Rincewind: That's old Twoflower for you. He just appreciates beauty in his own way. I mean, if a poet sees a daffodil, he stares at it and then writes a long poem. But Twoflower would wander off and buy a book on botany, and then as he reads it he would tread on the daffodil.
Ashley: Dan! Sorry, the phone scared me so I killed it.
Rich Little's head: And now to grace us with its rendition of the national anthem, please welcome what is left of the Dixie Chicks after their tragic matter transporter accident.
Preest: But don't get me wrong. This wasn't fate. For every soul of this deluded population who believed in fate's comic clockwork, they neglect to see the wear and tear beneath the surface. The teeth that grind into the cogs. The damage that fate causes so many in its selfish journey towards just one favourable consequence. The Individual had simply run out of luck, and I was here to collect.