It was octarine, the colour of magic. It was alive and glowing and vibrant and it was the undisputed pigment… — Terry Pratchett
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.
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'We don't have gods where I come from,' said Twoflower.
He wondered what kind of life it would be, having to keep swimming all the time to stay exactly in the same place. Pretty similar to his own, he decided.
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