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276 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 1988
Sorry. I don’t know why, but the prospect of certain death in unknown lands at the claws of exotic monsters isn’t for me. I’ve tried it, and couldn’t get the hang of it. Each to their own, that’s what I say, and I was cut out for boredom.
‘Rincewind, I’ve known you for an hour and I’m astonished you’ve lived even that long!’
‘Yes, but I have, haven’t I? I’ve got a sort of talent for it. Ask anyone. I’m an addict.’
‘Addicted to what?’
‘Life. I got hooked on it at an early age and I don’t want to give it up...’
“There was a man and he had eight sons. Apart from that, he was nothing more than a comma on the page of History. It's sad, but that's all you can say about some people.”
“It's vital to remember who you really are. It's very important. It isn't a good idea to rely on other people or things to do it for you, you see. They always get it wrong.”
Hay ochenta niveles de hechicería en el Disco; tras dieciséis años de práctica, Rincewind no había llegado ni al primero. De hecho, si tenemos en cuenta la opinión de algunos de sus tutores, es incapaz hasta de llegar al nivel cero, que es con el que nace la mayor parte de la gente. Por decirlo de otra manera, alguien llegó a sugerir que, cuando Rincewind muriera, el potencial mágico de la raza humana subiría un poquito.