“Last night, Dixon had suggested combat boots in place of Carrow’s own—her two-thousand-dollar, gathered-leather, over-the-knee boots. “Do you want me to go in as an enchantress or a warrior?” Carrow had asked testily. “Pick a caste, any caste, mortal. I myself think I have the best chance as an enchantress. And fuck-me boots are standard-issue.”

“The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that'd still be keeping his feet dry in ten years' time, while the poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.This was the Captain Samuel Vimes 'Boots' theory of socioeconomic unfairness.”

“There's no boot."No boot?"No."That makes me sad."I ate it."You ate the boot?"Yes."Was it good?"No. Were the cigarettes good?"No. I couldn't finish them."I couldn't finish the boot.”

“If you are boot out, do not go to boot hill.”

“But the truth is, I want to be some woman's work boots, not her high heels.""Work boots?" What was sexy about that? And did women have work boots?"Yeah. You know, the boots she pulls out when she wants to get down and dirty, hiking or gardening or boating or painting the kitchen. The ones she relies on and trusts and lives her life hard and good and on her terms in. Her favorites.”

“She needs to wake up," said Boots. "Hazard is crying. When does she wake up?" Gregor could not find it within him to give his standard reply. To pretend that in a short time Thalia would be back with them, laughing and happy. And somehow it seemed wrong to try. Boots was getting older. Very soon, she would begin to realize the truth on her own, anyway. "She's not going wake up," he told her. "She's dead.""She doesn't wake up?" said Boots."No, not this time," said Gregor. "This time, she had to go away."Boots looked around at all their faces, at Hazard crying. "Where did she go?" No one had an answer. "Where is Thalia when she doesn't wake up?"The question hung in the air for an eternity. Finally, it was Howard who spoke up. "Why, she's in your heart, Boots.""My heart?" said Boots, putting both hands on her chest."Yes. That's where she lives now," said Howard."She can fly away?" asked Boots, pressing her palms tightly against her heart as if to keep Thalia from escaping."Oh, no, she will stay there forever," said Howard.”