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

It was lonely on the hill, and cold. And all you could do was keep going. You could scream, cry, and stamp your feet, but apart from making you feel warmer, it wouldn’t do any good. You could say it was unfair, and that was true, but the universe didn’t care because it didn’t know what “fair” meant. That was the big problem about being a witch. It was up to you. It was always up to you.

The duke had a mind that ticked like a clock and, like a clock, it regularly went cuckoo.

The figures looked more or less human. And they were engaged in religion. You could tell by the knives (it's not murder if you do it for a god).