There was a thoughtful pause in the conversation as the assembled Brethren mentally divided the universe into the deserving and the undeserving, and put themselves on the appropriate side.
All dwarfs are by nature dutiful, serious, literate, obedient and thoughtful people whose only minor failing is a tendency, after one drink, to rush at enemies screaming "Arrrrrrgh!" and axing their legs off at the knee.
Lady Ramkin's bosom rose and fell like an empire.
All dwarfs have beards and wear up to twelve layers of clothing. Gender is more or less optional.
Noble dragons don't have friends. The nearest they can get to the idea is an enemy who is still alive.
'Never build a dungeon you wouldn't be happy to spend the night in yourself,' said the Patrician (...). 'The world would be a happier place if more people remembered that.'
'Never trust a ruler who puts his faith in tunnels and bunkers and escape routes. The chances are that his heart isn't in the job.'
'I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are the good people and the bad people,' said the man [Vetinari]. 'You are wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.'
The finger was a mistake. The Patrician was staring coldly at the finger. Van Pew followed his gaze, and quickly lowered the digit. The Patrician was not a man you shook a finger at unless you wanted to end up only being able to count to nine.
Of course, there were various groups seeking his overthrow, and this was right and proper and the sign of a vigorous and healthy society. No-one could call him unreasonable about the matter. Why, hadn't he founded most of them himself? And what was so beautiful was the way they spent nearly all their time bickering with one another.
Human nature, the Patrician always said, was a marvellous thing. Once you understood where its levers were.
But of course there were the rules. Everyone knew there were rules. They just had to hope like Hell that the gods knew the rules, too.
