"Just as music is noise that makes sense, a painting is colour that makes sense, so a story is life that makes sense."

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It was octarine, the colour of magic. It was alive and glowing and vibrant and it was the undisputed pigment of the imagination, because wherever it appeared it was a sign that mere matter was a servant of the powers of the magical mind. It was enchantment itself. But Rincewind always thought it looked a sort of greenish-purple.

— Terry Pratchett