[…]
I’m made up of the memories of my parents and grandparents, all my ancestors. They’re in the way I look, in the colour of my hair. And I’m made up of everyone I’ve ever met who’s changed the way I think."
(Source: fourwasmydoctor, via weareallfromearth)
Granny stopped in the doorway. Her shoulders rose. She turned around very slowly.
“What did you say?” she said. “Did these old ears deceive me, and don’t say they did because they didn’t.”
“Sorry,” said Esk. “Force of habit.”
“I can see you’ve been getting ideas below your station,” said Granny coldly."
(Source: serendipitousrainbows, via theturtlemoves)
469. You tell them a lie, and then when you don’t need it any more, you tell them another lie and tell them they’re progressing along the road to wisdom. Then instead of laughing they follow you even more, hoping that at the heart of all the lies they’ll find the truth. And bit by bit they accept the unacceptable.
(Source: hobbitofunseenhogwarts, via fuckyeahdiscworld)
![In the hazel woods, there was a clearing of flowers from early spring to late autumn. There was meadowsweet and foxglove and old man’s trousers and Jack-jump-into-bed and ladies’ bonnets and three-times-Charlie and sage and southernwood and pink yarrow and ladies’ bedstraw and cowslips and primroses and two types of orchid.
It was where the old lady they had called the witch was buried. If you knew where to look, you could see what little was left of her cottage underneath all that greenery, and if you really knew where to look, you could see the place she had been buried. If you really and truly knew where to look, you could find the spot where Tiffany had buried the old lady’s cat, too; there was catnip growing on it.
Once upon a time, the rough music had come for the old woman and her cat, oh, yes, it had, and the people walking to its drumming had dragged her out into the snow and pulled down the rickety cottage and burned her books because they had pictures of stars in them.
[…]
No one talked about it. After all, what could you say? Rare flowers growing on the grave of the old woman and catnip growing where the Aching girl had buried the cat. It was a mystery, and maybe a judgement, although whose judgement it was, on whom, for what and why, was best not thought about, let alone discussed. Nevertheless, wonderful flowers growing over the remains of the possible witch—how could that happen?](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6sxlivxXZ1qimvxjo1_r1_250.png)
In the hazel woods, there was a clearing of flowers from early spring to late autumn. There was meadowsweet and foxglove and old man’s trousers and Jack-jump-into-bed and ladies’ bonnets and three-times-Charlie and sage and southernwood and pink yarrow and ladies’ bedstraw and cowslips and primroses and two types of orchid.
It was where the old lady they had called the witch was buried. If you knew where to look, you could see what little was left of her cottage underneath all that greenery, and if you really knew where to look, you could see the place she had been buried. If you really and truly knew where to look, you could find the spot where Tiffany had buried the old lady’s cat, too; there was catnip growing on it.
Once upon a time, the rough music had come for the old woman and her cat, oh, yes, it had, and the people walking to its drumming had dragged her out into the snow and pulled down the rickety cottage and burned her books because they had pictures of stars in them.
[…]
No one talked about it. After all, what could you say? Rare flowers growing on the grave of the old woman and catnip growing where the Aching girl had buried the cat. It was a mystery, and maybe a judgement, although whose judgement it was, on whom, for what and why, was best not thought about, let alone discussed. Nevertheless, wonderful flowers growing over the remains of the possible witch—how could that happen?
(Source: thaumivore)
(Source: ecnef, via fuckyeahterrypratchett)
(Source: reverse-mermaid, via fuckyeahterrypratchett)
(Source: kemendraugh)
He was a small, bandy-legged man, with a certain resemblance to a chimpanzee who never got invited to tea parties.
His age was indeterminate. But in cynicism and general world weariness, which is a sort of carbon dating of the personality, he was about seven thousand years old."
(Source: aliveinquotes, via fuckyeahdiscworld)
(Source: ekimsal)
