Nanny Ogg Quotes

Nanny Ogg looked under her bed in case there was a man there. Well, you never knew your luck.

Nanny Ogg knew how to start spelling 'banana', but didn't know how you stopped.

I don't hold with paddlin' with the occult," said Granny firmly. "Once you start paddlin' with the occult you start believing in spirits, and when you start believing in spirits you start believing in demons, and then before you know where you are you're believing in gods. And then you're in trouble." "But all them things exist," said Nanny Ogg. "That's no call to go around believing in them. It only encourages 'em.

It wasn't that Nanny Ogg sang badly. It was just that she could hit notes which, when amplified by a tin bath half full of water, ceased to be sound and became some sort of invasive presence.

Nanny Ogg never did any housework herself, but she was the cause of housework in other people.

Oh, we're always all right. You remember that. We happen to other people. -Nanny Ogg

Don't do anything I wouldn't do, if you ever find anything I wouldn't do.

Nanny Ogg usually went to bed early. After all, she was an old lady. Sometimes she went to bed as early as 6 a.m.

Nanny Ogg could see the future in the froth on a beer mug. It invariably showed that she was going to enjoy a refreshing drink which she almost certainly was not going to pay for.

Walter Plinge said: "You know she asked me a very silly question Mrs Ogg! It was a silly question any fool knows the answer!" "Oh, yes," said Nanny. "About houses on fire, I expect..." "Yes! What would I take out of our house if it was on fire!" "I expect you were a good boy and said you'd take your mum," said Nanny. "No! My mum would take herself!" "What would you take out then, Walter?" Nanny said. "The fire!

Nanny Ogg was an attractive lady, which is not the same as being beautiful. She fascinated Casanunda. She was an incredibly comfortable person to be around, partly because she had a mind so broad it could accommodate three football fields and a bowling alley.

When you break rules, break 'em good and hard.

Divers alarums and excursions', she read, uncertainly. 'That means lots of terrible happenings, said Magrat. 'You always put that in plays.' Alarums and what?', said Nanny Ogg, who hadn't been listening. Excursions', said Magrat patienly. Oh.' Nanny Ogg brightened a bit. 'The seaside would be nice,' she said. Oh do shut up, Gytha,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'They're not for you. They're only for divers, like it says. Probably so they can recover from all them alarums.

What some people need," said Magrat, to the world in general, "is a bit more heart." "What some people need," said Granny Weatherwax, to the stormy sky, "is a lot more brain." Then she clutched at her hat to stop the wind from blowing it off. What I need, thought Nanny Ogg fervently, is a drink.

Nanny Ogg gave this the same consideration as would a nuclear physicist who'd just been told that someone was banging two bits of sub-critical uranium together to keep warm.

I did start out in witchcraft to get boys, to tell you the truth.' 'Think I don't know that?' 'What did you start out to get, Esme?' Granny stopped, and looked up at the frosty sky and then down at the ground. 'Dunno,' she said at last.'Even, I suppose.

I heard this story once," she said, "where this bloke got locked up for years and years and he learned amazin' stuff about the universe and everythin' from another prisoner who was incredibly clever, and then he escaped and got his revenge." "What incredibly clever stuff do you know about the universe, Gytha Ogg?" said Granny. "Bugger all," said Nanny cheerfully. "Then we'd better bloody well escape right now.

But all them things exist," said Nanny Ogg. "That's no call to go around believing in them. It only encourages 'em.

Very well. My name is WxrtHltl-jwlpklz,” said the demon smugly. “Where were you when the vowels were handed out? Behind the door?” said Nanny Ogg.

Nanny Ogg scowled and said, "Granny never said as she was better than others. She just got on with it and showed 'em and people worked it out for themselves.

To Tiffany's surprise, Nanny Ogg was weeping gently. Nanny took another swig from her flagon and wiped her eyes. 'Cryin' helps sometimes,' she said. 'No shame in tears for them as you've loved. Sometimes I remember one of my husbands and shed a tear or two. The memories're there to be treasured, and it's no good to get morbid-like about it.

Nanny Ogg appreciated fine wine in her very own way. It would never have occurred to Casanunda that anyone would top up white wine with port merely because she'd reached the end of the bottle.

Nanny Ogg was about to say: What? You mean not compliant and self-effacing like what you is, Esme? But she stopped herself. You didn't juggle matches in a fireworks factory.

Repent!’” Nanny Ogg went on. “Repent? Me? Cheek! I can’t start repenting at my time of life. I’d never get any work done. Anyway,” she added, “I ain’t sorry for most of it.

This ain’t right, you know. She’s the one who ought to rule, fair enough. And you used magic to help her this far, and that’s all right. But it stops right here. It’s up to her what happens next. You can’t make things right by magic. You can only stop making them wrong.” Mrs. Gogol pulled herself up to her full, impressive height. “Who’s you to say what I can and can’t do here?” “We’re her godmothers,” said Granny. “That’s right,” said Nanny Ogg. “We’ve got a wand, too,” said Magrat. “But you hate godmothers, Mistress Weatherwax,” said Mrs. Gogol. “We’re the other kind,” said Granny. “We’re the kind that gives people what they know they really need, not what we think they ought to want.

It was central to Nanny Ogg's soul that she never considered herself an old woman, while of course availing herself of every advantage that other people's perceptions of her as such would bring.

...she was definitely feeling several twinkles short of a glitter...

There was a wicked ole witch once called Black Aliss. She was an unholy terror. There's never been one worse or more powerful. Until now. Because I could spit in her eye and steal her teeth, see. Because she didn't know Right from Wrong, so she got all twisted up, and that was the end of her. "The trouble is, you see, that if you do know Right from Wrong, you can't choose Wrong. You just can't do it and live. So.. if I was a bad witch I could make Mister Salzella's muscles turn against his bones and break them where he stood... if I was bad. I could do things inside his head, change the shape he thinks he is, and he'd be down on what had been his knees and begging to be turned into a frog... if I was bad. I could leave him with a mind like a scrambled egg, listening to colors and hearing smells...if I was bad. Oh yes." There was another sigh, deeper and more heartfelt. "But I can't do none of that stuff. That wouldn't be Right." She gave a deprecating little chuckle. And if Nanny Ogg had been listening, she would have resolved as follows: that no maddened cackle from Black Aliss of infamous memory, no evil little giggle from some crazed Vampyre whose morals were worse than his spelling, no side-splitting guffaw from the most inventive torturer, was quite so unnerving as a happy little chuckle from a Granny Weatherwax about to do what's best.

I wouldn't say I'm the best," she said, "but I can't think of anyone better, I have to say.

Gytha Ogg, you wouldn’t be a witch if you couldn’t jump to conclusions, right?” Nanny nodded. “Oh, yes.” There was no shame in it. Sometimes there wasn’t time to do anything else but take a flying leap. Sometimes you had to trust to experience and intuition and general awareness and take a running jump. Nanny herself could clear quite a tall conclusion from a standing start.

Typical artist,' said Granny. 'He just painted the showy stuff in the front... And what about these cherubs? We're not going to get them too, are we? I don't like to see little babies flying through the air.' 'They turn up in a lot of old paintings,' said Nanny Ogg. 'They put them in to show it's Art and not just naughty pictures of ladies with not many clothes on.' 'Well, they're not fooling ME,' said Granny Weatherwax.

Bugger off sweetheart Nanny's busy

Magrat liked to think she was good with children, and worried that she wasn’t. She didn’t like them very much, and worried about this too. Nanny Ogg seemed to be effortlessly good with children by alternately and randomly giving them either a sweet or a thick ear, while Granny Weatherwax ignored them for most of the time and that seemed to work just as well.

No,' she said. 'No, I don't reckon that's what I do now. Are you watchin', Mrs Gogol? Are you watchin' real close?' Her gaze travelled the room and rested for just a fraction of a second on Magrat. Then she reached over, carefully, and thrust her arm up to the elbow into the burning torch. And the doll in Erzulie Gogol's hands burst into flame. It went on blazing even after the witch had screamed and dropped it on to the floor. It went on burning until Nanny Ogg ambled over with a jug of fruit juice from the buffet, whistling between her teeth, and put it out. Granny withdrew her hand. It was unscathed.

Nanny Ogg was basically a law-abiding person when she had no reason to break the law, and therefore had that kind of person’s attitude to law-enforcement officers, which was one of deep and permanent distrust.

Nanny Ogg was sitting in a chair by the fire with a quart mug in one hand, and was conducting the reprise with a cigar. She grinned when she saw Granny’s face. “What ho, my old boiler,” she screeched above the din. “See you turned up, then. Have a drink. Have two. Wotcher, Magrat. Pull up a chair and call the cat a bastard.

Castles, in Nanny Ogg’s experience, were like swans. They looked as if they were drifting regally through the waters of Time, but in fact there was a hell of a lot of activity going on underneath.

Ah…it says here that she was, I mean is, fairer than all the stars in heaven….” They all looked at Tiffany. “You could try doing something with your hair,” said Nanny Ogg after a while. “Like what?” said Tiffany. “Like anything, really.

Look,” said Magrat desperately, “why don’t I go by myself?” “’Cos you ain’t experienced at fairy godmothering,” said Granny Weatherwax. This was too much even for Magrat’s generous soul. “Well, nor are you,” she said. “That’s true,” Granny conceded. “But the point is…the point is…the point is we’ve not been experienced for a lot longer than you.” “We’ve got a lot of experience of not having any experience,” said Nanny Ogg happily. “That’s what counts every time,” said Granny.

Nanny Ogg was sitting out in her back garden in the no-nonsense way of old ladies everywhere, legs wide apart for the healthy circulation of air.

Nanny Ogg had a pragmatic attitude to the truth; she told it if it was convenient and she couldn’t be bothered to make up something more interesting.

Nanny Ogg never did any housework herself, but she was the cause of housework

Nanny Ogg and Magrat came up onto the roof like avenging angels after a period of lax celestial quality control.

She's a queen. That's pretty high,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Almost as high as witches.

You never know until you look, said Nanny Ogg, expounding her own Uncertainty Principle.

Then Magrat, who in Nanny Ogg’s opinion had an innocent talent for treading on dangerous ground, said: “I wonder if we did the right thing? I’m sure it was a job for a handsome prince.” “Hah!” said Granny, who was riding ahead. “And what good would that be? Cutting your way through a bit of bramble is how you can tell he’s going to be a good husband, is it? That’s fairy godmotherly thinking, that is! Goin’ around inflicting happy endings on people whether they wants them or not, eh?

When Geoffrey was away, the goat often took himself off. He had soon got the goats at Granny’s cottage doing his bidding, and Nanny Ogg said once that she had seen what she called ‘that devil goat’ sitting in the middle of a circle of feral goats up in the hills. She named him ‘The Mince of Darkness’ because of his small and twinkling hooves, and added, ‘Not that I don’t like him, stinky as he is. I’ve always been one for the horns, as you might say. Goats is clever. Sheep ain’t. No offence, my dear.

Walter's face was an agony of indecision but, erratic though his thinking might have been, it was no match for Nanny Ogg's meretricious duplicity. He was up against a mind that regarded truth as a reference point but certainly not as a shackle. Nanny Ogg could think her way through a corkscrew in a tornado without touching the sides.

Anyone with interesting gossip.* *I always say: if you haven't got anything good to say about anyone, say it to me.

It is a truth self evident that a man in possession of his own teeth, a decent pair of boots, a couple of acres of land and some pigs that need feeding must be in want of a wife.

It reached the boat. Long clammy fingers grabbed the side, and a lugubrious face rose level with Nanny Ogg’s. ‘’ullo,’ it said. ‘It’sss my birthday.

Lancre's only other singer of note was Nanny Ogg, whose attitude to songs was purely ballistic. You just pointed your voice at the end of the verse and went for it.

Three witches?” said Granny. “Well, no reason why not. The maiden, the mother and the—” “Go carefully,” Nanny Ogg warned.

it was no match for Nanny Ogg’s meretricious duplicity. He was up against a mind that regarded truth as a reference point but certainly not as a shackle.

On no account take hold of a wizard's staff unless he asks you to; there are many bewildered amphibians and other crawin' things in the world today who could have benefited from this advice.

Nanny Ogg was more sympathetic but had a tendency to come out with what Magrat thought of as double-intenders, although in Nanny Ogg’s case they were generally single entendres and proud of it.

Er, excuse me,' said the man as Nanny Ogg turned away, 'but what is that on your shoulders?' 'It's. . . a fur collar,' said Nanny. 'Excuse me, but I just saw it flick its tail.' 'Yes. I happen to believe in beauty without cruelty.

A witch couldn’t help being some kind of expert as to the ways people came into the world; by the time she was twelve, the older witches had trusted her to go out to a birth by herself. Besides, she had helped lambs to be born, even when she was quite small. It came naturally, as Nanny Ogg said, although not as naturally as you might think. She remembered Mr. and Mrs. Hamper, quite a decent couple who had three children in a row before they worked out what was causing it.

Granny Weatherwax personally disliked young Pewsey. She disliked all small children, which is why she got on with them so well. In Pewsey's case, she felt that no one should be allowed to wander around in just a vest even if they were four years old. And the child had a permanently runny nose and ought to be provided with a handkerchief or, failing that, a cork. Nanny Ogg, on the other hand, was instant putty in the hands of any grandchild, even one as sticky as Pewsey "Want sweetie," growled Pewsey, in that curiously deep voice some young children have. "Just in a moment, my duck, I'm talking to the lady," Nanny Ogg fluted. "Want sweetie now." "Bugger off, my precious, Nana's busy right this minute." Pewsey pulled hard on Nanny Ogg's skirts. "Now sweetie now!" Granny Weatherwax leaned down until her impressive nose was about level with Pewsey's gushing one. "If you don't go away," she said gravely, "I will personally rip your head off and fill it with snakes." "There!" said Nanny Ogg. "There's lots of poor children in Klatch that'd be grateful for a curse like that." Pewsey's little face, after a second or two of uncertainty, split into a pumpkin grin. "Funny lady," he said.

Here, how did you get out of the castle?" said Granny. "The esteemed Nanny Ogg assisted me," said the king. "I reasoned, if I am anchored to the stones of Lancre, then I can also go where the stones go. I am afraid I indulged in a little trickery to arrange matters. Currently I am haunting her apron." "Not the first, either," said Granny, automatically.

Tiffany had looked up ‘strumpet’ in The Unexpurgated Dictionary, and found it meant ‘a woman who is no better than she should be’ and ‘a lady of easy virtue’. This, she decided after some working out, meant that Mrs Gytha Ogg, known as Nanny, was a very respectable person. She found virtue easy, for one thing. And if she was no better than she should be then she was just as good as she ought to be.

If you do find yourself with a fishbone in your mouth, this should be spat into your left hand and placed on the side of your plate. Never use your fingers. If you are choking to death, nod respectfully to your host as you lose consciousness.

THEY SAY THAT the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, which just goes to show they’re as confused about anatomy as they gen’rally are about everything else, unless they’re talking about instructions on how to stab him, in which case a better way is up and under the ribcage.

Gytha,” she said, “this is me askin’ you this. Is there any page in this book, is there any single recipe, which does not in some way relate to . . . goings-on?” Nanny Ogg, her face red as her apples, seemed to give this some lengthy consideration. “Porridge,” she said, eventually. “Really?” “Yes. Er. No, I tell a lie, it’s got my special honey mixture in it.” Granny turned a page. “What about this one? Maids of Honor?” “Weeelll, they starts out as Maids of Honor,” said Nanny, fidgeting with her feet, “but they ends up Tarts.” Granny looked at the front cover again. The Joye of Snacks.

Before smokin' in a strange house, I always feel it is a good idea to ask people around you if they mind you doing so. Anything less than a threat to kill you if you light up should be considered a 'no'. After all, the world is full of fools, and you are not allowed to object to that, even though passive stupidity kills so many people.

They ask me things like: what is the right way to address a duke? An’ once again I have to point out that it is a matter of fine details, such as, if there’s a gate needs holdin’ open and it looks like half a dollar might be forthcoming, it’s ‘G’day, your graciousness,’ whereas if you’ve just set fire to his ancestral piles and the mob is breakin’ the windows it is more suitable to address him as ‘you bloated lying blutocat!’ It is all a matter of finesse

sensible tips: 1 Don't go anywhere near a vampire's castle, no matter how bad the weather. 2 Having gone near the castle,don't knock at the huge forbidding door. 3 Having knocked at the huge forbidding door,don't accept the invitation from the strange man in black clothes to go inside. 4 Having gone inside,don't go into the guest bedroom. 5 Having gone into the guest bedroom,don't - whatever you do - sleep with the window open. 6 Having slept with the window open,don't come runnin' to me to complain.

On his chair, the yellow slit of Greebo’s left eye opened lazily. “Get down, You,” said Granny, lifting the kitten off her head and putting it on the floor. “I daresay Mrs. Ogg has got some milk in the kitchen.” “Not much,” said Nanny. “I’ll swear something’s been drinking it!” Greebo’s eye opened all the way, and he began to growl softly. “You sure you know what you’re doing, Esme?” said Nanny Ogg, reaching for a cushion to throw. “He’s very protective of his territory.” You the kitten sat on the floor and washed her ears. Then, as Greebo got to his feet, she fixed him with an innocent little stare and took a flying leap onto his nose, landing on it with all her claws out. “So is she,” said Granny Weatherwax, as Greebo erupted from the chair and hurtled around the room before disappearing into the kitchen. There was a crash of saucepans followed by the groioioioing of a saucepan lid spinning into silence on the floor. The kitten padded back into the room, hopped into the empty chair, and curled up. “He brought in half a wolf last week,” said Nanny Ogg. “You haven’t been hexperimentingi on that poor kitten, have you?” “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” said Granny. “She just knows her own mind, that’s all.

Our Jason wouldn’t have told you. He only told me ’cos I would’ve made ’is life a living hell if he didn’t,” said Nanny Ogg. “That’s what a mother’s for.

Magrat, folluğa yerleşen iki tavuk gibi kıç tarafta rahat etmeye çalışan iki yaşlı cadıya baktı. "Kürek çekmeyi biliyor musunuz?" dedi. "Bilmemiz gerekmiyor," dedi Nine. Magrat kasvetle başını salladı. Sonra çok minik bir iddialılık kırıntısı, kendisini bir an gösterdi. "Ben de bildiğimi sanmıyorum," diye denedi. "Sorun değil," dedi Ogg Ana hemen. "Yanlış yaptığını görürsek söyleriz. Bay bay, kral hazretleri." Magrat pes etti. İçini çekti ve kürekleri aldı. "Yassı tarafı suya girecek," dedi Nine yardımseverlikle.

Nanny rather liked the theatrical world. It was its own kind of magic. That was why Esme disliked it, she reckoned. It was the magic of illusions and misdirection and foolery, and that was fine by Nanny Ogg, because you couldn’t be married three times without a little fooling. But it was just close enough to Granny’s own kind of magic to make Granny uneasy. Which meant she couldn’t leave it alone. It was like scratching an itch.

Gytha,” she said, “this is me askin’ you this. Is there any page in this book, is there any single recipe, which does not in some way relate to . . . goings-on?” Nanny Ogg, her face red as her apples, seemed to give this some lengthy consideration. “Porridge,” she said, eventually. “Really?” “Yes. Er. No, I tell a lie, it’s got my special honey mixture in it.” Granny turned a page. “What about this one? Maids of Honor?” “Weeelll, they starts out as Maids of Honor,” said Nanny, fidgeting with her feet, “but they ends up Tarts.

The old woman went pale. Granny Weatherwax could be nasty, but then nastiness was always in the window: you were aware that it might turn up on the menu. Sharpness from Nanny Ogg, though, was like being bitten by a big friendly dog. It was all the worse for being unexpected.

Tiffany had looked up ‘strumpet’ in The Unexpurgated Dictionary, and found it meant ‘a woman who is no better than she should be’ and ‘a lady of easy virtue’. This, she decided after some working out, meant that Mrs Gytha Ogg, known as Nanny, was a very respectable person. She found virtue easy, for one thing. And if she was no better than she should be then she was just as good as she ought to be. She had a feeling that Miss Treason hadn’t meant this, but you couldn’t argue with logic.

Nanny got up again and wandered over and opened the back door. There was little light left in the sky now, and a few rags of cloud were scudding over the early stars. She sniffed the air. Winter hung on late up here in the mountains, but there was definitely a taste of spring on the wind. A good time, she thought. Best time, really. Oh, she knew that the year started on Hogswatchnight, when the cold tide turned, but the new year started now, with green shoots boring upward through the last of the snow. Change was in the air, she could feel it in her bones. Of course, her friend Granny Weatherwax always said you couldn’t trust bones, but Granny Weatherwax said a lot of things like that all the time. Nanny Ogg closed the door. In the trees at the end of her garden, leafless and scratchy against the sky, something rustled its wings and chattered as a veil of dark crossed the world.

No amount of charms could persuade a wart to take root on her handsome if slightly equine features, and vast intakes of sugar only served to give her boundless energy. A wizard she’d consulted had explained it was on account of her having a metabolism, which at least allowed her to feel vaguely superior to Nanny Ogg, who she suspected had never even seen one.

And on that subject, we need to make a point about the weights and measures used in the cookery recipes. We have, reluctantly, translated them into metric terms, because Nanny Ogg used throughout the very specialized unit of measure known as the 'some' (as in 'Take some flour and some sugar'). This required some, hah, experiment, because the 'some' is a unit of some, you see, complexity. Some flour is almost certainly more than some salt, but there appears to be no such thing as a half of some, although there was the occasional mention of a 'bit' as in 'a bit of pepper'. Instinctively, one feels that a bit of flour is more than some pepper, but probably less than a bit of butter, and have that a wodge of bread is probably about a handful, but we have found no reliable way of measuring a gnat's.

How did you do that?” said Nanny Ogg. “Simple,” said Granny. “He knows you wouldn’t make his daft head explode.” “Well, I know you wouldn’t, too.” “No you don’t. You just know I ain’t done it up to now.

Nanny Ogg didn’t care much about what people knew and even less for what they thought,

Very well. My name is WxrtHltl-jwlpklz,” said the demon smugly. “Where were you when the vowels were handed out? Behind the door?” said Nanny Ogg.

They must have witches here,” said Magrat. “Everywhere has witches. You’ve got to have witches abroad. You find witches everywhere.” “Like cockroaches,” said Nanny Ogg cheerfully.

Tiffany had looked up “strumpet” in the Unexpurgated Dictionary, and found it meant “a woman who is no better than she should be” and “a lady of easy virtue.” This, she decided after some working out, meant that Mrs. Gytha Ogg, known as Nanny, was a very respectable person. She found virtue easy, for one thing. And if she was no better than she should be, then she was just as good as she ought to be.

„Good evening,“ said Granny. „Well met by moonlight,“ said Magrat politely. „Merry meet. A star shines on—“ „Wotcha,“ said Nanny Ogg. Magrat winced.

I actually heard her very last words,” said Gammer. “What did she say?” said Granny. “As I recall, ‘oh bugger,’” said Gammer. “It’s the way she would have wanted to go,” said Nanny Ogg. The other witches nodded.

We’ve got a lot of experience of not having any experience,” said Nanny Ogg happily. “That’s what counts every time,” said Granny.

Well," said Nanny Ogg, "you can count on me. I’ve always been a fighter. You has to be a fighter to be a witch. We don’t have to worry – they does. If you can get an elf down and kick it about a bit, it’s not goin’ to be so glamorous as it was. Take it from me, even elves has soft parts which don’t like no boot in ’em.

Nanny Ogg said seriously, "It seems to me, girls, that it goes like this. We fight the elves at every turn, and they is always comin' back. Perhaps it might be a good thing? To keep us on our toes, to stop us from gettin' lazy. To put us on the anvil, so that we remembers how to fight. And at the end of time, living is about fightin' against everything.

Her relationship with her daughters-in-law was the only stain on Nanny Ogg’s otherwise amiable character. Sons-in-law were different—she could remember their names, even their birthdays, and they joined the family like overgrown chicks creeping under the wings of a broody bantam. And grandchildren were treasures, every one. But any woman incautious enough to marry an Ogg son might as well resign herself to a life of mental torture and nameless domestic servitude.

Mrs. Singe passed on,” said Gammer Brevis. “And Gammer Peavey passed on.” “Did she? Old Mabel Peavey?” said Nanny Ogg, through a shower of crumbs. “How old was she?” “One hundred and nineteen,” said Gammer Brevis. “I said to her, ‘You don’t want to go climbing mountains at your age’ but she wouldn’t listen.” “Some people are like that,” said Granny. “Stubborn as mules. Tell them they mustn’t do something and they won’t stop till they’ve tried it.” “I actually heard her very last words,” said Gammer. “What did she say?” said Granny. “As I recall, ‘oh bugger,’” said Gammer. “It’s the way she would have wanted to go,” said Nanny Ogg. The other witches nodded.

Nanny Ogg looked Tiffany in the face and said, ‘Glad to see you’re not cryin’, my dear; that’s for later.

Granny, your hat squeaked,” said Tiffany. “It went MEEP!” “No it didn’t,” Granny said sharply. “It did, you know,” said Nanny Ogg. “I heard it too.” Granny Weatherwax grunted and pulled off her hat. The white kitten, curled around her tight bun of hair, blinked in the light. “I can’t help it,” Granny muttered. “If I leave the dratted thing alone, it goes under the dresser and cries and cries.” She looked around at the others as if daring them to say anything. “Anyway,” she added, “it keeps m’ head warm.

That was brave of you, carrying her over your shoulder,’ said Nanny. ‘With them elves firing arrows, too.’ ‘And it meant less chance of one hitting me, too,’ said Granny. Nanny Ogg was shocked. ‘What? You never thought that, did you?’ ‘Well, she’d been hit already. If Yd been hit too, neither of us’d get out,’ said Granny, simply. ‘But that’s – that’s a bit heartless, Esme.’ ‘Heartless it may be, but headless it ain’t. I’ve never claimed to be nice, just to be sensible.

Witches generally act as layers-out of the dead as well as midwives; there were plenty of people in Lancre for whom Nanny Ogg’s face had been the first and last thing they’d ever seen, which had probably made all the bit in the middle seem quite uneventful by comparison.

it is also not good manners to make more work than is necessary for other people

Once you start paddlin’ with the occult you start believing in spirits, and when you start believing in spirits you start believing in demons, and then before you know where you are you’re believing in gods. And then you’re in trouble.” “But all them things exist,” said Nanny Ogg. “That’s no call to go around believing in them. It only encourages ’em.

She gave a deprecating little chuckle. And if Nanny Ogg had been listening, she would have resolved as follows: that no maddened cackle from Black Aliss of infamous memory, no evil little giggle from some crazed vampyre whose morals were worse than his spelling, no side-splitting guffaw from the most inventive torturer, was quite so unnerving as a happy little chuckle from a Granny Weatherwax about to do what’s best.