First Lines: Mort

The further I travel into the Discworld—that disc-shaped world atop four ginormous elephants standing on the back of the Great A’Tuin, the World Turtle, who swims through the immeasurable vastness of space—the more I want to know what else is going on there.

In Mort Mort turns out to be as fit for the family farming business as a dead starfish. When Death takes him on as apprentice, he manages to alter Reality, which isn’t that big a deal, as on the Discworld, it is going to have its predetermined way—one way or another. Reality just doesn’t care if Death’s stand-in falls in love with a princess whose soul he had to collect, it’ll just make sure that in the end everything turns out the way it’s supposed to. Which should give Mort just enough time to find a way to prevent reality from happening.

Terry Pratchett — Mort (A Discworld Novel)
This is the bright candlelit room where the lifetimers are stored — shelf upon shelf of them, squat hourglasses, one for every living person, pouring their fine sand from the future into the past.