Mort: A Discworld Novel

Established business?” I HAVE BEEN GOING FOR SOME TIME, YES, said Death.

FAIR DOESN’T COME INTO IT. YOU CAN’T TAKE SIDES. GOOD GRIEF. WHEN IT’S TIME, IT’S TIME.

“How do you get all those coins?” asked Mort. IN PAIRS.

(That was a cinematic trick adapted for print. Death wasn’t talking to the princess. He was actually in his study, talking to Mort. But it was quite effective, wasn’t it? It’s probably called a fast dissolve, or a crosscut/zoom. Or something. An industry where a senior technician is called a Best Boy might call it anything.)

People don’t alter history any more than birds alter the sky, they just make brief patterns in it.

He’d been wrong, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and it was a flamethrower.

Reannuals are plants that grow backwards in time. You sow the seed this year and they grow last year.

WHAT IS IT CALLED WHEN YOU FEEL WARM AND CONTENT AND WISH THINGS WOULD STAY THAT WAY? “I guess you’d call it happiness,” said Harga.

“Are you going to send me home?” he said. Death reached down and swung him up behind the saddle. BECAUSE YOU SHOWED COMPASSION? NO. I MIGHT HAVE DONE IF YOU HAD SHOWN PLEASURE. BUT YOU MUST LEARN THE COMPASSION PROPER TO YOUR TRADE. “What’s that?” A SHARP EDGE.