A kind of spring had even come to the ancient University itself. Tonight would be the Eve of Small Gods, and a new Archchancellor would be elected.And then again from page 25:
Well, not exactly elected, because wizards didn't have any truck with all this undignified voting business, and it was well known that archchancellors were selected by the will of the gods, and this year it was a pretty good bet that the gods would see their way clear to selecting old Virrid Wayzygoose, who was a decent old boy and had patiently waiting his turn for years.
The higher levels of wizardry are a perilous place. Every wizard is trying to dislodge the wizards above him while stamping on the finger of those below; to say that wizards are healthily competitive by nature is like saying that piranhas are naturally a little peckish.
And just because Terry Pratchett makes me laugh, and this isn't a political comment, here is another teaser from page 62:
'Not much call for a barbarian hairdresser, I expect," said Rincewind. "I mean, no-one wants a shampoo-and-beheading."
"It's just that every time I see a manicure set I get this terrible urge to lay about me with a double-handed cuticle knife. I mean sword," said Conina.
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