The city of Ephebe surrounded them. Dogs barked. Somewhere a cat yowled. There was that general susurration of small comfortable sounds that shows that, out there, a lot of people are living their lives. And then a door burst open down the street and there was the cracking noise of a quite large wine amphora being broken over someone's head. A skinny old man in a toga picked himself up from the cobbles where he had landed, and glared at the doorway. "I'm telling you, listen, a finite intellect, right, cannot by means of comparison reach the absolute truth of things, because being by nature indivisible, truth excludes the concepts of 'more' or 'less' so that nothing but truth itself can be the exact measure of truth. You bastards," he said. Someone from inside the building said, "Oh yeah? Sez you." The old man ignored Brutha but, with great difficulty, pulled a cobblestone loose and hefted it in his hand. Then he dived back through the doorway. There was a distant scream of rage. "Ah. Philosophy," said Om.

— Small Gods by Terry Pratchett (Discworld, #13) (Page 135)