Abi Collins > Recent Status Updates

‘My father was a bit like that. Is, I mean.'
"I expect he's got glands, though.'
'I imagine he has,' said Mort, shifting uneasily. ‘It's not something I've ever really thought about, glands.'
They stared side by side at the trout. The trout
stared back.
‘I've just upset the entire history of the future,’ said Mort.

Am actually reading every single chapter of this book so I might as well log it on Goodreads 😭

‘It was a sight seen by few people, and Mort wasn't one of them, because he lay low over Binky's neck and clung on for his life as they pounded through the night sky ahead of a comet trail of
steam.’

‘Well, - - - - me,’ he said. ‘A - - - - ing wizard. I hate - - - - ing wizards!’
‘You shouldn’t - - - - them, then,’ muttered one of his henchmen, effortlessly pronouncing a row of dashes.

OMG IT’S THE FAMOUS LINE

A WHAT? said Death in astonishment, sitting behind his ornate desk and turning his scythe-shaped paperknife over and over in his hands.
'An afternoon off,' repeated Mort. The room suddenly seemed to be oppressively big, with himself very exposed in the middle of a carpet about the size of a field.
BUT WHY? said Death. IT CAN'T BE TO ATTEND YOUR GRANDMOTHER'S FUNERAL, he added. I WOULD KNOW.

‘And he goes around killing people?' said Mort.
He shook his head. 'There's no justice.'
Death sighed. No, he said, handing his drink to a page who was surprised to find he was suddenly holding an empty glass, THERE'S JUST ME.

There were temples, their doors wide open, filling the streets with the sounds of gongs, cymbals and, in the case of some of the more conservative fundamentalist religions, the brief screams of the victims.

Death leaned over the saddle and looked down at
the kingdoms of the world.
I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, he said, BUT I COULD
MURDER A CURRY.

What's your name?'
DEATH.
'Dad—' said Mort urgently.
'Can't say I recognize the firm,' said Lezek.
‘Where are you based exactly?'
FROM THE UTTERMOST DEPTHS OF THE SEA TO THE HEIGHTS WHERE EVEN THE EAGLE MAY NOT GO, said Death.
'That's fair enough,' nodded Lezek.

In short, Mort was one of those people who are more dangerous than a bag full of rattlesnakes.
He was determined to discover the underlying logic behind the universe.
Which was going to be hard, because there wasn't one. The Creator had a lot of remarkably good ideas when he put the world together, but making it understandable hadn't been one of them.

A farmer who neglects to sow ordinary seeds only loses the crop, whereas anyone who forgets to sow seeds of a crop that has already been harvested twelve months before risks disturbing the entire fabric of causality, not to mention acute embarrassment.

‘Everyone who uses a computer frequently has had, from time to time, a mad desire to attack the precocious abacus with an axe.’

Good to see nothing’s changed since the 70s

“It is also hypergolic with such things as cloth, wood and test engineers.”

You have a gift, I have noticed, for impressive oratory.' And Vimes heard the gentle note of warning as he added, 'At this time, commander, and in this place.'
"That's sergeant-at-arms, thank you,' said Vimes. "For now.' He grabbed Carcer's shirt collar, and dragged him to justice.

'You're not going to kill me, Mister Vimes. Not you. Not you with a badge. That ain't your way, Mister Vimes.'
Without looking, Vimes reached up and tore his badge off.

‘His next stop was at Dr Lawn's house where he sat and spoke for a while, about such things as memory and how tricky it can be, and forgetfulness, and how profitable it could prove.’

The man's expression changed as Vimes approached. Vimes was speeding up, shoulder-charging and thrusting other bodies away.
Carcer raised his sword and took a stance, but there was no room for finesse in the mêlée and Vimes closed like a bull, knocking the sword up and grabbing Carcer by the throat.
'You're nicked, my ol' chum,' he said. And then it all went black.

I’ve just got the joke about the “Oblong Office” hahaha

A certain realization dawned on him.
'Oh,’ he said.
YES, said Death.
‘Not even time to finish my cake?'
NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

The dark figure lowered its sword, watched for a moment in the echoing silence, and then said: 'Boo.'
It reached out one gloved hand and gave the Patrician a push.
Winder went over backwards.
The Assassin held his bloodless sword at arm's length and let it drop on the floor beside the corpse. Then he turned and walked slowly back across the marble floor. He shut the double doors behind him, and the echoes died away.

'Who sent yer?'
'I come from the city,' said the figure, drawing a thin, silvery sword.
‘Who are yer?'
'Think of me as ... your future.'
The figure drew the sword back, but it was too late. Terror's own more subtle knife had done its work. Winder's face was crimson, his eyes were staring at nothing, and coming up from the throat, through the crumbs of cake, was a sound that merged a creak with a sigh.

‘This meant that while the Republicans were being starved of important things like government, banking services and salvation, they were self-sufficient in terms of humdrum, everyday things like food and drink.

People are content to wait a long time for salvation, but prefer dinner to turn up inside an hour.’

‘And when everyone’s running around in confusion a man who is firm of purpose can push his way up by sheer nerve. After all, Vines thought, I did.’

‘Now, sir, I'm just handcuffing you to this desk for a moment, sir, for your protection.'
'Who... who from?'
'Me. I'll kill you if you try to run away, sir.’

‘Unwarranted euphoria and misplaced confidence are international phenomena.’

‘First man that fires, I will personally cut that man down,' said Vimes. He didn't shout. It was a simple, confident statement of precisely what the future would hold.
Rust's expression did not change. He looked Vimes up and down.
‘Is this mutiny, then, sergeant?' said the captain.
'No. I'm not a soldier, sir. I can't mutiny.'

There was more whispering. He distinctly heard '—that's the sergeant from last night— and some sort of sotto voce argument.
Then a voice shouted, 'Death to the Fascist Oppressors!'
This time the argument was more frantic. He heard someone say 'oh, all right', and then 'Death to the Fascist Oppressors, Present Company Excepted! There, is everyone happy now?'

In addition, the convection currents of prudent cowardice were operating the ranks. There was a definite sideways component to each man’s progress as he sought to be in the middle.

‘I’ve been talking to people today who are going to die,' he said. ‘How do you think that makes me feel? Do you know what that feels like?'
The monks gave him a puzzled look.
'Er ... yes,' said Qu.
'We do,' said Sweeper. 'Everyone we talk to is going to die. Everyone you talk to is going to die. Everyone dies.'

‘But here's some advice, boy. Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come around again. That's why they're called revolutions. People die, and nothing changes.‘