Moist couldn’t have stopped himself now for hard money. This was where his soul lived: dancing on an avalanche, making the world up as he went along, reaching into people’s ears and changing their minds. For this he offered glass as diamonds, let the Find the Lady cards fly under his fingers, stood smiling in front of clerks examining fake bills. This was the feeling he craved, the raw, naked excitement of pushing the envelope…

– on Moist von Lipwig at his core | Terry Pratchett, Going Postal