Quotes from Dibbler
... Cut-me-own-Throat Dibbler, purveyor of absolutely anything that could be sold hurriedly from an open suitcase in a busy street and was guaranteed to have fallen off the back of an oxcart. (GG)
Victor eyed the glistening tubes in the tray around Dibbler’s neck. They smelled appetizing. They always did. And then you bit into them, and learned once again that Cut-me-own-Throat Dibbler could find a use for bits of an animal that the animal didn’t know it had got. (MP)
“ … a man who could sell Mr Dibbler’s sausages twice could sell anything”, said Victor. (MP)
“… when you sell sausages you don’t just hang around waiting for people to want sausage, you go out there and make them hungry. And you put mustard on ‘em.” (MP)
'Er, I was just wondering, Mr. Dibbler ... what is my motivation for this scene?’
‘Motivation?’
‘Yes. Er, I got to know, see,’ said Rock.
‘How about: I’ll fire you if you don’t do it properly?’
Rock grinned. ‘Right you are, Mr. Dibbler,’ he said. (MP)
... Throat was one of those people who could identify the thought at the other end of the process, in this case I am
now very rich, draw a line between the two, and then think his way along it, slowly and patiently, until he got to the other end.
Not that it worked. There was always, he found, some small but vital flaw in the process. It generally involved a
strange reluctance on the part of people to buy what he had to sell. (MP)
Throat took a deep breath of the thick city air. Real air. You would have to go a long way to find air that was realer than Ankh-Morpork air. You could tell just by breathing it that other people had been doing the same thing for thousands of years. (MP)
‘You’re my own flesh and blood,’ said Dibbler, shaking his head. ‘How can you do this to me?’
‘Because I’m your own flesh and blood,’ said Soll.
Dibbler brightened. Of course, when you looked at it like that, it didn’t seem so bad. (MP)
'Did I hear things, or can that little dog speak?’ said Dibbler.
He says he can’t,’ said Victor.
Dibbler hesitated. The excitement was unhinging him a little. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I suppose he should know.' (MP)
C.M.O.T. Dibbler liked to describe himself as a merchant adventurer; everyone else liked to describe him as an itinerant pedlar whose money-making schemes were always let down by some small but vital flaw, such as trying to sell things he didn’t own or which didn’t work or, sometimes, didn’t even exist. (RM)
'Pets are always a great help in times of stress. And in times of starvation too, o’course.' (SG)
Do you think there’s such a thing as a criminal mind?’
Carrot almost audibly tried to work it out.
‘What ... you mean like ... Mr Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, sir?’
‘He’s not a criminal.’
‘You have eaten one of his pies, sir? (MA)
... money in the possession of other people had always seemed to Throat to be against the proper natural order of things. (MA)
C.M.O.T. Dibbler had a number of bad points, but species prejudice was not one of them. He liked anyone who had money, regardless of the colour and shape of the hand that was proffering it. (MA)
Expecting Dibbler not to think about things concerning money was like expecting rocks not to think about gravity. (SM)
He was, by and large, against the idea of a permanent office. On the positive side it made him easier to find, but on the negative side it made him easier to find. The success of Dibbler’s commercial strategy hinged on him being able to find customers, not the other way around. (SM)
'I'll always remember the taste of Mr Dibbler's sausages.'
‘People do.’
‘A once-in-a-lifetime experience.’
‘Frequently.’ (IT)
'So now we know,’said Archchancellor Rincewind. ‘We’ve got to keep you just drunk enough so that Dibbler's pies sound tasty, but not so drunk that it causes lasting brain damage.’
‘That’s a very narrow range we’ve got there,’ said the Dean. (LC)
There were no flies on C.M.O.T. Dibbler. He would have charged them rent. (TT)
... Dibbler was an extremely good hot sausage salesman. He had to be, given the nature of his sausages. (TT)
Moving his hands carefully, Dibbler opened the special section of his tray, the high-class one that contained sausages whose contents were 1) meat, 2) from a known four-footed creature, 3) probably land-dwelling. (TT)
... there was something about his expression, as of a rat who was expecting cheese right around the next corner, and had been expecting cheese around the last corner too, and the corner before that, and, although the world has turned out so far to be full of corners yet completely innocent of any cheese at all, was nevertheless quite certain that, just around the corner, cheese awaited. (NW)
Dibbler’s pies quite often looked appetising. Therein lay their one and only charm. (NW)
Victor eyed the glistening tubes in the tray around Dibbler’s neck. They smelled appetizing. They always did. And then you bit into them, and learned once again that Cut-me-own-Throat Dibbler could find a use for bits of an animal that the animal didn’t know it had got. (MP)
“ … a man who could sell Mr Dibbler’s sausages twice could sell anything”, said Victor. (MP)
“… when you sell sausages you don’t just hang around waiting for people to want sausage, you go out there and make them hungry. And you put mustard on ‘em.” (MP)
'Er, I was just wondering, Mr. Dibbler ... what is my motivation for this scene?’
‘Motivation?’
‘Yes. Er, I got to know, see,’ said Rock.
‘How about: I’ll fire you if you don’t do it properly?’
Rock grinned. ‘Right you are, Mr. Dibbler,’ he said. (MP)
... Throat was one of those people who could identify the thought at the other end of the process, in this case I am
now very rich, draw a line between the two, and then think his way along it, slowly and patiently, until he got to the other end.
Not that it worked. There was always, he found, some small but vital flaw in the process. It generally involved a
strange reluctance on the part of people to buy what he had to sell. (MP)
Throat took a deep breath of the thick city air. Real air. You would have to go a long way to find air that was realer than Ankh-Morpork air. You could tell just by breathing it that other people had been doing the same thing for thousands of years. (MP)
‘You’re my own flesh and blood,’ said Dibbler, shaking his head. ‘How can you do this to me?’
‘Because I’m your own flesh and blood,’ said Soll.
Dibbler brightened. Of course, when you looked at it like that, it didn’t seem so bad. (MP)
'Did I hear things, or can that little dog speak?’ said Dibbler.
He says he can’t,’ said Victor.
Dibbler hesitated. The excitement was unhinging him a little. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I suppose he should know.' (MP)
C.M.O.T. Dibbler liked to describe himself as a merchant adventurer; everyone else liked to describe him as an itinerant pedlar whose money-making schemes were always let down by some small but vital flaw, such as trying to sell things he didn’t own or which didn’t work or, sometimes, didn’t even exist. (RM)
'Pets are always a great help in times of stress. And in times of starvation too, o’course.' (SG)
Do you think there’s such a thing as a criminal mind?’
Carrot almost audibly tried to work it out.
‘What ... you mean like ... Mr Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, sir?’
‘He’s not a criminal.’
‘You have eaten one of his pies, sir? (MA)
... money in the possession of other people had always seemed to Throat to be against the proper natural order of things. (MA)
C.M.O.T. Dibbler had a number of bad points, but species prejudice was not one of them. He liked anyone who had money, regardless of the colour and shape of the hand that was proffering it. (MA)
Expecting Dibbler not to think about things concerning money was like expecting rocks not to think about gravity. (SM)
He was, by and large, against the idea of a permanent office. On the positive side it made him easier to find, but on the negative side it made him easier to find. The success of Dibbler’s commercial strategy hinged on him being able to find customers, not the other way around. (SM)
'I'll always remember the taste of Mr Dibbler's sausages.'
‘People do.’
‘A once-in-a-lifetime experience.’
‘Frequently.’ (IT)
'So now we know,’said Archchancellor Rincewind. ‘We’ve got to keep you just drunk enough so that Dibbler's pies sound tasty, but not so drunk that it causes lasting brain damage.’
‘That’s a very narrow range we’ve got there,’ said the Dean. (LC)
There were no flies on C.M.O.T. Dibbler. He would have charged them rent. (TT)
... Dibbler was an extremely good hot sausage salesman. He had to be, given the nature of his sausages. (TT)
Moving his hands carefully, Dibbler opened the special section of his tray, the high-class one that contained sausages whose contents were 1) meat, 2) from a known four-footed creature, 3) probably land-dwelling. (TT)
... there was something about his expression, as of a rat who was expecting cheese right around the next corner, and had been expecting cheese around the last corner too, and the corner before that, and, although the world has turned out so far to be full of corners yet completely innocent of any cheese at all, was nevertheless quite certain that, just around the corner, cheese awaited. (NW)
Dibbler’s pies quite often looked appetising. Therein lay their one and only charm. (NW)