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Wizards, when faced with danger, would immediately stop and argue amongst themselves about exactly what kind of danger it was. By the time everyone in the party understood, either it had become the sort of danger where your options are so very, very clear that you instantly take one of them or die, or it had got bored and gone away. Every danger has its pride.

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Rincewind had always been happy to think of himself as a racist. The One Hundred Meters, the Mile, the Marathon - he'd run them all. Later, when he learned with some surprise what the word actually meant, he'd been equally certain he wasn't one. He was a person who divided the world quite simply into people who were trying to kill him and people who weren't. That didn't leave much room for fine details like what colour anyone was.

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Creators aren’t gods. They make places, which is quite hard. It’s men that make gods. This explains a lot.

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