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“She was, in fact, quite a pleasant looking girl, even if her bosom had clearly been intended for a girl two feet taller; but she was not Her. The Egregious Professor of Grammar and Usage would have corrected this to "she was not she," which would have caused the Professor of Logic to spit out his drink.”
― Terry Pratchett, Unseen Academicals

“It is a well-known established fact throughout the many-dimensional worlds of the multiverse that most really great discoveries are owed to one brief moment of inspiration. There's a lot of spadework first, of course, but what clinches the whole thing is the sight of, say, a falling apple or a boiling kettle or the water slipping over the edge of the bath. Something goes click inside the observer's head and then everything falls into place. The shape of DNA, it is popularly said, owes its discovery to the chance sight of a spiral staircase when the scientist=s mind was just at the right receptive temperature. Had he used the elevator, the whole science of genetics might have been a good deal different.

This is thought of as somehow wonderful. It isn't. It is tragic. Little particles of inspiration sleet through the universe all the time traveling through the densest matter in the same way that a neutrino passes through a candyfloss haystack, and most of them miss.

Even worse, most of the ones that hit the exact cerebral target, hit the wrong one.

For example, the weird dream about a lead doughnut on a mile-high gantry, which in the right mind would have been the catalyst for the invention of repressed-gravitational electricity generation (a cheap and inexhaustible and totally non-polluting form of power which the world in question had been seeking for centuries, and for the lack of which it was plunged into a terrible and pointless war) was in fact had by a small and bewildered duck.

By another stroke of bad luck, the sight of a herd of wild horses galloping through a field of wild hyacinths would have led a struggling composer to write the famous Flying God Suite, bringing succor and balm to the souls of millions, had he not been at home in bed with shingles. The inspiration thereby fell to a nearby frog, who was not in much of a position to make a startling contributing to the field of tone poetry.

Many civilizations have recognized this shocking waste and tried various methods to prevent it, most of them involving enjoyable but illegal attempts to tune the mind into the right wavelength by the use of exotic herbage or yeast products. It never works properly.”


― Terry Pratchett, Sourcery

"Archbishop James Usher (1580-1656) published Annales Veteris et Novi Testaments in 1654, which suggested that the Heaven and the Earth were created in 4004 B.C. One of his aides took the calculation further, and was able to announce triumphantly that the Earth was created on Sunday the 21st of October, 4004 B.C., at exactly 9:00 A.M., because God liked to get work done early in the morning while he was feeling fresh.

This too was incorrect. By almost a quarter of an hour.

The whole business with the fossilized dinosaur skeletons was a joke the paleontologists haven’t seen yet.

This proves two things:

Firstly, that God moves in extremely mysterious, not to say, circuitous ways. God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players, [ie., everybody.] to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won’t tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.

Secondly, the Earth’s a Libra."

—

Good Omens, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

Eldorion wrote:So I guess what you're saying is ... in ancient time, those feet did walk upon England's mountains green?

It is said that the gods play games with the lives of men. But what games, and why, and the identities of the actual pawns, and what the game is, and what the rules are–who knows?
Best not to speculate.
Thunder rolled…
It rolled a six.
- GUARDS, GUARDS!

Aries: “Welcome,” he said, shoving my hair hard, “to the butt room.”

Taurus: “No way,” I cried out orgasmically. “No way, no way, no way.”

Gemini: “When I woke up Christian Grey had somehow gotten an entire orange into my mouth.”

Cancer: “Say it,” he commanded. “Yankity Spankity.” “Louder.”

Leo: “He gently handcuffed me to the parking meter. “Bye.”

Virgo: “The helicopter was built for sex, I observed sexily. You could lie across the seats or recline them.”

Libra: “Christian Grey picked up the long black thing and started working my zone. It was bananas.”

Scorpio: “The sex feelings flooded my body like a charging herd of itty, bitty elephants. We’re talking small.”

Sagittarius: “Do I afraid you?” Christian Grey asked, licking his eyebrow.”

Capricorn: “It’s a Murphy Bed,” he explained. “Maybe one day we could leave it up and have sex in the walls.”

Aquarius: “Christian Grey mashed on my area with the meat of his hand. “Do you like that, you woman?”

Pisces: “Hey,” I asked “Didn’t you used to be a vampire?”