The Wisdom of Terry Pratchett (Part II)

Where has the urge for me to write gone? I’m not sure. It’s not the urge to write anything, just the urge to write the important works that I want to write. They seem such labors at the moment. I think I need an actual job to propel me down a track, to take up so much of my day that I NEED to do what I WANT to do on the side.

I’ve come to discover that the world is full of people who don’t want to live their lives and people who desperately try to and are not allowed by the former people. That’s some wisdom I hope to hold onto. I’m interestingly trying to live my life like Granny Weatherwax. She’s from Pratchett, too.

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From Lords and Ladies

It happens all the time, everywhere in the multiverse, evn on cold planets awash with liquid methane. No one knows why it is, but in any group of employed individuals the only naturally early riser is always the office manager, who will always leave reproachful little notes (or, as it might be, engraved helium crystals) on the desks of their subordinates. In fact, the only place this does not happen very often is the world Zyrix, and this is only because Zyrix has eighteen suns and it is only possible to be an early riser there once every 1,789.6 years, but even then, once every 1,789.6 years, resonating to some strange universal signal, smallminded employers slither down to the office with a tentacle full of small reproachful etched frimpt shells at the ready.

The study of invisible writings was a new discipline made available by the discovery of the bi-directional nature of Library-Space. The thaumic mathematics are complex, but boil down to the fact that all books, everywhere, affect all other books. This is obvious: books inspire other books written in the future, and cite books written in the past. But the General Theory of L-Space suggests that, in that case, the contents of books as yet unwritten can be deduced from books now in existence.

Neurovore: One who lives on their nerves.

It was here that the thaum, hitherto believed to be the smallest possible particle of magic, was successfully demonstrated to be made up of resons, or reality fragments. Currently research indicates that each reson is itself made up of a combination of at least five “flavors” known as “up,” “down,” “sideways,” “sex appeal,” and “peppermint.”

Resons: “Thing” ies.

Entire agricultural economies have been based on the lifting power of little old ladies in black dresses.

bosky: having a lot of bosk.

Lancre was one of the biggest kingdoms. It could even afford a standing army. — Shawn Ogg. — Except when he was lying down.

The Librarian, an ape of simple but firmly held tastes, considered an episode with custard pies, buckets of whitewash, and especially that bit when someone takes someone else’s hat off, fills it with something oozy, and replaces it on the deadpan head while the orchestra plays “WHAH…Whah…whah….whaaaa…” to be an absolutely essential part of any theatrical performance. Since a roasted peanut is a dangerous and painful item when hurled with pinpoint accuracy, directors in Ankh-Morpork had long ago taken the hint. This made some of the grand guignol melodramas a little unusual, but it was considered that plays like “The Blood-Soaked Tragedy of the Mad Monk of Quirm (with Custard Pie Scene)” were far better than being deaf in one ear for five days.

“He’s just an old soppy really.” From the Nanny Ogg book of Cat-Sayings.

The shortest unit of time in the multiverse is the New York Second, defined as the period of time between the traffic lights turning green and the cab behind you honking.

The Monks of Cool, whose tiny and exclusive monastery is hidden in a really cool and laid-back valley in the lower Ramtops, have a passing-out test for a novice. He is taken into a room full of all types of clothing and asked: “Yo (Cool, but not necessarily up to date.) my son, which of these is the most stylish thing to wear? And the correct answer is: Hey, whatever I select.

When Hwel the playwright turned up with the rest of the troupe next day they told him all about it, and he wrote it down. But he left out all the bits that wouldn’t fit on a stage, or were too expensive, or which he didn’t believe. In any case, he called it “The Taming of the Vole,” because no one would be interested in a play called “Things that Happened on a Midsummer Night.”

And finally:

There are very few starts. Oh, some things seem to be beginnings. The curtain goes up, the first pawn moves, the first shot is shot, probably at the first pawn, but that’s not the start. Some theories about the ultimate start involve gods creating the universe out of the ribs, entrails, and testicles of their father. — Gods like a joke as much as anyone else.