“Do you know how wizards like to be buried?"
"Yes!"
"Well, how?"
Granny Weatherwax paused at the bottom of the stairs.
"Reluctantly.”

“Granny Weatherwax was not a good loser. From her point of view, losing was something that happened to other people.”

“I don't want to hurt you, Mistress Weatherwax," said Mrs Gogol.
"That's good," said Granny. "I don't want you to hurt me either.”

“How the hell do you think I feel?" I don't want to end up inside a woman!" He paused. "Well, at least not that way”

“Granny Weatherwax was not lost. She wasn't the kind of person who ever became lost. It was just that, at the moment, while she knew exactly where SHE was, she didn't know the position of anywhere else.”

“You have to carry the fire."
I don't know how to."
Yes, you do."
Is the fire real? The fire?"
Yes it is."
Where is it? I don't know where it is."
Yes you do. It's inside you. It always was there. I can see it.”

“And I guess you judge how well you're doing by how well you sleep at night… and what your dreams are like.”

“The thing about witchcraft," said Mistress Weatherwax, "is that it's not like school at all. First you get the test, and then afterward you spend years findin' out how you passed it. It's a bit like life in that respect”

“Do you think there’s anything to eat in this forest?”
“Yes,” said the wizard bitterly, “us.”

“Many people could say things in a cutting way, Nanny knew. But Granny Weatherwax couldin a cutting way. She could make something sound stupid just by hearing it.”