Discworld 04 - Mort

“It would seem that you have no useful skill or talent whatsoever,” he said. “Have you thought of going into teaching?”

Death’s face was a mask of terror. Well, it was always a mask of terror, but this time he meant it to be.

When you step off a cliff, your life takes a very definite direction.

There should be a word for the microscopic spark of hope that you dare not entertain in case the mere act of acknowledging it will cause it to vanish, like trying to look at a photon. You can only sidle up to it, looking past it, walking past it, waiting for it to get big enough to face the world.

The trumpets of command had become the piccolos of supplication.

Those wizards who had studied history nodded uncomfortably. It would be back to the stone floors and getting up when it was still dark and no alcohol under any circumstances and memorising the true names of everything until the brain squeaked.

They don't go in for the fancy or exotic, but stick to conventional food like flightless bird embryos, minced organs in intestine skins, slices of hog flesh and burnt ground grass seeds dipped in animal fats; or, as it is known in their patois, egg, soss and bacon and a fried slice.

Goodbye,' Mart said, and was surprised to find a lump in his throat. 'It's such an unpleasant word, isn't it?'

QUITE SO. Death grinned because, as has so often been remarked, he didn't have much option. But possibly he meant it, this time.

I PREFER AU REVOIR, he said

KEEP IT SAFE. IT'S A FUTURE AS WELL AS A PRESENT.

Death put his skull on one side. IT'S A SMALL THING, he added. You COULD HAVE HAD ETERNITY.

YOU MIGHT END UP WISHING YOU'D STAYED WITH ME.

And then Death turned the hourglass over.