Feet of clay, Terry Pratchett

Rumour is information distilled so finely that it can filter through anything. It does not need doors and windows -sometimes it doesn't even need people. It can exist free and wild, running from ear to ear without ever touching lips.


They think they want good government and justice for all, yet what is it they really crave, deep in their hearts? Only that things go on as normal and tomorrow is pretty much like today.


Wasp don't complain too loudly when they're stung.


No one lived a completely blameless life. It might be just possible, by lying very still in a cellar somewhere, to get through a day without committing a crime. But only just. And, even then, you were probably guilty of loitering.


The real world was far too real to leave neat little hints. It was full of too many things. It wasn't by eliminating the impossible that you got at the truth, however improbable; it was by the much harder process of eliminating the possibilities. You worked away, patiently asking questions and looking hard at things. You walked and talked, and in your heart you just hoped like hell that some bugger's nerve'd crack and he'd give himself up.


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