Wyrd Sisters

Highlights

Page 258

a key to the understanding of all religion is that a god’s idea of amusement is Snakes and Ladders with greased rungs.

Page 431

‘You will give it to me,’ he said. Granny twitched aside the blanket in her arms and looked down at a small face, wrapped in sleep. She looked up. ‘No,’ she said, on general principles.

Note: I love Granny!

Page 662

‘Things that try to look like things often do look more like things than things. Well-known fact,’

Page 708

Someone tapped Granny on the shoulder and a voice said, ‘Madam, will you kindly remove your hat?’ Granny turned around very slowly on her stool, as though propelled by hidden motors, and subjected the interrupter to a hundred kilowatt diamond-blue stare. The man wilted under it and sagged back on to his stool, her face following him all the way down. ‘No,’ she said. He considered the options. ‘All right,’ he said. Granny turned back and nodded to the actors, who had paused to watch her. ‘I don’t know what you’re staring at,’ she growled. ‘Get on with it.’

Page 797

Granny considered Mrs Vitoller as she snatched farthings from under her husband’s fingers. She was an intelligent-looking woman, who appeared to treat her husband much as a sheepdog treats a favourite lamb. The complexities of the marital relationship were known to Granny only from a distance, in the same way that an astronomer can view the surface of a remote and alien world, but it had already occurred to her that a wife to Vitoller would have to be a very special woman with bottomless reserves of patience and organizational ability and nimble fingers. ‘Mrs Vitoller,’ she said eventually, ‘may I make so bold as to ask if your union has been blessed with fruit?’ The couple looked blank. ‘She means—’ Nanny Ogg began. ‘No, I see,’ said Mrs Vitoller, quietly. ‘No. We had a little girl once.’ A small cloud hung over the table. For a second or two Vitoller looked merely human-sized, and much older. He stared at the small pile of cash in front of him. ‘Only, you see, there is this child,’ said Granny, indicating the baby in Nanny Ogg’s arms. ‘And he needs a home.’ The Vitollers stared. Then the man sighed. ‘It is no life for a child,’ he said. ‘Always moving. Always a new town. And no room for schooling. They say that’s very important these days.’ But his eyes didn’t look away. Mrs Vitoller said, ‘Why does he need a home?’ ‘He hasn’t got one,’ said Granny. ‘At least, not one where he would be welcome.’ The silence continued. Then Mrs Vitoller said, ‘And you, who ask this, you are by way of being his—?’ ‘Godmothers,’ said Nanny Ogg promptly. Granny was slightly taken aback. It never would have occurred to her. Vitoller played abstractly with the coins in front of him. His wife reached out across the table and touched his hand, and there was a moment of unspoken communion. Granny looked away. She had grown expert at reading faces, but there were times when she preferred not to. ‘Money is, alas, tight—’ Vitoller began. ‘But it will stretch,’ said his wife firmly. ‘Yes. I think it will. We should be happy to take care of him.’ Granny nodded, and fished in the deepest recesses of her cloak. At last she produced a small leather bag, which she tipped out on to the table. There was a lot of silver, and even a few tiny gold coins. ‘This should take care of—’ she groped – ‘nappies and suchlike. Clothes and things. Whatever.’ ‘A hundred times over, I should think,’ said Vitoller weakly. ‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’ ‘If I’d had to buy you, you wouldn’t be worth the price.’ ‘But you don’t know anything about us!’ said Mrs Vitoller. ‘We don’t, do we?’ said Granny, calmly. ‘Naturally we’d like to hear how he gets along. You could send us letters and suchlike. But it would not be a good idea to talk about all this after you’ve left, do you see? For the sake of the child.’ Mrs Vitoller looked at the two old women. ‘There’s something else here, isn’t there?’ she said. ‘Something big behind all this?’ Granny hesitated, and then nodded. ‘But it would do us no…

Note: In such a brief interaction I feel like I’ve learned so much about that couple. Barely 20 words spoken by them. That’s why Pratchett was the goat.

Page 858

‘Where’s Nanny?’ she said. ‘She’s lying out on the lawn,’ said Granny. ‘She felt a bit poorly.’ And from outside came the sound of Nanny Ogg being poorly at the top of her voice.

Page 905

Like most people, witches are unfocused in time. The difference is that they dimly realize it, and make use of it. They cherish the past because part of them is still living there, and they can see the shadows the future casts before it. Granny could feel the shape of the future, and it had knives in it.

Page 964

He had been in the undemanding service of the kings of Lancre for many years, and it showed. His body was standing to attention. Despite all his efforts his stomach stood at ease.

Page 111

Holden rolled out of his couch and wiped off the crust that held his eyelashes together. He’d been weeping in his sleep. He told himself it was from the juice crash. The deep ache in his chest was only stressed cartilage.

Page 202

Particles of raw inspiration sleet through the universe all the time. Every once in a while one of them hits a receptive mind, which then invents DNA or the flute sonata form or a way of making light bulbs wear out in half the time. But most of them miss. Most people go through their lives without being hit by even one. Some people are even more unfortunate. They get them all. Such a one was Hwel. Enough inspirations to equip a complete history of the performing arts poured continuously into a small heavy skull designed by evolution to do nothing more spectacular than be remarkably resistant to axe blows.

Page 399

The water under the lid was inky black and, according to rumour, bottomless; the Ogg grandchildren were encouraged to believe that monsters from the dawn of time dwelt in its depths, since Nanny believed that a bit of thrilling and pointless terror was an essential ingredient of the magic of childhood. In summer she used it as a beer cooler.

Page 510

After a few minutes Granny’s front door opened. This was an event in its own right; like most Ramtoppers Granny lived her life via the back door. There were only three times in your life when it was proper to come through the front door, and you were carried every time.

Page 530

‘Look,’ said Granny. ‘What can I do about it? It’s no good you coming to me. He’s the new lord. This is his kingdom. I can’t go meddling. It’s not right to go meddling, on account of I can’t interfere with people ruling. It has to sort itself out, good or bad. Fundamental rule of magic, is that. You can’t go round ruling people with spells, because you’d have to use more and more spells all the time.’ She sat back, grateful that long-standing tradition didn’t allow the Crafty and the Wise to rule. She remembered what it had felt like to wear the crown, even for a few seconds. No, things like crowns had a troublesome effect on clever folk; it was best to leave all the reigning to the kind of people whose eyebrows met in the middle when they tried to think. In a funny sort of way, they were much better at it.

Page 897

insouciance

Page 991

‘It’s gone too far this time,’ said a peasant. ‘All this burning and taxing and now this. I blame you witches. It’s got to stop. I know my rights.’ ‘What rights are they?’ said Granny. ‘Dunnage, cowhage-in-ordinary, badinage, leftovers, scrommidge, clary and spunt,’ said the peasant promptly. ‘And acornage, every other year, and the right to keep two-thirds of a goat on the common. Until he set fire to it. It was a bloody good goat, too.’ ‘A man could go far, knowing his rights like you do,’ said Granny. ‘But right now he should go home.’

Page 996

She turned and looked at the gates. There were two extremely apprehensive guards on duty. She walked up to them, and fixed one of them with a look. ‘I am a harmless old seller of apples,’ she said, in a voice more appropriate for the opening of hostilities in a middle-range war. ‘Pray let me past, dearie.’ The last word had knives in it. ‘No-one must enter the castle,’ said one of the guards. ‘Orders of the duke.’ Granny shrugged. The apple-seller gambit had never worked more than once in the entire history of witchcraft, as far as she knew, but it was traditional. ‘I know you, Champett Poldy,’ she said. ‘I recall I laid out your grandad and I brought you into the world.’ She glanced at the crowds, which had regathered a little way off, and turned back to the guard, whose face was already a mask of terror. She leaned a little closer, and said, ‘I gave you your first good hiding in this valley of tears and by all the gods if you cross me now I will give you your last.’ There was a soft metallic noise as the spear fell out of the man’s fearful fingers. Granny reached and gave the trembling man a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ‘But don’t worry about it,’ she added. ‘Have an apple.’

Page 076

Granny Weatherwax was not lost. She wasn’t the kind of person who ever became lost. It was just that, at the moment, while she knew exactly where SHE was, she didn’t know the position of anywhere else. Currently she had arrived in the kitchens again, precipitating a breakdown in the cook, who was trying to roast some celery. The fact that several people had tried to buy apples from her wasn’t improving her temper.

Page 113

He stiffened. ‘You’re wondering whether I really would cut your throat,’ panted Magrat. ‘I don’t know either. Think of the fun we could have together, finding out.’

Page 244

There was pandemonium outside the castle. The crowd that had been there at Granny’s arrival had grown considerably, and had flowed in through the now unguarded gateway and lapped around the keep. Civil disobedience was new to Lancre, but its inhabitants had already mastered some of its more elementary manifestations, viz, the jerking of rakes and sickles in the air with simple up-and-down motions accompanied by grimaces and cries of ‘Gerrh!’, although a few citizens, who hadn’t quite grasped the idea, were waving flags and cheering. Advanced students were already eyeing the more combustible buildings inside the walls. Several sellers of hot meat pies and sausages in a bun had appeared from nowhere13 and were doing a brisk trade. Pretty soon someone was going to throw something.

Page 323

There are thousands of good reasons why magic doesn’t rule the world. They’re called witches and wizards, Magrat reflected, as she followed the other two back to the road. It was probably some wonderful organization on the part of Nature to protect itself. It saw to it that everyone with any magical talent was about as ready to co-operate as a she-bear with toothache, so all that dangerous power was safely dissipated as random bickering and rivalry.

Page 421

‘I said, what about this rule about not meddling?’ said Magrat. ‘Ah,’ said Nanny. She took the girl’s arm. ‘The thing is,’ she explained, ‘as you progress in the Craft, you’ll learn there is another rule. Esme’s obeyed it all her life.’ ‘And what’s that?’ ‘When you break rules, break ‘em good and hard,’ said Nanny, and grinned a set of gums that were more menacing than teeth.

Page 966

‘It’s got to be a name that means everything,’ he said. ‘Because there’s everything inside it. The whole world on the stage, do you see?’ And Hwel had said, knowing as he said it that what he was saying was exactly right, ‘The Disc.’ And now the Dysk was nearly done, and still he hadn’t written the new play. He shut the window and wandered back to his desk, picked up the quill, and pulled another sheet of paper towards him. A thought struck him. The whole world was a stage, to the gods … Presently he began to write. All the Disc it is but an Theater, he wrote, Ane alle men and wymmen are but Players. He made the mistake of pausing, and another inspiration sleeted down, sending his train of thought off along an entirely new track. He looked at what he had written and added: Except Those who selle popcorn.

Page 875

Before he’d left the city he’d asked Hwel for a few suitable words to say to a young lady, and he had been memorizing them on the way home. It was now or never. ‘I’d like to know if I could compare you to a summer’s day. Because – well, June 12th was quite nice, and … Oh. You’ve gone …’

Page 915

Granny Weatherwax was often angry. She considered it one of her strong points. Genuine anger was one of the world’s great creative forces. But you had to learn how to control it. That didn’t mean you let it trickle away. It meant you dammed it, carefully, let it develop a working head, let it drown whole valleys of the mind and then, just when the whole structure was about to collapse, opened a tiny pipeline at the base and let the iron-hard stream of wrath power the turbines of revenge.

Page 411

‘Here,’ she said. ‘Your hair looks a bit grubby. It looks as though you haven’t washed it for a month.’ Magrat burst into tears.

Note: I loved this writing, but I’m sure I won’t understand why in future.

Page 413

Tomjon left the stage to thunderous applause at the concluding act of The Troll of Ankh. A hundred people would go home tonight wondering whether trolls were really as bad as they had hitherto thought although, of course, this wouldn’t actually stop them disliking them in any way whatsoever.

Note: Yep, every piece of art that has ever challenged audiences

Page 524

‘You told everyone they were brothers and that Verence was the older!’ ‘That’s right.’ ‘And you let everyone believe that—’ Granny Weatherwax pulled her shawl around her. ‘We’re bound to be truthful,’ she said. ‘But there’s no call to be honest.’

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