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

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.

You want fantasy? Here's one... There's this species that lives on a planet a few miles above molten rock and a few miles below a vacuum that'd suck the air right out of them. They live in a brief geological period between ice ages, when giant asteroids have temporarily stopped smacking into the surface. As far as they can tell, there's nowhere else in the universe where they could stay alive for ten seconds.
And what do they call their fragile little slice of space and time? They call it real life.

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

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.

If I were you, I'd sue my face for slander.