We're a dying race," said Kwartz sadly, as the party set off under the stars. "Young Jasper's the only pebble in our tribe. We suffer from philosophy, you know.

[Rincewind] drew his sword and, with a smooth overarm throw, completely failed to hit the troll.

Were you proposing to shoot these people in cold blood, sergeant?"
"Nossir. Just a warning shot inna head, sir.

And in a nasty war, where's the best place to be? Apart from on the moon, o' course? No one?"

Slowly, Jade raised a hand.

"Go on, then," said the sergeant.

"In the army, sarge," said the troll. "'cos..." She began to count on her fingers. "One, you got weapons an' armour an' dat. Two, you are surrounded by other armed men. Er... Many, youse gettin' paid and gettin' better grub than the people in Civilian Street. Er... Lots, if'n you gives up, you getting taken pris'ner and dere's rules about that like Not Kicking Pris'ners Inna Head and stuff, 'cos if you kick their pris'ners inna head they'll kick your pris'ners inna head so dat's, like, you're kickin' your own head, but dere's no rule say you can't kick enemy civilians inna head. There's other stuff too, but I ran outa numbers.

We are here and it is now. The way I see it is, after that, everything tends towards guesswork.

The trouble was that he was talking in philosophy but they were listening in gibberish.