The Figures Looked More Or Less Human.

Little Fussy Otto, In His Red-lined Black Opera Cloak With Pockets For All His Gear, His Shiny Black Shoes, His Carefully Cut Widow's Peak And, Not Least, His Ridiculous Accent That Grew Thicker Or Thinner Depending On Who He Was Talking To, Did Not Look Like A Threat. He Looked Funny, A Joke, A Music-hall Vampire. It Had Never Previously Occurred To Vimes That, Just Possibly, The Joke Was On Other People.

"there's A Door," He Whispered. "where Does It Go?" "it Stays Where It Is, I Think," Said Rincewind.

Cutangle: While I'm Still Confused And Uncertain, It's On A Much Higher Plane, D'you See, And At Least I Know I'm Bewildered About The Really Fundamental And Important Facts Of The Universe. Treatle: I Hadn't Looked At It Like That, But You're Absolutely Right. He's Really Pushed Back The Boundaries Of Ignorance. They Both Savoured The Strange Warm Glow Of Being Much More Ignorant Than Ordinary People, Who Were Only Ignorant Of Ordinary Things.

I Was Just A Kid Then. But I Won't Forget. Nor Will Others. There's Lots Of People With Reason To Hate The Church.

That Was The Very Centre Of His Genius - He Invented Things That Anyone Could Have Thought Of, And Men Who Can Invent Things That Anyone Could Have Thought Of Are Very Rare Men.