Terry Pratchett

There was this about vampires : they could never look scruffy. Instead, they were... what was the word... deshabille. It meant untidy, but with bags and bags of style.

Some things are fairly obvious when it's a seven-foot skeleton with a scythe telling you them.

She walked quickly through the darkness with the frank stride of someone who was at least certain that the forest, on this damp and windy night, contained strange and terrible things and she was it.

Why bother with a cunning plan when a simple one will do?

It was so loud and so deep, it wasn't really sound at all, just something that turned the air hard and then hit you with it.

They'd smash up the world if they thought it would make a pretty noise.

What have I always believed? That on the whole, and by and large, if a man lived properly, not according to what any priests said, but according to what seemed decent and honest inside, then it would, at the end, more or less, turn out all right.