The barbarian chieftain said: “What then are the greatest things that a man may find in life?” This is the sort of thing you’re supposed to say to maintain steppecred in barbarian circles.
The man on his right thoughtfully drank his cocktail of mare’s milk and snowcat blood, and spoke thus: “The crisp horizon of the steppe, the wind in your hair, a fresh horse under you.”
The man on his left said: “The cry of the white eagle in the heights, the fall of snow in the forest, a true arrow in your bow.”
The chieftain nodded, and said: “Surely it is the sight of your enemy slain, the humiliation of his tribe and the lamentation of his women.”
There was a general murmur of whiskery approval at this outrageous display.
Then the chieftain turned respectfully to his guest, a small figure carefully warming his chilblains by the fire, and said: “But our guest, whose name is legend, must tell us truly: What is it that a man may call the greatest things in life?”
The guest paused in the middle of another unsuccessful attempt to light up.
“What shay?” he said, toothlessly.
“I said: What is it that a man may call the greatest things in life?”
The warriors leaned closer. This should be worth hearing.
The guest thought long and hard and then said, with deliberation: “Hot water, good dentishtry and shoft lavatory paper.”
From The light fantastic,
the second book of Discworld Series,
by Terry Pratchett