Discworld 10 - Moving pictures

It looks like it's getting bigger,' whispered Ginger.
'Go outside,' said Victor. 'Get the wizards to stop it.'
'What're you going to do?'
Victor drew himself up to his full height. 'There are some Things', he said, 'that a man has to do by himself.'
She gave him a look of irritated incomprehension.
'What? What? Do you want to go to the lavatory or something?'
'Just get out!'

Victor’s foot kicked against something which bounced away into the darkness.

‘What was it?’ he quavered.

Gaspode snuffled off into the darkness, and returned.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said.

‘Oh?’

‘It’s just a skull.’

‘Whose?’

‘He dint say,’ said Gaspode.

‘Will you come to my room tonight?’ hissed Ginger. ‘Please? You can wake me up if I start sleepwalking again.’

‘Well, er, yes, but your landlady might not like it—’ Victor began.

‘Oh, Mrs Cosmopilite is very broadminded,’ said Ginger.

‘She is?’

‘She’ll just think we’re having sex,’ said Ginger.

‘Ah,’ said Victor hollowly. ‘That’s all right, then.’

‘Mr Dibbler says I can be a vice-president,’ he said proudly.

‘In charge of what?’ said Victor.

‘Vice-presidents,’ said Detritus.

‘Good sword work, though,’ said Morry appraisingly. ‘A bit showy, but pretty good.’

‘But I don’t know how to—’ Victor began.

‘—and she was lying there all longgrass,’ said Rock. ‘An’ you swept her up, and she said—’

‘Long grass?’ said Ginger weakly.

‘Languorous,’ said Victor. ‘I think he means languorous.’

‘—she said, “Why, it is the Thief of … the Thief of …”’ Rock hesitated. ‘Dad’s Bag, I think you said.’

‘Bagged Dad,’ said Morry, rubbing his arm.

‘It’ll be a step up for you, Tom!’ Dibbler was saying. ‘I mean, how many people in Holy Wood can call themselves Vice-President in Charge of Executive Affairs?’

‘Yes, but it’s my company!’ Silverfish wailed.

‘Right! Right!’ said Dibbler. ‘That’s what a name like Vice-President of Executive Affairs means.’

‘It does?’

‘Have I ever lied to you?’

Silverfish’s brow furrowed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘yesterday you said—’

‘I mean metaphorically,’ said Dibbler quickly.

‘Oh. Well. Metaphorically? I suppose not—’

‘I dunno about that,’ said Bezam. ‘Houses have been falling off lately.’

‘They’ll want to watch this one,’ said Throat. ‘Trust me. Have I ever lied to you?’

Bezam scratched his head. ‘Well, one night last month you sold me a sausage in a bun and you said—’

‘I was speaking rhetorically,’ snapped Throat.

‘Yeah,’ said Detritus.

Bezam sagged. ‘Oh. Well. I dunno about rhetorically,’ he said.

In a sense which his tutors couldn’t quite define, much to their annoyance, Victor Tugelbend was also the laziest person in the history of the world.

Not simply, ordinarily lazy. Ordinary laziness was merely the absence of effort. Victor had passed through there a long time ago, had gone straight through commonplace idleness and out on the far side. He put more effort into avoiding work than most people put into hard labour.

Reality is not digital, an on-off state, but analog. Something gradual. In other words, reality is a quality that things possess in the same way that they possess, say, weight. Some people are more real than others, for example. It has been estimated that there are only about five hundred real people on any given planet, which is why they keep unexpectedly running into one another all the time.

The Discworld is as unreal as it is possible to be while still being just real enough to exist.

Careful,' said the Dean. 'That is not dead which can eternal lie.'
The Chair studied it.
'It looks bloody dead to me,' he said. 'Hang on - there's something moving?'
One of the outflung tentacles slumped aside.