When you get beef from the butcher, you don’t feel bad for the cow that has been killed. But if someone asked you to wield a knife and kill the cow yourself, you wouldn’t be able to do it.”“Are you saying that you are a cow?”“Exactly.”“What?”“You found me alive and couldn’t bring yourself to kill me. It would have been alright if the storm had finished me off. I am like that cow and the storm is the butcher. Do you see now?”“Yes, I see. You absolutely insist that you are a cow. I am not arguing.

Vanessa was deprived of her hormones in prison and thus retained several male characteristics that would have been less evident otherwise, most notably her voice. While she spoke in a high, little-girl voice most of the time, she could switch at will to a booming, masculine Richard-voice. She loved to sneak up behind people and scare the crap out of them this way, and she was very effective at quieting a noisy dining hall, roaring, "Y'all hush up!" Best of all were her Richardian encouragements on the softball field, where she was a sought-after teammate. That bitch could hit.

Another priest said,"Is it true you've said you'll believe in any god whose existence can be proved by logical debate?""Yes."Vimes had a feeling about the immediate future and took a few steps away from Dorfl."But the gods plainly do exist," said a priest."It Is Not Evident."A bolt of lightning lanced down through the clouds and hit Dorfl's helmet. There was a sheet of flame and then a trickling noise. Dorfl's molten armour formed puddles around his white-hot feet."I Don't Call That Much Of An Argument," said Dorfl calmly, from somewhere in the clouds of smoke.

She nodded, grabbed her purse out of the drawer and skedaddled, walking like she was on a catwalk, one foot in front of the other, her ass swaying under the skirt of her expensive, tailored suit.Bitch. I thought again, watching her go.“No comparison,” Luke said after the door closed behind Dawn and I turned to him.“Excuse me?”“Dawn’s a man eater. You’re not. No comparison,” Luke answered and I didn’t know how to take that.“Is that good?”The half-smile came back.“Most men prefer to do the eating.”Holy fucking cow.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. “Matt?”Fuck. “Nope.Silence. “Would you be the owner of the leather pants?”“Yep.”She paused briefly. “I’m going to pass these through the door. You have exactly thirty seconds to pull them on, make yourself presentable and get your ass out here.”“Do I have any other options?”“Only if Matt’s got a window.”He looked at the window longingly. The thirty-six-story drop with no fire escape might be less painful, but he decided there was no avoiding it. “Understood.

The mighty hunter,” I quipped as we snuck out the backdoor, escaping into the yard. “He can take down vicious rabids and rampaging boars, but one old lady can make him flee in terror.”“One scary old lady,” he corrected me, looking relieved to be out of the house. “You didn’t hear what she told me when I got up — you’re so cute I could put you in a pie. Tell me that’s not the creepiest thing you’ve ever heard.” His voice climbed a few octaves, turning shrill and breathy. “Today for dessert, we have apple pie, blueberry pie and Ezekiel pie.

Primele încercări de predare a unei limbi, mă refer la engleză, cimpanzeilor datează abia din secolul XX. Toate au dat greş, inclusiv una dintre cele mai cunoscute, făcută pe la sfârşitul anilor '40 de o familie de cercetători americani, Hayes, care au crescut un cimpanzeu, pe Vicky, ca pe copilul lor. Degeaba. După luni şi luni de învăţare, Vicky bolborosea vag patru cuvinte: tata, mama, pahar, sus. «Tată, mamă, să ridicăm un pahar». Sigur, fraza e foarte utilă la aniversări, dar cam atât.

You see," said Colon, "thieves are organized here. I mean, it's official. They're allowed a certain amount of thieving. Not that they do much these days, mind you. If you pay them a little premium every year they give you a card and leave you alone. Saves time and effort all around.""And all thieves are members?" said Angua."Oh, yes," said Carrot. "Can't go thieving in Ankh-Morpork without a Guild permit. Not unless you've got a special talent.""Why? What happens? What talent?" she said."Well, being able to survive being hung upside down from one of the gates with your ears nailed to your knees," said Carrot.

That was a dhlang!" he said. "An evil spirit! The peasants down in the valleys hang up charms against them! But I thought they were just a superstition!""No, they're a substition," said Susan. "I mean they're real, but hardly anyone really believes them. Mostly everyone believes in things that aren't real. Something very strange is going on. Those things are all over the place, and they've got bodies. That's not right. We've got to find the person who built the clock - ""And, er, what are you, Miss Susan?""Me? I'm...a schoolteacher."She followed his gaze to the wrench that she still carried in her hand, and shrugged."It can get pretty rough at break time, can it?" said Lobsang.

Inspirations sleet through the universe continuously. Their destination, as if they cared, is the right mind in the right place at the right time. They hit the right neuron, there's a chain reaction, and a little while later someone is blinking furiously in the TV lights and wondering how the hell he came up with the idea of pre-sliced bread in the first place.Leonard of Quirm knew about inspirations. One of his earliest inventions was an earthed metal nightcap, worn in the hope that the damned things would stop leaving their white-hot trails across his tortured imagination. It seldom worked. He knew the shame of waking up to find the sheets covered with nocturnal sketches of seige engines for apple-peeling machines.

Two uniformed trolls were standing in front of Sergeant Colon's high desk, with a slightly smaller troll between them. This troll was wearing a slightly downcast expression. It was also wearing a tutu and had a small pair of gauzed wings glued to its back." - happen to know that trolls don't have any tradition of a Tooth Fairy," Colon was saying. "Especially not one called' - he looked down - "Clinkerbell. So how about we just call it breaking and entering without a Thieves' Guild license?""Is racial prejudice, not letting trolls have a Tooth Fairy," Clinkerbell muttered.One of the troll guards upended a sack on the desk. Various items of silverwear cascaded over the paperwork."And this is what you found under their pillows, was it?" said Colon."Bless dere little hearts," said Clinkerbell.

Click.The salamander flared, etching the room with searing white light and dark shadows. Otto screamed. He fell to the floor, clutching at his throat. He sprang to his feet, goggle-eyed and gasping, and staggered, knock-kneed and wobbly-legged, the length of the room and back again. He sank down behind a desk , scattering paperwork with a wildly flailing hand."Aarghaarghaaaargh..."There was a shocked silence.Otto stood up, adjusted his cravat, and dusted himself off. Only then did he look up at the row of shocked faces."Vel?" he said sternly. "Vat are you all looking at? It is just a normal reaction, zat is all. I am vorking on it. Light in all its forms is mine passion. Light is my canvas, shadows are my brush."But strong light hurts you!" said Sacharissa. "It hurts vampires!""Yes. It iss a bit of a bugger, but zere you go.

The Librarian swung on. It was slow progress, because there were things he wasn't keen on meeting. Creatures evolved to fill every niche in the environment, and some of those in the dusty immensity of L-space were best avoided. They were much more unusual than ordinary unusual creatures.Usually he could forewarn himself by keeping a careful eye on the kickstool crabs that grazed harmlessly on the dust. When they were spooked, it was time to hide. Several times he had to flatten himself against the shelves as a thesaurus thundered by. He waited patiently as a herd of Critters crawled past, grazing on the contents of the choicer books and leaving behind them piles of small literary criticism. And there were other things, things which he hurried away from and tried not to look hard at...And you had to avoid cliches at all costs.

Vimes shook some lather off the blade. "Hah! I bet they have. Tell me, Willikins, did you fight much when you were a kid? Were you in a gang or anything?""I was privileged to belong to the Shamlegger Street Rude Boys, sir," said the butler."Really?" said Vimes, genuinely impressed. "They were pretty tough nuts, as I recall.""Thank you, sir," said Willikins smoothly. "I pride myself I used to give somewhat more than I got if we needed to discuss the vexed area of turf issues with the young men from Rope Street. Stevedore's hooks were their weapon of choice, as I recall.""And yours...?" said Vimes, agog."A cap-brim sewn with sharpened pennies, sir. An ever-present help in times of trouble.""Ye gods, man! You could put someone's eye out with something like that.""With care, sir, yes," said Willikins, meticulously folding a towel.

It was because he wanted there to be conspirators. It was much better to imagine men in some smoky room somewhere, made mad and cynical by privilege and power, plotting over the brandy. You had to cling to this sort of image, because if you didn't then you might have to face the fact that bad things happened because ordinary people, the kind who brushed the dog and told their children bedtime stories, were capable of then going out and doing horrible things to other ordinary people. It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone's fault. If it was Us, then what did that make Me? After all, I'm one of Us. I must be. I've certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. We're always one of Us. It's Them that do the bad things.