The Ramtops are full of deep valleys and unexp…

The Ramtops are full of deep valleys and unexpected crags and considerably more geography than they know what to do with. They have their own peculiar weather, full of shrapnel rain and whiplash winds and permanent thunderstorms. Some people say it’s all because the Ramtops are the home of old, wild magic. Mind you, some people will say anything.


“Unfinished stories,” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” said the golem calmly. “You Talked About Them At Length, Sir.”
“I did?”
“Yes, Sir. You Said–”
–that every undelivered message is a piece of space-time that lacks another end, a little bundle of effort and emotion floating freely. Pack millions of them together and they do what letters are meant to do. They communicate, and change the nature of events. When there’s enough of them, they distort the universe around them.

– on unfinished stories | Terry Pratchett, Going Postal


Moist von Lipwig? it wrote.
“Er… yes?”
You are the Postmaster!
“Look, I’m not the One you’re looking for!”
Moist von Lipwig, at a time like this any One will do!
“But… but… I am not worthy!”
Acquire worth with speed, Moist von Lipwig! Bring back the light! Open the doors! Stay not the messengers about their business!
Moist looked down at the golden light coming up from around his feet. It sparkled off his fingertips and began to fill him up from inside, like fin wine. HE felt his feet leave the dais as the words lifted him up and spun him gently.
In the beginning was a Word, but what is a word without its messenger, Moist von Lipwig? You ARE the Postmaster!
“I am the Postmaster!” Moist shouted.

– on the Postmaster |
Terry Pratchett, Going Postal


Moist prepared to lower the hat, but as he did so he was aware that the old postmen were drawing back.
“You’re not sure!” he yelled, waving a finger. “You’re not actually sure, are you! All of you! You’re thinking, hmm, maybe this time it will work, right? You’re holding your breath! I can tell! Hope is a terrible thing, gentlemen!”

– on the greatest of all treasures, which is Hope |
Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

morganeveningstar: @anguawolf, shall we pray? …


@anguawolf, shall we pray? Hail Anoia, full of grace. Our drawers beseech thee! *rattle rattle* 

@aeshnacyanea2000, I knew there was a 2nd person I wanted to tag, but couldn’t remember who until I saw your latest quote posting 🙂


“You put that hat on, Mr. Lipwig!” said Groat. “It’s fate, that turning up like this. You just put it on and see what happens!”
“Well, if everyone’s happy about it…” Moist mumbled. He held the hat above his head, but hesitated.
“Nothing is going to happen, is it?” he said. “Only I’ve had a very strange day…”
“No, nothing’s going to happen,” said the Worshipful Master. “It never does. Oh, we all thought it would, once. Every time someone said they’d put the chandeliers back or deliver the mail, we thought, maybe it’ sended, maybe it really is going to work this time. And young Tolliver there, you made him happy when you put the sign back. Got him excited. Made him think it’d work this time. It never does, though, ‘cos this place is curséd.”
“That’s cursed with an extra ed?”
“Yes, sir. The worst kind.”


| Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

what if people we consider collectors today we…


“I am a dragon. And this is my hoard.”

“You… don’t look like a dragon.”

“Well, hardly anyone does, these days. Times have changed, we have too. The scales and tails thing worked with the dinosaurs, but we learned quite quickly that… that wasn’t going to fly with you people.”

“You were around all the way back to the dinosaurs?”

“Well, not like… me personally. How old do you think I am?”

“… There’s no safe answer to that.”


“So… when you say this is your hoard…?”

“All dragons have them. Some stick to the old gold and jewels thing, but that’s so cliche these days. Most of us like our hoards to be a little bit more sophisticated than ‘shiny.’“

“Like what?”

“I have known dragons to collect snowflakes from the first fall of the year over dozens of centuries. I know dragons that collect petals of flowers left on the graves of loved ones. Dragons that keep and care for soft toys and comfort items, left behind as children grow up. Dragons that guard happy memories and shards of sunlight, kept safe for rainy days. And me, I keep a sanctuary of words. A bastion of language, of poetry. Of written music and achingly beautiful prose. I am the Guardian of this monument to linguistic majesty. I collect stories of love and life and death and mourning and joy. There is nothing more beautiful in all the world, no coin or gem or sliver of starlight more fantastic than a well-told tale. A story is this world’s truest treasure, and what better chest for it than a book?”

“Wow. So these things… really mean a lot to you, huh?”

“More than anything in this world.”

“So… I probably can’t borrow your copies of Discworld, can I?”

“You absolutely fucking cannot.”


Mr. Pump entered, carrying a large box. It should be quite hard to open a big pair of doors while carrying something in both hands, but not if you’re a golem. They just walk at them. The doors can choose to open or try to stay shut, it’s up to them.

we saw a similar choice earlier |
Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

The whole point of the wish business was to se…

The whole point of the wish business was to see to it that what the client got was exactly what he asked for and exactly what he didn’t really want.

No enemies had ever taken Ankh-Morpork. Well t…

No enemies had ever taken Ankh-Morpork. Well technically they had, quite often; the city welcomed free-spending barbarian invaders, but somehow the puzzled raiders found, after a few days, that they didn’t own their horses any more, and within a couple of months they were just another minority group with its own graffiti and food shops.