Luck Is My Middle Name. Mind You,

Picture A Tall, Dark Figure, Surrounded By Cornfields... No, You Can't Ride A Cat. Who Ever Heard Of The Death Of Rats Riding A Cat? The Death Of Rats Would Ride Some Kind Of Dog. Picture More Fields, A Great Horizon-spanning Network Of Fields, Rolling In Gentle Waves... Don't Ask Me I Don't Know. Some Kind Of Terrier, Maybe. ...fields Of Corn, Alive, Whispering In The Breeze... Right, And The Death Of Fleas Can Ride It Too. That Way You Kill Two Birds With One Stone. ...awaiting The Clockwork Of The Seasons. Metaphorically.

Guilt Was The Grease In Which The Wheels Of The Authority Turned.

Yes, But People Have Got To Believe That, Or What's The Point My Point Exactly.

What Did I Tell You About Mister Safety Catch?' Said Vimes Weakly. When Mister Safety Catch Is Not On, Mister Crossbow Is Not Your Friend,' Recited Detritus, Saluting.

I'm Trying To Remember How You Tell The Time By Looking At The Sun." -"i Should Leave It For A While, It's Too Bright To See The Numbers At The Moment.