Quote

But that was just it - hate was exactly the right word. Hate is a force of attraction. Hate is just love with its back turned.

Terry Pratchett

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Terry Pratchett
Age: 66 †
Born: 1948
Born: April 28
Died: 2015
Died: March 12
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Beaconsfield
Buckinghamshire
Terence David John Terry Pratchett
Terence David John Pratchett
Sir Terry Pratchett
Sir Terence David John Pratchett
Hate
Back
Right
Love
Attraction
Turned
Exactly
Word
Force

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Everywhere's been where it is ever since it was first put there. It's called geography.
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Stand before your god, bow before your king, kneel before your man.
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TV people in the UK... I'm getting on a lot better with them.
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The ideal death, I think, is what was the ideal Victorian death, you know, with your grandchildren around you, a bit of sobbing. And you say goodbye to your loved ones, making certain that one of them has been left behind to look after the shop.
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I'd rather be a rising ape than a falling angel.
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Just because something is a metaphor doesn't mean it can't be real.
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The 'New Testament', now, I quite liked. Jesus had a lot of good things to say, and as for his father, he must have been highly thought of by the community to work with wood - a material that couldn't have been widely available in Palestine.
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Nac Mac Feegle! The Wee Free Men! Nae king! Nae quin! Nae laird! Nae master! We willna' be fooled again!
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I don't think a baker reads an awful lot about bread.
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It is often said that before you die your life passes before your eyes. It is in fact true. It's called living.
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I never said nothing... I know you never! I could hear you not saying anything! You've got the loudest silences I ever did hear from anyone who wasn't dead!
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SOONER OR LATER ALL MEN MUST DIE. EVERYTHING DIES IN THE END. I CAN BE ROBBED BUT NEVER DENIED, I TOLD MYSELF. WHY WORRY? “I too cannot be cheated,” snapped Fate.
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One of the things forgotten about the human spirit is that while it is, in the right conditions, noble and brave and wonderful, it is also, when you get right down to it, only human.
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The singers all loathe the sight of one another, the chorus despises the singers, they both hate the orchestra, and everyone fears the conductor the staff on one prompt side won't talk to the staff on the opposite prompt side, the dancers are all crazed from hunger in any case.
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She'd become a governess. It was one of the few jobs a known lady could do. And she'd taken to it well. She'd sworn that if she did indeed ever find herself dancing on rooftops with chimney sweeps she'd beat herself to death with her own umbrella.
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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.
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I stroll along, talk, I sign books, people buy me drinks, I forget where my hotel is, I get lost and fall into some local body of water... done it hundreds of times.
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What's the good of having mastery over cosmic balance and knowing the secrets of fate if you can't blow something up?
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People who are rather more than six feet tall and nearly as broad across the shoulders often have uneventful journeys. People jump out at them from behind rocks then say things like, Oh. Sorry. I thought you were someone else.
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