Who really knew what evil lurked in the heart of men?
ME.
Who knew what sane men were capable of?
STILL ME, I’M AFRAID.
Vimes glanced at the door of the last room. No, he wasn’t going in there again. No wonder it stank here.
YOU CAN’T HEAR ME, CAN YOU? OH. I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT, said Death, and waited.
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"Sarge?"
"Yes, Corporal Ping?"
"Why're some of you wearing purple flowers, Sarge?"
There was a subtle change in the atmosphere, a suction of sound caused by many pairs of ears listening intently. All the officers in the room had stopped writing.
"I mean, I saw you and Reg and Nobby wearing 'em this time last year, and I wondered if we were all supposed to..." Ping faltered. Sergeant Colon's normally amiable eyes had narrowed and the message they were sending was: you're on thin ice, lad, and it's starting to creak...
"I mean, my landlady's got a garden and I could easily go and cut a--" Ping went on in an uncharacteristic attempt at suicide.
"You'd wear the lilac today would you?" said Colon quietly.
"I just meant that if you wanted me to I could go and--"
"Were you there?" said Colon, getting to his feet so fast that his chair fell over.
"Steady, Fred," murmured Nobby.
"I didn't mean..." Ping began. "I mean...was I where, Sarge?"
Colon leaned on the desk, bringing his round red face an inch away from Ping's nose.
"If you don't know where there was, you weren't there," he said in the same quiet voice.
Terry Pratchett, Night Watch
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Just some of my Discworld wear for The Glorious 25th of May.
The pins are from Discworld.com and the socks and necklace are from Discworld Emporium.
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It's the Glorious 25th of May ✊ Truth! Freedom! Justice! Reasonably Priced Love! And a Hard Boiled Egg!
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¡Feliz glorioso 25 me mayo!
Happy glorious 25th of May!
When dragons belch and hippos flee
My thoughts, Ankh-Morpork, are of thee ♫
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Happy Glorious 25th of May to those who celebrate (and I do also have my towel with me):
He handed Willikins the sprig of lilac. The butler took it without comment, inserted it into a little silver tube of water that would keep it fresh for hours, and fixed it onto one of the breastplate straps. “Time moves on, doesn’t it, Your Grace,” he said, dusting Vimes down with a small brush. Vimes took out his watch. “It certainly does. Look, I’ll drop in at the Yard on my way to the palace, sign what needs signing, and I’ll be back as soon as possible, all right?”
I saw it, a one off made by a local silversmith, and couldn’t resist
(Truth! Justice! Freedom! Reasonably Priced Love! And a Hard- Boiled Egg!)
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i am bad at plant identification, which is why i just found myself smiling wistfully at a buddleia until i remembered that it's july.
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"Now, this is a soldier's song, see? You don't look like soldiers but by the gods I'll see you sounds like 'em! You'll pick it up as we goes along! Right turn! March! 'All the little angels rise up, rise up, all the little angels rise up high!' Sing it, you sons of mothers!"
The marchers picked up the response from those who knew it.
"How do they rise up, rise up, rise up, how do they rise up, rise up high? They rise heads up, heads up, heads up--" sang out Dickens as they turned the corner.
Vimes listened as the refrain died away.
"That's a nice song," said young Sam, and Vimes realized that he was hearing it for the first time.
"It's an old soldier's song," he said.
"Really, Sarge? But it's about angels."
Yes, thought Vimes, and it's amazing what bits those angels cause to rise up as the song progresses. It's a real soldiers' song: sentimental, with dirty bits.
"As I recall, they used to sing it after battles," he said. "I've seen old men cry when they sing it," he added.
"Why? It sounds cheerful."
They were remembering who they were not singing it with, thought Vimes. You'll learn. I know you will.
Terry Pratchett, Night Watch
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