A Quote by Terry Pratchett

His sister had been sent down to the village to ask Mistress Garlick the witch how you stopped spelling recommendation. — © Terry Pratchett
His sister had been sent down to the village to ask Mistress Garlick the witch how you stopped spelling recommendation.
I grew up believing my sister was from the planet Neptune and had been sent down to Earth to kill me.
He described how, as a boy of 14, his dad had been down the mining pit, his uncle had been down the pit, his brother had been down the pit, and of course he would go down the pit.
I grew up believing my sister was from the planet Neptune and had been sent down to Earth to kill me. I believed this because my sister Emily convinced me of it when I was a toddler. I think she'd seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers and her imagination ran away with her. There's a part of me that still believes it.
As I have said before, I never had any large respect for good spelling. That is my feeling yet. Before the spelling-book came with its arbitrary forms, men unconsciously revealed shades of their characters, and also added enlightening shades of expression to what they wrote by their spelling, and so it is possible that the spelling-book has been a doubtful benevolence to us.
I wish I had acted better. I wish I had been the kind of sister who was patient enough to show my brother the proper spelling for 'Power Rangers.'
But then, his revenge had been more direct. He’d hunted down the ones who’d killed his sister and nephew – those who’d survived his mother’s attack – and he’d made them wish they’d never been born with nerve endings.' (Acheron)
Jesse Jackson's in trouble. They're going after this tax thing. Jesse said he will amend his taxes to show the money that he paid to his mistress. See, he has just one mistress. Jesse uses the standard mistress deduction. As opposed to Clinton, who had to itemize.
Ogbuef Ezedudu,who was the oldest man in the village, was telling two other men when they came to visit him that the punishment for breaking the Peace of Ani had become very mild in their clan. "It has not always been so," he said. "My father told me that he had been told that in the past a man who broke the peace was dragged on the ground through the village until he died. but after a while this custom was stopped because it spoiled the peace which it was meant to preserve.
Nanny Ogg knew how to start spelling 'banana', but didn't know how you stopped.
Why was it that the instant you sent someone a check, no matter how worthy the organization, the first thing they did was ask you for more? Irritating, and a waste of the money she had just sent them.
I was sent down to Cuba. Everything had been prepared with the help of Congressman Johnson and his staff.
By the end of Pop's life I wanted to give something back and when I came on board as his musical director he needed me. I wasn't the greatest conductor of the orchestra, but I was hired to conduct Frank Sinatra. He was slowing down, his memory wasn't what it had been. But his audience never stopped loving him. He had teleprompters.
In my time,” he said, “they believed in witches. Are you a witch, Honor, that you make me say these things to you?” Causing him to rip open wounds that had stayed safely scabbed over for so long that, most of the time, he managed to forget they existed. Her hands, so very, very gentle, continued to hold his face as she tugged him down until their foreheads touched. “I’m no witch, Dmitri. If I was, I’d know how to fix you.
And then there was Tick. Brave little Tick, who had flown into the faces of an army of rats to save his baby sister. Tick - who never spoke much. Tick - who shared her food. Tick - who was after all just a roach. Just a roach who had given all the time she had left so that Boots could have more. Gregor pressed Boots's fingers against his lips and felt scalding tears begin to slide down his cheeks. He hadn't cried, not the whole time he'd been down here, and there had been plenty of bad stuff. But somehow Tick's sacrifice had crushed whatever thin shell remained between him and sorrow.
Got your text,” he said when I climbed out. “How much did it hurt?” “Not at all,” I said. “Apparently, I can’t get a tattoo because I’m a witch.” “I could have told them-” He stopped. “Oh, you said witch.” “Ha-ha.
A simple woman down in Tyngsborough, at whose house I once stopped to get a draught of water, when I said, recognizing the bucket, that I had stopped there nine years before for the same purpose, asked if I was not a traveler, supposing that I had been traveling ever since, and had now come round again.
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