Home / Quotes / Quote by Terry Pratchett

Quote by Terry Pratchett

“An Assassin, a real Assassin had to look like one-black clothes, hood, boots, and all. If they could wear any clothes, any disguise, then what could anyone do but spend all day in a small room with a loaded crossbow pointed at the door?”

Book:Night Watch

Work

Night Watch

In this gripping narrative, the protagonist navigates a complex world where the supernatural and the human coexist, facing moral dilemmas and the struggle for power. The story delves into themes of loyalty, betrayal, and the human condition, all while the protagonist grapples with the responsibilities of his role in the Night Watch. more

Author

Terry Pratchett

Terry Pratchett was a British author renowned for his fantasy novel series, 'Discworld'. His works are appreciated for their unique humor and profound philosophical insights. Pratchett's contributions to literature extend beyond fantasy, encompassing science fiction, humor, and children's literature. more

“Not Waving but Drowning Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.”

Men Way Heart Has Beens Said Stills Poor Heard Cold Lays They Said Drowning Dead Man Chaps Moaning

Author:Stevie Smith

“Gratitude is a sign of maturity...Where there is appreciation: there is also courtesy and concern for the rights and property of others.”

Rights Gratitude Concern Property Appreciation Maturity Courtesy

Author:Gordon B. Hinckley

“What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning, but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.”