I Don't Know How Terry Managed It. There's Just Nothing On This Earth Like A Discworld Book. I'll Be

I don't know how Terry managed it. There's just nothing on this earth like a Discworld book. I'll be listening to a book I've read countless times over and suddenly, a single line I've never even really noticed before will tear me open. They just reach right inside me and open my ribcage to expose my very heart.

Tonight, it was Hat Full of Sky and Granny Weatherwax saying, "The world is unfair. Be grateful you have friends." On their own, the words are unremarkable. But juxtaposed together, with the context they are operating in....they had tears flowing down my face before I knew what was happening. The world is unfair; sometimes, the wonderful happens when it shouldn't (and/or when you feel you deserve a divinely wrathful torment) because you have friends. The world is unfair. That doesn't just mean that the horrible happens when it shouldn't. It means that the beautiful does too. Be grateful you have friends. They are the hub on which that beauty spins, turning the theft into gold.

A lot of people I've introduced to these books haven't liked them — they find them too silly, or preachy, or nonsensical, or even puerile. I am never upset or really disappointed when they don't like them. To each their own. But I will never understand it. They are baked into my being in a way that few things are and I am better to myself, to other people, and to the world because of it.

Sir Terry, you were a gift nonpareil. Thank you for your words and for shaping my world.

i LOOOOVE one esk being SO petty. you're sticking up for lieutenant awn? you get eleven millimeters of tea in your nearly full cup 😊😌 you over there are badmouthing lieutenant awn? you can wave your empty tea bowl all you want 😤😠

And a hard-boiled egg!🌟

Platonic soulmates :’)

my favorite thing about Corporal Carrot is that he’s a romantic hero plopped right in the middle of the greediest cesspit of a chaotic neutral city ever to debase the pages of literature, and yet instead of having his shining idealism destroyed by an uncaring reality, he makes reality embarrassedly put down the weapons and agree to make nice, and then mutter an awkward “Good morning” whenever it passes him on the street.

how jingo went

close ups on his face, bc i like when hes holding on by a thread