“Rincewind tried to force the memory out of his mind, but it was rather enjoying itself there, terrorizing the other occupants and kicking over the furniture.”

“...for the first time Rincewind saw the troll.It wasn’t half so bad as he had imagined.Umm, said his imagination after a while.It wasn’t that the troll was horrifying. Instead of the rotting, betentacled monstrosity he had been expecting Rincewind found himself looking at a rather squat but not particularly ugly old man who would quite easily have passed for normal on any city street, always provided that other people on the street were used to seeing old men who were apparently composed of water and very little else. It was as if the ocean had decided to create life without going through all that tedious business of evolution, and had simply formed a part of itself into a biped and sent it walking squishily up the beach.(…) How does he hold himself together, his mind screamed at him. Why doesn’t he spill?”

“[Rincewind] drew his sword and, with a smooth overarm throw, completely failed to hit the troll.”

“The Tezuman priests have a sophisticated calendar and an advanced horology," quoted Rincewind."Ah," said Eric, "Good.""No," said Rincewind patiently. "It means time measurement.""Oh.”

“Don't you understand?" snarled Rincewind. "We are going over the Edge, godsdammit!""Can't we do anything about it?""No!""Then I can't see the sense in panicking," said Twoflower calmly.”

“My name is immaterial,' she said.That's a pretty name,' said Rincewind.”

“It was octarine, the colour of magic. It was alive and glowing and vibrant and it was the undisputed pigment of the imagination, because wherever it appeared it was a sign that mere matter was a servant of the powers of the magical mind. It was enchantment itself.But Rincewind always thought it looked a sort of greenish-purple.”