If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards'.

What he didn't like about heroes was that they were usually suicidally gloomy when sober and homicidally insane when drunk.

"It could be worse," he said by way of farewell. "It could be me."

That's what's so stupid about the whole magic thing, you know. You spend twenty years learning the spell that makes nude virgins appear in your bedroom, and then you're so poisoned by quicksilver fumes and half-blind from reading old grimoires that you can't remember what happens next.

Twoflower was a tourist, the first ever seen on the Discworld. Tourist, Rincewind had decided, meant "idiot."

It was all very well going on about pure logic and how the universe was ruled by logic and the harmony of numbers, but the plain fact of the matter was that the Disc was manifestly traversing space on the back of a giant turtle and the gods had a habit of going round to atheists' houses and smashing their windows.

'You know, I never imagined there were he-dryads. Not even in an oak tree.'One of the giants grinned at him.Druellae snorted. 'Stupid! Where do you think acorns come from?'

What heroes like best is themselves.

'We've strayed into a zone with a high magical index,' he said. 'Don't ask me how. Once upon a time a really powerful magic field must have been generated here, and we're feeling the after-effects.' 'Precisely,' said a passing bush.

The only reason for walking into the jaws of Death is so's you can steal his gold teeth.