Terry Pratchett

"Hmm. Granpone the White. He's going to be Granpone the Grey if he doesn't take better care of his laundry. Aye tell you, girl, a white magician is just a black magician with a good housekeeper."

Granny had nothing against fortune-telling provided it was done badly by people with no talent for it.

"They're both magic. If you can't learn to ride an elephant, you can at least learn to ride a horse."

"Can't you read, Esk?"

Granny had counted the temples with a thoughtful look in her eyes; gods were always demanding that their followers acted other than according to their true natures, and the human fallout this caused made plenty of work for witches.

The Shades, in brief, were an abode of discredited gods and unlicensed thieves, ladies of the night and peddlers in exotic goods, alchemists of the mind and strolling mummers; in short, all the grease on civilization's axle.

Although his body had been around quite a lot, his mind had never gone further than the inside of his own head.

A world like that, which exists only because the gods enjoy a joke, must be a place where magic can survive. And sex too, of course.

"Who says that?" said Cutangle.

It was a horrible feeling to find things in your head and not know how they fitted.

"You mean it's my destiny?" she said at last.

It had been a very long night, and the morning didn't seem to be an improvement.