But, In Truth, It Had Not Exactly

Poets Have Tried To Describe Ankh-morpork. They Have Failed. Perhaps It's The Sheer Zestful Vitality Of The Place, Or Maybe It's Just That A City With A Million Inhabitants And No Sewers Is Rather Robust For Poets, Who Prefer Daffodils And No Wonder. So Let's Just Say That Ankh-morpork Is As Full Of Life As An Old Cheese On A Hot Day, As Loud As A Curse In A Cathedral, As Bright As An Oil Slick, As Colourful As A Bruise And As Full Of Activity, Industry, Bustle And Sheer Exuberant Busyness As A Dead Dog On A Termite Mound.

The Trouble Was That He Was Talking In Philosophy But They Were Listening In Gibberish.

The Conversation Of Human Beings Seldom Interested Him, But It Crossed His Mind That The Males And Females Always Got Along Best When Neither Actually Listened Fully To What The Other One Was Saying.

The Thing With Crowns Is, It Isn't The Putting Them On That's The Problem, It's The Taking Them Off.

All He Knew Was That You Couldn't Hope To Try For The Big Stuff, Like World Peace And Happiness, But You Might Just About Be Able To Achieve Some Tiny Deed That'd Make The World, In A Small Way, A Better Place. Like Shooting Someone.