrible grins had probably been seen, but only on the sort of grinner that is orange with black stripes, has a long tail and hangs around in jungles looking for victims to grin at.
Early to rise, early to bed, makes a man healthy, wealthy and dead.
The pen is mightier than the sword if the sword is very short, and the pen is very sharp
Weems might have had a room-temperature IQ, but he knew idiocy when he saw it.
'Dead?' said Rincewind, In the debating chamber of his mind a dozen emotions got to their feet and started shouting. Relief was in full spate when Shock cut in on a point of order and then Bewilderment, Terror and Loss started a fight which was ended only when Shame slunk in from next door to see what all the row was about.
Radiating from the book was the light that lies on the far side of darkness, the light fantastic. It was a rather disappointing purple colour
(...) there were far worse things than Evil. All the demons in Hell would torture your very soul, but that was precisely because they valued souls very highly; Evil would always try to steal the universe, but at least it considered the universe worth stealing. But the grey world behind those empty eyes would trample and destroy without even according its victims the dignity of hatred. It wouldn't even notice them.
'And what would humans be without love?'
RARE, said Death.
He sighed again. People were always trying this sort of thing. On the other hand, it was quite interesting to watch, and at least this was a bit more original than the usual symbolic chess game, which Death always dreaded because he could never remember how the knight was supposed to move.
The Drum jealously guarded its reputation as the most stylishly disreputable tavern in Ankh-Morpork and the big troll that now guarded the door carefully vetted customers for suitability in the way of black cloaks, glowing eyes, magic swords and so forth. Rincewind never found out what he did to the failures. Perhaps he ate them.
He did of course sometimes have people horribly tortured to death, but this was considered to be perfectly acceptable behaviour for a civic ruler and generally approved of by the overhelming majority of citizens. [footnote: The overhelming majority of citizens being defined in this case as everyone not currently hanging upside down over a scorpion pit]
It wasn't blood in general he couldn't stand the sight of, it was just his blood in particular that was so upsetting.
Of course, Ankh-Morpork's citizens had always claimed that the river water was incredibly pure. Any water that had passed through so many kidneys, they reasoned, had to be very pure indeed.
The vermine is a small black and white relative of the lemming, found in the cold Hublandish regions. Its skin is rare and highly valued, especially by the vermine itself; the selfish little bastard will do anything rather than let go of it
'My father always said that death is but a sleep,' said Conina.
'Yes, the hat told me that,' said Rincewind, as they turned down a narrow, crowded street between white adobe walls. 'But the way I see it, it's a lot harder to get up in the morning.'
'Why?' he [Rincewind] said.
The world is going to end.
The truth isn't easily pinned to a page. In the bathtub of history the truth is harder to hold than soap, and much more difficult to find...
The Hashishim, who derived their name from the vast quantities of hashish they consumed, were unique among vicious killers in being both deadly and, at the same time, inclined to giggle, groove to interesting patterns of light and shade on their terrible knife blades and, in extreme cases, fall over.
'I don't trust this man,' said Nijel. 'I try not to judge from first impressions, but I definitely think he's up to no good.'
'He had you thrown in a snake pit!'
'Perhaps I should have taken the hint.'
Wizards didn't kill ordinary people because a) they seldom noticed them and b) it wasn't considered sporting and c) besides, who'd do all the cooking and growing food and things. And killing a brother wizard with magic was nigh-well impossible on account of the layers of protective spells that any cautious wizard maintained about his person at all times.*
*Of course, wizards often killed each other by ordinary, non-magical means, but this was perfectly allowable and death by assassination was considered natural causes for a wizard.
Some people think this is paranoia, but it isn't. Paranoids only think everyone is out to get them. Wizards know it.
Rincewind: I'm not going to ride on a magic carpet! I'm afraid of grounds.
Conina: You mean heights. And stop being silly.
Rincewind: I know what I mean! It's the grounds that kill you!
Many people who had got to know Rincewind had come to treat him as a sort of two-legged miner's canary, and tended to assume that if Rincewind was still upright and not actually running then some hope remained.
This is fun,' said Creosote. 'Me, robbing my own treasury. If I catch myself I can have myself flung into the snake pit.'
'But you could throw yourself on your mercy,' said Conina, running a paranoid eye over the dusty stonework.
'Oh, no. I think I would have to teach me a lesson, as an example to myself.'
'I can't hear anything,' said Nijel loudly. Nijel was one of those people who, if you say "don't look now", would immediately swivel his head like an owl on a turntable.
They suffered from the terrible delusion that something could be done. They seemed prepared to make the world the way they wanted or die in the attempt, and the trouble with dying in the attempt was that you died in the attempt
'Poor I don't mind,' said the Seriph. 'It's sobriety that is giving me difficulties.'
Take it from me, there's nothing more terrible than someone out to do the world a favour.
Wizards don't like philosophy very much. As far as they are concerned, one hand clapping makes a sound like 'cl'.
'Quick, you must come with me,' she said. 'You're in great danger!'
'Because I will kill you if you don't.'
'Nothing works against magic. Except stronger magic. And then the only thing that beats stronger magic is even stronger magic. And the next thing you know...' 'Phooey?'
It became apparent that one reason why the Ice Giants were known as the Ice Giants was because they were, well, giants. The other was that they were made of ice.
'It's vital to remember who you really are. It's very important. It isn't a good idea to rely on other people or things to do it for you, you see. They always get it wrong.'
"I meant," said Iplsore bitterly, "what is there in this world that makes living worthwhile?"
Death thought about it. CATS, he said eventually, CATS ARE NICE.
אחרים שימוינו מאוחר יותר:
"I've got a good one. It's a vanishing trick."
"Can you..do it now?"
"Only if everyone opens all the doors and turns their back."
"..I don't see why everyone depends on me. I'm not dependable. Even I don't depend on me, and I'm me!"
The Four Horsemen of the Common Cold - Sniffles, Chesty, Nostril and Lack of Tissues.
I was too busy running away!
What was a corpse doing in Bursar's wardrobe? And no one is to say "Not a lot," or anythin' tasteless like that.
כפי שזה נראה, זה יהיה חייב להיות בחלקים. XD"