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Terry Pratchett, The Truth

Auf die Gefahr hin mich zu wiederholen: egal wie oft ich den 25. Discworldband (auch noch der Milleniumsband) wiederlese, ich bekomme einfach nicht genug von der genialen Entstehungsgeschichte der Ankh Morpork Times (The Truth will make you Free/Fret/Fred/Fere). Und daran wird sich so schnell auch nichts ändern.

'Yes, Dr Dinwiddie. Er... the Century of the Fruitbat is nearly over, sir. Would you like the city to be dragged kicking and screaming out of the Century of the Fruitbat?'
'Indeed.'
William wrote this down. It was a puzzle why things were always dragged kicking and screaming. No one ever seemed to want to, for example, lead them gently by the hand.
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William stared down at the box of letters again. Of course, a quill pen potentially contained anything you wrote with it. He could understand that. But it did so in a clearly theoretical way, a safe way. Whereas these dull grey blocks looked threatening. He could understand why they worried people. Put us together in the right way, they seemed to say, and we can be anything you want. We could even be something you don't want. We can spell anything. We can certainly spell trouble.
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Despite the fire in his head he took out his notebook and wrote: hlstns bggr than golf blls? and made a mental note to check one against a golf ball, just in case. Part of him was beginning to understand that his readers might have a very relaxed attitude about the guilt of politicians but were red hot on things like the size of the weather.
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(Terry Pratchett, The Truth, 2000)