“Shut up sergeant. You're a free troll. That's an order"Sam Vimes”

“There was no universe, anywhere, where a Sam Vimes would give in on this, because if he did then he wouldn't be Sam Vimes anymore.”

“Where's my daddy?Is that my daddy?It goes, "I fink, derefore I am. I fink." It is Sergeant Detritus the troll!That's not my daddy!”

“There’s lots of people will help you with alcohol business, but there’s no one out there arranging little meetings where you can stand up and say, ‘My name is Sam Vimes and I’m a really suspicious bastard.”

“That's a nice song," said young Sam, and Vimes remembered that he was hearing it for the first time. "It's an old soldiers' song," he said. "Really, sarge? But it's about angels." Yes, thought Vimes, and it's amazing what bits those angels cause to rise up as the song progresses. It's a real soldiers' song: sentimental, with dirty bits. "As I recall, they used to sing it after battles," he said. "I've seen old men cry when they sing it," he added. "Why? It sounds cheerful." They were remembering who they were not singing it with, thought Vimes. You'll learn. I know you will.”

“Yeah, all right, but everyone knows they torture people," mumbled Sam."Do they?" said Vimes. "Then why doesn't anyone do anything about it?""'cos they torture people.”

“That's the Ankh-Morpork instinct, Vimes thought. Run away, and then stop and see if anything interesting is going to happen to other people.”