Lubię góry. Ciężar plecaka i równy rytm kroków. Krople deszczu na skórze i drzewa. Podróże, sushi i moją kuchnię. Kocham koty. Dobrą książkę, półsłodkie wino. Leniwe popołudnia. Moją pracę.

Chciałabym być jak Esme Weatherwax, bliżej mi jednak do Agness Nitt - ona miała swoją Perditę, a ja mam moją Usagi...
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no, of course not in the kitchen

Hogfather, Terry Pratchett

HERE IS A BRIDLE FOR YOUR PONY, AND A SADDLE, AND A RATHER STRANGE HARD HAT AND A PAIR OF THOSE TROUSERS THAT MAKE YOU LOOK AS THOUGH YOU HAVE A LARGE RABBIT IN EACH POCKET.
'But we can't have a pony, can we, Euffie, because we live on the third floor...'
OH, YES. IT'S IN THE KITCHEN.
'I'm sure you're making a little joke, Hogfather', said Mother, sharply.
HO. HO. YES. WHAT A JOLLY FAT MAN I AM. IN THE KITCHEN? WHAT A JOKE. DOLLIES AND SO ON WILL BE DELIVERED LATER AS PER YOUR LETTER.
'What do you say, Euffie?'
''nk you.'
''ere, you didn't really put a pony in their kitchen, did you?' said Heavy Uncle Albert as the line move on.
DON'T BE FOOLISH, ALBERT. I SAID THAT TO BE JOLLY.
'Oh, right. Hah, for a minute--'
IT'S IN THE BEDROOM.
'Ah...'
MORE HYGIENIC.

Kategorie: Death, Hogfather,

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a pune or play on words

Hogfather, Terry Pratchett

LET'S GET THERE AND SLEIGHT THEM. HO. HO. HO.

Kategorie: Death, Hogfather,

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Inside the mirror

Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett

Lily Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered, silvery world.
'Where am I?'
INSIDE THE MIRROR.
'Am I dead?'
THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, is SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NO AND YES.
Lily turned, and a billion figures turned with her.
'When can I get out?'
WHEN YOU FIND THE ONE THAT'S REAL.
Lily Weatherwax ran on through the endless reflections.

-----------------------------------------------

Granny Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered, silvery world.
'Where am I?'
INSIDE THE MIRROR.
'Am I dead?'
THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, is SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NO AND YES.
Esme turned, and a billion figures turned with her.
'When can I get out?'
WHEN YOU FIND THE ONE THAT'S REAL.
'Is this a trick question?'
NO.
Granny looked down at herself.
'This one,' she said.

And stories just want happy endings. They don't give a damn who they're for.
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Justice

Mort, Terry Pratchett

THERE'S NO JUSTICE. THERE'S JUST ME.
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But I'm me

Small Gods, Terry Pratchett

The light was brilliant, crystalline, in a black sky filled with stars.
'Ah. There really is a desert. Does everyone get this?' said Brutha.
WHO KNOWS?
'And what is at the end of the desert?'
JUDGEMENT.
Brutha considered this.
'Which end?'
Death grinned and stepped aside.
What Brutha had thought was a rock in the sand was a hunched figure, sitting clutching its knees. It looked paralysed with fear.
He stared.
'Vorbis?' he said.
He looked at Death.
'But Vorbis died a hundred years ago!'
YES. HE HAD TO WALK IT ALL ALONE. ALL ALONE WITH HIMSELF. IF HE DARED.
'He's been here for a hundred years?'
POSSIBLY NOT. TIME IS DIFFERENT HERE. IT IS... MORE PERSONAL.
'Ah. You mean a hundred years can pass like a few seconds?'
A HUNDRED YEARS CAN PASS LIKE INFINITY.
The black-on-black eyes stared imploringly at Brutha, who reached out automatically, without thinking... and then hesitated.
HE WAS A MURDERER, said Death. AND A CREATOR OF MURDERERS. A TORTURER. WITHOUT PASSION. CRUEL. CALLOUS. COMPASSIONLESS.
'Yes. I know. He's Vorbis,' said Brutha. Vorbis changed people. Sometimes he changed them into dead people. But he always changed them. That was his triumph.
He sighed.
'But I'm me,' he said.
Vorbis stood up, uncertainly, and followed Brutha across the desert.
Death watched them walk away.

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