Combien de gars se sont arrêtés de boire comme des trous à l'âge de vingt ans pour empêcher un inconnu de mourir d'une cirrhose à l'âge de quarante ?

Death paused, his hand on the spine of the book. And why do you think I directed you to the stables? think carefully, now.

Mort hesitated, he has been thinking carefully, in between counting wheelbarrows. He'd wondered if it had been to coordinate his hand and eye, or to teach him the habit of obedience, or bring home the human scale, of small tasks, or make him realize that even great men must start at the bottom.
None of these explanations seemed exactly right.
I think ... he began.
YES?
Well. I think it was because you were up to your knees in horseshit, to tell you the truth.

Death looked at him for a very long time.Mort shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
ABSOLUTELY CORRECT, snapped Death.Clarity of thought. Realistic approach. Very important in a job like ours.

Poets have tried to describe Ankh-Morpork. They have failed. Perhaps it's the sheer zestful vitality of the place, or maybe it's just that a city with a million inhabitants and no sewers is rather robust for poets, who prefer daffodils and no wonder. So let's just say that Ankh-Morpork is as full of life as an old cheese on a hot day, as loud as a curse in a cathedral, as bright as an oil slick, as colourful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound.

Qu'Est-ce que la mort? Un degré de plus dans le calme et deux peut-être dans le silence.

La mort est comme la naissance :
un passage vers un nouveau monde
dont nous ne pouvons rien imaginer.
C'est pourquoi elle nous effraie tant.

Le premier symbole où nous reconnaissons l'humanité dans ses vestiges est la sépulture, et le truchement de la mort se reconnaît en toute relation où l'homme vient à la vie de son histoire.