It was raining in the small, mountainous country of Llamedos. It was always raining in Llamedos. Rain was the country's main export. It had rain mines.

Nanny Ogg looked under her bed in case there was a man there. Well, you never knew your luck.

If there were such a thing as an inter-city thieving contest, Ankh-Morpork would bring home the trophy and probably everyone’s wallets.

Wizards don’t believe in gods. They didn’t deny their existence, of course. They just didn’t believe. It was nothing personal; they weren’t actually rude about it. Gods were a visible part of narrativium that made things work, that gave the world its purpose. It was just that they were best avoided close up.

It was the kind of storm that suggests the whole sky has swallowed a diuretic.

Time travel was only a kind of magic, after all. That's why it always went wrong.