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Dedication |
Thanks to Neil Gaiman, who loaned us the last surviving copy of the Liber Paginarium Fulvarum, and a big hallo to all the kids at the H.P. Lovecraft Holiday Fun Club.
I would like it to be clearly understood that this book is not wacky. Only dumb redheads in Fifties' sitcoms are wacky.
No, it's not zany either. | |
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This is a story about magic and where it goes and perhaps more importantly where it comes from and why, although it doesn't pretend to answer all or any of these questions. | |
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They both savoured the strange warm glow of being much more ignorant than ordinary people, who were only ignorant of ordinary things.
For animals, the entire universe has been neatly divided into things to (a) mate with, (b) eat, (c) run away from, and (d) rocks. Esk, of course had not been trained, and it is well known that a vital ingredient of success is not knowing that what you are attempting can't be done. A person ignorant of the possibility of failure can be a half-brick in the path of the bicycle of history.
... she was already learning that if you ignore the rules people will, half the time, quietly rewrite them so that they don't apply to you. It has already been revealed that light on the Discworld travels slowly, the result of its passage through the Disc’s vast and ancient magical field. So dawn isn’t the sudden affair that it is on other worlds. The new day doesn’t erupt, it sort of sloshes gently across the sleeping landscape in the same way that the tide sneaks in across the beach, melting the sand castles of the night. It tends to flow around mountains. If the trees are close together it comes out of woods cut to ribbons and sliced with shadows. On the horizon were low hills, eroded not by wind or rain in this weather-less place, but by the soft sandpaper of Time itself. “Aye tell you, girl, a white magician is just a black magician with a good housekeeper.” – Mrs. Whitlow Fossils were well known on the Discworld, great spiraled shells and badly constructed creatures that were left over from the time when the Creator hadn’t really decided what He wanted to make and was, as it were, just idly messing around with the Pleistocene. One thing the water couldn’t do was gurgle out of the ornamental gargoyles ranged across the roof. This was because the gargoyles wandered off and sheltered in the attics at the first sign of rain. They held that just because you were ugly didn’t mean you were stupid. The frills were getting to her, they gave pink a bad name. | |
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