The Color of Magic (Discworld #1)

By Terry Pratchett; Published In 1983
Genres: Fantasy, Fiction, Humor
But in his experience it was only a matter of time before the normal balance of the universe restored itself and started doing the usual terrible things to him.

Don't you understand?" snarled Rincewind. "We are going over the Edge, godsdammit!"
"Can't we do anything about it?"
"No!"
"Then I can't see the sense in panicking," said Twoflower calmly.

Either dragons should exist completely or fail to exist at all, he felt. A dragon only half-existing was worse than the extremes.

Every intelligent being, whether it breathes or not, coughs nervously at some time in its life.

Everyone has gods. You just don't think they're gods.

Fate can be one mean god at times.

He talks pretty big for a gutter wizard," he muttered.
"You don't understand at all," said the wizard wearily. "I'm so scared of you my spine has turned to jelly, it's just that I'm suffering from an overdose of terror right now. I mean, when I've got over that then I'll have time to be decently frightened of you.

He thought about how it might be to be, say, a fox confronted with an angry sheep. A sheep moreover, that could afford to employ wolves.

If complete and utter chaos was lightning, then he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards!

If I were you, I'd sue my face for slander.

In an instant he became aware that the tourist was about to try his own peculiar brand of linguistics, which meant that he would speak loudly and slowly in his own language.

It is at this point that normal language gives up, and goes and has a drink.

It was all very well going on about pure logic and how the universe was ruled by logic and the harmony of numbers, but the plain fact of the matter was that the Disc was manifestly traversing space on the back of a giant turtle and the gods had a habit of going round to atheists' houses and smashing their windows.

It was octarine, the colour of magic. It was alive and glowing and vibrant and it was the undisputed pigment of the imagination, because wherever it appeared it was a sign that mere matter was a servant of the powers of the magical mind. It was enchantment itself.
But Rincewind always thought it looked a sort of greenish-purple.

I’ve seen excitement, and I’ve seen boredom. And boredom was best.

Magic never dies. It merely fades away.

My name is immaterial,' she said.
That's a pretty name,' said Rincewind.

No, what he didn't like about heroes was that they were usually suicidally gloomy when sober and homicidally insane when drunk.

Oh no, not -'
OF COURSE, WHAT'S SO BLOODY VEXING ABOUT THE WHOLE BUSINESS IS THAT I WAS EXPECTING TO MEET THEE IN PSEPHOPOLOLIS
'But that's five hundred miles away!'
YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME, THE WHOLE SYSTEM'S GOT SCREWED UP AGAIN, I CAN SEE THAT. LOOK, THERE'S NO CHANCE OF YOU-?
Rincewind backed away, hands spread protectively in front of him...
'Not a chance!'
I COULD LEND YOU A VERY FAST HORSE.
'No!'
IT WON'T HURT A BIT.
'No!' Rincewind turned and ran. Death watched him go, and shrugged bitterly.

On the Disc, the Gods aren't so much worshipped, as they are blamed.

On the Disc the gods dealt severely with atheists.

[Rincewind] drew his sword and, with a smooth overarm throw, completely failed to hit the troll.

Rincewind tried to force the memory out of his mind, but it was rather enjoying itself there, terrorizing the other occupants and kicking over the furniture.

Some pirates achieved immortality by great deeds of cruelty or derring-do. Some achieved immortality by amassing great wealth. But the captain had long ago decided that he would, on the whole, prefer to achieve immortality by not dying.

Sometimes I think a man could wander across the disc all his life and not see everything there is to see,' said Twoflower. 'And now it seems there are lots of other worlds as well. When I think I might die without seeing a hundredth of all there is to see it makes me feel,' he paused, then added, 'well, humble, I suppose. And very angry, of course.

That's what's so stupid about the whole magic thing, you know. You spend twenty years learning the spell that makes nude virgins appear in your bedroom, and then you're so poisoned by quicksilver fumes and half-blind from reading old grimoires that you can't remember what happens next.

They shed a rather unpleasant glow that didn't so much illuminate, as outline the darkness.

Twoflower was a tourist, the first ever seen on the discworld. Tourist, Rincewind had decided, meant 'idiot'.

We've strayed into a zone with a high magical index,' he said. 'Don't ask me how. Once upon a time a really powerful magic field must have been generated here, and we're feeling the after-effects.'

Precisely,' said a passing bush.

You can't map a sense of humor. Anyway, what is a fantasy map but a space beyond which There Be Dragons? On the Discworld we know that There Be Dragons Everywhere. They might not all have scales and forked tongues, but they Be Here all right, grinning and jostling and trying to sell you souvenirs.