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Fun Fact
Kazakhstan’s Minister of Communications and Informatics has blocked the Tumblr site because it contained 60 sites of terrorism, extremism, and pornography in 2015.
There are thousands of good reasons why magic doesn't rule the world. They're called witches and wizards, Magrat reflected, as she followed the other two back to the road.
It was probably some wonderful organisation on the part of Nature to protect itself. It saw to it that everyone with any magical talent was about as ready to cooperate as a she-bear with a toothache, so all that dangerous power was safely dissipated as random bickering and rivalry. There were differences in style, of course. Wizards assassinated each other in draughty corridors, witches just cut one another dead in the street. And they were all as self-centered as a spinning top. Even when they help other people, she thought, they're secretly doing it for themselves. Honestly, they're just like big children.
Terry Pratchett, Wyrd Sisters (via Magrat Garlick)
............
this was just so funny to me. I like that Pratchett never fails to emphasize that these social classes of characters aren't inherently good nor bad. They have their flaws and different ways of dealing with each other and the world. It's very human and therefore very grounding and entertaining.
Granny Weatherwax was the strongest witch in the Discworld books. When Sir Terry Pratchett found out he was dying, he needed to say goodbye to his fans. He did that through the passing of the beloved character of Granny Weatherwax in “The Shepherd’s Crown”
Even though when he was already gone when I started reading the discworld books, it was still very heartbreaking. She also kept bees as part of her specialty and after she passed, her protégé had to tell the bees. I’ve always felt like us the readers were Sir Terry’s bees.
The wind howled. Lightning stabbed at the earth erratically, like an inefficient assassin. Thunder rolled back and forth across the dark, rain-lashed hills.
The night was as black as the inside of a cat. It was the kind of night, you could believe, on which gods moved men as though they were pawns on the chessboard of fate. In the middle of this elemental storm a fire gleamed among the dripping furze bushes like the madness in a weasel's eye. It illuminated three hunched figures. As the cauldron bubbled an eldritch voice shrieked: “When shall we three meet again?”
There was a pause.
Finally another voice said, in far more ordinary tones: “Well, I can do next Tuesday.”
I think if all those Edgar Allan Poe characters who got buried alive had just hung a sign around their neck that said “I ATEN’T DEAD” all their problems would have been solved smh
Magrat being a Tumblr Fangirl for loving a pathetic (affectionate) Fool (job title, former) who sleeps on the floor, even when he's the King (job title, current)