William Beard OwlsWilliam Beard Majestic StagWilliam Beard Dancing BearsAndy Warhol Shot Orange Marilyn 1964Andy Warhol Portrait of Maurice
they all watch your clicks,’ pleaded Soll. ‘They’re your public.’
‘No!’
Soll threw up his hands. ‘Can’t you persuade her?’ he said to Victor.
‘I’m not even sure I can persuade myself,’ said Victor.
‘But you’ve spent days in front of these people,’ said Dibbler.
‘No I haven’t,’ said Ginger. ‘It was just you and the handlemen and the trolls and everyone. That was different. Anyway, that wasn’t really me,’ she added. ‘That was Delores De Syn.’
Victor bit his breathing in. Victor stepped out, reached up, took Ginger’s hand . . .
The crowd cheered, madly.
The Lecturer in Recent Runes bit his fingers in sheer excitement. The Chair made a strange hoarse noise in the back of his throat.lip thoughtfully.‘Maybe you ought to send Delores de Syn out there, then,’ he said.‘How can I do that?’ she demanded.‘Well . . . why not pretend it’s a click .The Dibblers, uncle and nephew, exchanged glances. Then Soll cupped his hands around his face like the eye of a picture box and Dibbler, after a prompting nudge, placed one hand on his nephew’s head and turned an invisible handle in his ear.‘Action!’ he directed. The carriage door swung open.The crowd gasped, like a mountain
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Vincent van Gogh Ladies of Arles
Vincent van Gogh Ladies of ArlesSalvador Dali The Ecumenical CouncilSalvador Dali The Cellist Ricardo PichotSalvador Dali My Wife,NudeSalvador Dali Meditation on the Harp
with his name on it, and –
No, that couldn’t be right. Not a collar. It’d be a squeaky toy next, if you dint draw the line at collars.
The image collapsed in confusion, and now –
- the pack bounded through the dark, snow-covered trees, falling in behind him, red mouths agape, long legs eating up the ‘Bloody hell,’ he whined.
This is what’s happening to the humans! Wonder what they’re making her dream?
The hairs rose along Gaspode’s back. road. The fleeing humans on the sledge didn’t have a chance; one was thrown aside when a runner bounced off a branch, and lay screaming in the road as Gaspode and the wolves fell upon –No, that wasn’t right, he thought wretchedly. You dint actually eat humans. They got up your nose all right, the gods knew, but you couldn’t acktually eat ‘em. A confusion of instincts threatened to short-circuit his schizophrenically doggy mind. The voices gave up their assault in disgust and turned their attention to Ginger, who was methodically trying to shift more sand. One of Gaspode’s fleas bit him sharply. It was probably dreaming of being the biggest flea in the world. His leg came up automatically to scratch it, and the spell faded. He blinked.
with his name on it, and –
No, that couldn’t be right. Not a collar. It’d be a squeaky toy next, if you dint draw the line at collars.
The image collapsed in confusion, and now –
- the pack bounded through the dark, snow-covered trees, falling in behind him, red mouths agape, long legs eating up the ‘Bloody hell,’ he whined.
This is what’s happening to the humans! Wonder what they’re making her dream?
The hairs rose along Gaspode’s back. road. The fleeing humans on the sledge didn’t have a chance; one was thrown aside when a runner bounced off a branch, and lay screaming in the road as Gaspode and the wolves fell upon –No, that wasn’t right, he thought wretchedly. You dint actually eat humans. They got up your nose all right, the gods knew, but you couldn’t acktually eat ‘em. A confusion of instincts threatened to short-circuit his schizophrenically doggy mind. The voices gave up their assault in disgust and turned their attention to Ginger, who was methodically trying to shift more sand. One of Gaspode’s fleas bit him sharply. It was probably dreaming of being the biggest flea in the world. His leg came up automatically to scratch it, and the spell faded. He blinked.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Caravaggio The Conversion on the Way to Damascus
Caravaggio The Conversion on the Way to DamascusCaravaggio The AnnunciationCaravaggio Sleeping CupidCaravaggio Lute PlayerCaravaggio Adoration of the Shepherds
Amazed,’ echoed Ginger.
‘Ugly devil, though,’ said Dibbler. He gave Gaspode a long, slow stare, which was like challenging a centipede to an arse-kicking contest. Gaspode could outstare a mirror.
Dibbler Over Holy Wood, the stars were out. They were huge balls of hydrogen heated to millions of degrees, so hot they could not even burn. Many of them would swell enormously before they died, and then shrink to tiny, resentful dwarfs remembered only by sentimental astronomers. In the meantime, they glowed because of metamorphoses beyond the reach of alchemists, and turned mere boring elements into pure light.
Over Ankh-Morpork, it just rained. seemed to be turning an idea over in his mind. ‘Mind you . . . bring him along in the morning. People like a good laugh,’ said Dibbler. ‘Oh, he’s a laugh all right,’ said Victor. ‘A scream.’ As they walked off Victor heard a quiet voice behind him say, ‘I’ll get you for that. Anyway, you owe me a dollar.’ ‘What for?’ ‘Agent’s fee,’ said Gaspode the Wonder Dog.
Amazed,’ echoed Ginger.
‘Ugly devil, though,’ said Dibbler. He gave Gaspode a long, slow stare, which was like challenging a centipede to an arse-kicking contest. Gaspode could outstare a mirror.
Dibbler Over Holy Wood, the stars were out. They were huge balls of hydrogen heated to millions of degrees, so hot they could not even burn. Many of them would swell enormously before they died, and then shrink to tiny, resentful dwarfs remembered only by sentimental astronomers. In the meantime, they glowed because of metamorphoses beyond the reach of alchemists, and turned mere boring elements into pure light.
Over Ankh-Morpork, it just rained. seemed to be turning an idea over in his mind. ‘Mind you . . . bring him along in the morning. People like a good laugh,’ said Dibbler. ‘Oh, he’s a laugh all right,’ said Victor. ‘A scream.’ As they walked off Victor heard a quiet voice behind him say, ‘I’ll get you for that. Anyway, you owe me a dollar.’ ‘What for?’ ‘Agent’s fee,’ said Gaspode the Wonder Dog.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Leonardo da Vinci Lady With An Ermine
Leonardo da Vinci Lady With An ErmineThomas Kinkade End of a Perfect DayThomas Kinkade Beacon of hopeThomas Kinkade The Sea Of TranquilityThomas Kinkade The Beginning of a Perfect Day
cunning ones, slightly insane ones, extremely insane ones - they’d come, they’d served, in some cases not long enough , he was hardly ever in, except to change out of his muddy clothes. And he shouted at people. Usually at the Bursar.
And yet, at the time, it had seemed a really good idea to elect an Archchancellor who hadn’t set foot in the University in forty years.
There had been so much in-fighting between the various orders of wizardry in recent for anyone to be able to complete the official painting to be hung in the Great Hall, and they’d died. The senior wizard in a world of magic had the same prospects of longterm employment as a pogo stick tester in a minefield. However, from the Bursar’s point of view this didn’t really have to matter. The name might change occasionally, but what did matter was that there always was an Archchancellor and the Archchancellor’s most important job, as the Bursar saw it, was to sign things, preferably, from the Bursar’s point of view, without reading them first. This one was different. For one thing
cunning ones, slightly insane ones, extremely insane ones - they’d come, they’d served, in some cases not long enough , he was hardly ever in, except to change out of his muddy clothes. And he shouted at people. Usually at the Bursar.
And yet, at the time, it had seemed a really good idea to elect an Archchancellor who hadn’t set foot in the University in forty years.
There had been so much in-fighting between the various orders of wizardry in recent for anyone to be able to complete the official painting to be hung in the Great Hall, and they’d died. The senior wizard in a world of magic had the same prospects of longterm employment as a pogo stick tester in a minefield. However, from the Bursar’s point of view this didn’t really have to matter. The name might change occasionally, but what did matter was that there always was an Archchancellor and the Archchancellor’s most important job, as the Bursar saw it, was to sign things, preferably, from the Bursar’s point of view, without reading them first. This one was different. For one thing
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Edward Hopper Early Sunday Morning
Edward Hopper Early Sunday MorningJuan Gris The GuitarJuan Gris BreakfastGeorge Bellows Stag at Sharkey'sGeorge Bellows Dempsey and Firpo
The sound of the monsters of the river beginning the long journey to handbaghood broke out behind Teppic as he sloshed up the far bank.
A line of ancestors stretched across the chamber, down the dark passageway, and out into the sand. It was filled with whispersold! And his grandson's listening to him, and telling his grandson, and he's telling his gra-'
'Yes, yes, all-'
'"And Khuft-too-said-Unto-the-First, What-may-We-Give-Unto-You, Who-Has-Taught-Us-the-Right-Ways",' said Teppicymon*, (* But not immediately, of course, because messages change in the telling and some ancestors were not capable of perfect enunciation and others were trying to be helpful going in both directions, a dry sound, like the wind blowing through old paper. Dil lay on the sand, with Gern flapping a cloth in his face. 'Wha' they doing?' he murmured. 'Reading the inscription,' said Gern. 'You ought to see it, master! The one doing the reading, he's practically a-' 'Yes, yes, all right,' said Dil, struggling up. 'He's more than six thousand years
The sound of the monsters of the river beginning the long journey to handbaghood broke out behind Teppic as he sloshed up the far bank.
A line of ancestors stretched across the chamber, down the dark passageway, and out into the sand. It was filled with whispersold! And his grandson's listening to him, and telling his grandson, and he's telling his gra-'
'Yes, yes, all-'
'"And Khuft-too-said-Unto-the-First, What-may-We-Give-Unto-You, Who-Has-Taught-Us-the-Right-Ways",' said Teppicymon*, (* But not immediately, of course, because messages change in the telling and some ancestors were not capable of perfect enunciation and others were trying to be helpful going in both directions, a dry sound, like the wind blowing through old paper. Dil lay on the sand, with Gern flapping a cloth in his face. 'Wha' they doing?' he murmured. 'Reading the inscription,' said Gern. 'You ought to see it, master! The one doing the reading, he's practically a-' 'Yes, yes, all right,' said Dil, struggling up. 'He's more than six thousand years
Friday, March 20, 2009
Thomas Kinkade NASCAR THUNDER
Thomas Kinkade NASCAR THUNDERThomas Kinkade LondonThomas Kinkade Light of FreedomThomas Kinkade GracelandThomas Kinkade Deer Creek Cottage
maybe. If it's true that there are billions of universes stacked alongside one another, the thickness of a thought apart, then there must be people elsewhere.
But wherever they are, no matter how mightily they try, no matter how magnificent the effort, they surely can't manage to be as godawfully stupid as us. I mean, we work at it. We were given a spark of it to start with, but over hundreds of 'It is, of course, very small. Very plain. But it will suffice for my simple needs.'
'Will it?' said Teppic, yawning. 'That's nice. And now, if you don't mind, I think I'll turn in. It's been a long day.'
Dios bowed as though he was hinged in the middle. Teppic had noticed that Dios had at least fifty finely-tuned ways of bowing, each one conveying subtle shades of meaning. This one looked like No.3, I Am thousands of years we've really improved on it. He turned to Dios, feeling that he ought to repair a little bit of the damage. 'You can feel the age radiating off them, can't you,' he said conversationally. 'Pardon, sire?' 'The pyramids, Dios. They're so old.' Dios glanced vaguely across the river. 'Are they?' he said. 'Yes, I suppose they are.' 'Will you get one?' said Teppic. 'A pyramid?' said Dios. 'Sire, I have one already. It pleased one of your forebears to make provision for me.' 'That must have been a great honour,' said Teppic. Dios nodded graciously. The staterooms of forever were usually reserved for royalty.
maybe. If it's true that there are billions of universes stacked alongside one another, the thickness of a thought apart, then there must be people elsewhere.
But wherever they are, no matter how mightily they try, no matter how magnificent the effort, they surely can't manage to be as godawfully stupid as us. I mean, we work at it. We were given a spark of it to start with, but over hundreds of 'It is, of course, very small. Very plain. But it will suffice for my simple needs.'
'Will it?' said Teppic, yawning. 'That's nice. And now, if you don't mind, I think I'll turn in. It's been a long day.'
Dios bowed as though he was hinged in the middle. Teppic had noticed that Dios had at least fifty finely-tuned ways of bowing, each one conveying subtle shades of meaning. This one looked like No.3, I Am thousands of years we've really improved on it. He turned to Dios, feeling that he ought to repair a little bit of the damage. 'You can feel the age radiating off them, can't you,' he said conversationally. 'Pardon, sire?' 'The pyramids, Dios. They're so old.' Dios glanced vaguely across the river. 'Are they?' he said. 'Yes, I suppose they are.' 'Will you get one?' said Teppic. 'A pyramid?' said Dios. 'Sire, I have one already. It pleased one of your forebears to make provision for me.' 'That must have been a great honour,' said Teppic. Dios nodded graciously. The staterooms of forever were usually reserved for royalty.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Emile Munier Cupid Disarmed
Emile Munier Cupid DisarmedHenri Fantin-Latour Still Life With Flowers And FruitFilippino Lippi Adoration of the ChildFilippino Lippi Madonna with Child and SaintsLouis Aston Knight A Riverside Cottage
After a few seconds reflection he said, in a voice far nearer the worlds of sanity, 'You can't get me now.'
He turned to Death. 'Will there be a comet?' he said. 'There must be a comet when a prince dies. I'll go and see, shall I?'
He wandered away. The audience broke into applause.
'You've got to admit he was real royalty,' said Nanny Ogg, eventually. 'It only goes to show, royalty goes eccentric far better than the likes of you and me.'
Death held the hourglass to his skull, his face radiating puzzlement.
Granny Weatherwax picked up the fallen dagger and tested the blade with her finger. It slid into the handle quite easily, with a faint squeaking noise.
She passed it,' said Nanny.
'Whether everyone is alive or not is a matter for me,' said the duchess. 'As ruler it is my pleasure to decide. Clearly my husband has lost his wits.' She turned to her soldiers. 'And I decree—'
'Now!' hissed King Verence in Granny's ear. 'Now!' to Nanny.'There's your magic sword,' she said.Magrat looked at it, and then back at the Fool.'Are you dead or not?' she said.'I must be,' said the Fool, his voice slightly muffled. 'I think I'm in paradise.''No, look, I'm serious.''I don't know. But I'd like to breathe.''Then you must be alive.''Everyone's alive,' said Granny. 'It's a trick dagger. Actors probably can't be trusted with real ones.''After all, they can't even keep a cauldron clean
After a few seconds reflection he said, in a voice far nearer the worlds of sanity, 'You can't get me now.'
He turned to Death. 'Will there be a comet?' he said. 'There must be a comet when a prince dies. I'll go and see, shall I?'
He wandered away. The audience broke into applause.
'You've got to admit he was real royalty,' said Nanny Ogg, eventually. 'It only goes to show, royalty goes eccentric far better than the likes of you and me.'
Death held the hourglass to his skull, his face radiating puzzlement.
Granny Weatherwax picked up the fallen dagger and tested the blade with her finger. It slid into the handle quite easily, with a faint squeaking noise.
She passed it,' said Nanny.
'Whether everyone is alive or not is a matter for me,' said the duchess. 'As ruler it is my pleasure to decide. Clearly my husband has lost his wits.' She turned to her soldiers. 'And I decree—'
'Now!' hissed King Verence in Granny's ear. 'Now!' to Nanny.'There's your magic sword,' she said.Magrat looked at it, and then back at the Fool.'Are you dead or not?' she said.'I must be,' said the Fool, his voice slightly muffled. 'I think I'm in paradise.''No, look, I'm serious.''I don't know. But I'd like to breathe.''Then you must be alive.''Everyone's alive,' said Granny. 'It's a trick dagger. Actors probably can't be trusted with real ones.''After all, they can't even keep a cauldron clean
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Pino THE DANCER
Pino THE DANCERPino SWEET DREAMSPino SENSUALITYPino MOTHER'S LOVEPino Morning Dreams
Back in the forest, Magrat sat up and absent-mindedly pulled a twig from her hair. A few yards away the broomstick dropped through the trees, showering leaves.
A groan and a small, half-hearted tinkle caused her to peer into the gloom. An indistinct figure was on its hands and knees, searching for something.
'Did I land on you?' said Magrat.
. Women no, up till now. Is it going to happen again?'
'You've got a bloody hard head,' said Magrat, pulling herself to her feet.
'Modesty forbids me to comment,' said the Fool, and then remembered himself and added, quickly'Someone did,' said the Fool.They crawled nearer to one another.'You?''You!''What are you doing here?''Marry, I was walking along the ground,' said the Fool. 'A lot of people do, you know. I mean, I know it's been done before. It's not original. It probably lacks imagination but, well, it's always been good enough for me.''Did I hurt you?''I think I've got one or two bells that won't be the same again.'The Fool scrabbled through the leafmould, and finally located his hated hat. It clonked.'Totally crushed, i'faith,' he said, putting it on anyway. He seemed to feel better for that, and went on, 'Rain, yes, hail, yes, even lumps of rock. Fish and small frogs, okay
Back in the forest, Magrat sat up and absent-mindedly pulled a twig from her hair. A few yards away the broomstick dropped through the trees, showering leaves.
A groan and a small, half-hearted tinkle caused her to peer into the gloom. An indistinct figure was on its hands and knees, searching for something.
'Did I land on you?' said Magrat.
. Women no, up till now. Is it going to happen again?'
'You've got a bloody hard head,' said Magrat, pulling herself to her feet.
'Modesty forbids me to comment,' said the Fool, and then remembered himself and added, quickly'Someone did,' said the Fool.They crawled nearer to one another.'You?''You!''What are you doing here?''Marry, I was walking along the ground,' said the Fool. 'A lot of people do, you know. I mean, I know it's been done before. It's not original. It probably lacks imagination but, well, it's always been good enough for me.''Did I hurt you?''I think I've got one or two bells that won't be the same again.'The Fool scrabbled through the leafmould, and finally located his hated hat. It clonked.'Totally crushed, i'faith,' he said, putting it on anyway. He seemed to feel better for that, and went on, 'Rain, yes, hail, yes, even lumps of rock. Fish and small frogs, okay
Monday, March 16, 2009
Lord Frederick Leighton The Painter's Honeymoon
Lord Frederick Leighton The Painter's HoneymoonLord Frederick Leighton Leighton Mother and ChildLord Frederick Leighton Leighton Music LessonRaphael The Holy FamilyWilliam Bouguereau The Virgin of the Lilies
be back soon,' said the king. 'Are you sure you'll be all right?'
'If I'm not, precisely how much help can you be?' said Nanny.
There was the sound of bolts sliding back.
There was already a crowd outside the castle as Granny's broomstick wobbled uncertainly towards the ground. They went quiet as she strode forward, and parted to let her pass. She had a basket of apples under her arm.
'There's a witch in the dungeons,' someone whispered to Granny. 'And foul tortures, they say!'
'Nonsense,' said Granny. 'It couldn't be. I expect Nanny Ogg has just gone to advise the king, or something.'
'They say ,' said Granny. 'But right now he should go home.'
She turned and looked at the gates. There were two extremely apprehensive guards on duty. She walked up to them, and fixed one of them with a look.Jason Ogg's gone to fetch his brothers,' said a stallholder, in awe.'I really advise you all to return home,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'There has probably been a misunderstanding. Everyone knows a witch cannot be held against her will.''It's gone too far this time,' said a peasant. 'All this burning and taxing and now this. I blame you witches. It's got to stop. I know my rights.''What rights are they?' said Granny.'Dunnage, cowhage-in-ordinary, badinage, leftovers, scrommidge, clary and spunt,' said the peasant promptly. 'And acornage, every other year, and the right to keep two-thirds of a goat on the common. Until he set fire to it. It was a bloody good goat, too.''A man could go far, knowing his rights like you do
'I am a harmless old seller of apples,' she said, in a voice more appropriate for the opening
be back soon,' said the king. 'Are you sure you'll be all right?'
'If I'm not, precisely how much help can you be?' said Nanny.
There was the sound of bolts sliding back.
There was already a crowd outside the castle as Granny's broomstick wobbled uncertainly towards the ground. They went quiet as she strode forward, and parted to let her pass. She had a basket of apples under her arm.
'There's a witch in the dungeons,' someone whispered to Granny. 'And foul tortures, they say!'
'Nonsense,' said Granny. 'It couldn't be. I expect Nanny Ogg has just gone to advise the king, or something.'
'They say ,' said Granny. 'But right now he should go home.'
She turned and looked at the gates. There were two extremely apprehensive guards on duty. She walked up to them, and fixed one of them with a look.Jason Ogg's gone to fetch his brothers,' said a stallholder, in awe.'I really advise you all to return home,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'There has probably been a misunderstanding. Everyone knows a witch cannot be held against her will.''It's gone too far this time,' said a peasant. 'All this burning and taxing and now this. I blame you witches. It's got to stop. I know my rights.''What rights are they?' said Granny.'Dunnage, cowhage-in-ordinary, badinage, leftovers, scrommidge, clary and spunt,' said the peasant promptly. 'And acornage, every other year, and the right to keep two-thirds of a goat on the common. Until he set fire to it. It was a bloody good goat, too.''A man could go far, knowing his rights like you do
'I am a harmless old seller of apples,' she said, in a voice more appropriate for the opening
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Thomas Kinkade Sunset at Riverbend Farm
Thomas Kinkade Sunset at Riverbend FarmThomas Kinkade Seaside HideawayThomas Kinkade Pools of SerenityThomas Kinkade Make a Wish Cottage 2Thomas Kinkade Home For Christmas
'Hoofbeats?' said Nanny Ogg. 'No-one would come up here this time of night.'
Magrat peered around timidly. Here and there on the moor were huge standing stones, their origins lost in time, which were said to lead mobile and private lives of their own. She shivered.
'What's to be afraid of?' she managed.
'Us,' said Granny Weatherwax, smugly.
The the bundle into Granny's arms and toppled forward, the feathers of a crossbow bolt sticking out of his back.
Three figures moved into the firelight. Granny looked up into another pair of eyes, which were as chilly as the slopes of Hell.
Their owner threw his crossbow aside. There was a glimpse of chain mail under hoofbeats neared, slowed. And then the coach rattled between the furze bushes, its horses hanging in their harnesses. The driver leapt down, ran around to the door, pulled a large bundle from inside and dashed towards the trio.He was halfway across the damp peat when he stopped and stared at Granny Weatherwax with a look of horror.'It's all right,' she whispered, and the whisper cut through the grumbling of the storm as clearly as a bell.She took a few steps forward and a convenient lightning flash allowed her to look directly into the man's eyes. They had the peculiarity of focus that told those who had the Know that he was no longer looking at anything in this world.With a final jerking movement he thrust
'Hoofbeats?' said Nanny Ogg. 'No-one would come up here this time of night.'
Magrat peered around timidly. Here and there on the moor were huge standing stones, their origins lost in time, which were said to lead mobile and private lives of their own. She shivered.
'What's to be afraid of?' she managed.
'Us,' said Granny Weatherwax, smugly.
The the bundle into Granny's arms and toppled forward, the feathers of a crossbow bolt sticking out of his back.
Three figures moved into the firelight. Granny looked up into another pair of eyes, which were as chilly as the slopes of Hell.
Their owner threw his crossbow aside. There was a glimpse of chain mail under hoofbeats neared, slowed. And then the coach rattled between the furze bushes, its horses hanging in their harnesses. The driver leapt down, ran around to the door, pulled a large bundle from inside and dashed towards the trio.He was halfway across the damp peat when he stopped and stared at Granny Weatherwax with a look of horror.'It's all right,' she whispered, and the whisper cut through the grumbling of the storm as clearly as a bell.She took a few steps forward and a convenient lightning flash allowed her to look directly into the man's eyes. They had the peculiarity of focus that told those who had the Know that he was no longer looking at anything in this world.With a final jerking movement he thrust
Thursday, March 12, 2009
William Beard Phantom Crane
William Beard Phantom CraneWilliam Beard OwlsWilliam Beard Majestic Stag
him, are you? Death's assistant?'
'Yes. Off duty at the moment, though.'
'Pleased to have existed.'
'She'll suddenly die?'
'You don't quite understand. She will have been dead for a week. All this —' he waved his hands vaguely in the air – 'will not have happened. The assassin will have done his job. You will have done yours. History will have healed itself. Everything will be all right. From History's point of view, that is. There really isn't any other.'hear it.'Cutwell shut the door behind them and fumbled for a candlestick. There was a pop, a flash of blue light and a whimper.'Sorry,' he said, sucking his fingers. 'Fire spell. Never really got the hang of it.''You were expecting the dome thing, weren't you?' said Mort urgently. 'What will happen when it closes in?'The wizard sat down heavily on the remains of a bacon sandwich.'I'm not exactly sure,' he said. 'It'll be interesting to watch. But not from inside, I'm afraid. What I think will happen is that the last week will never
him, are you? Death's assistant?'
'Yes. Off duty at the moment, though.'
'Pleased to have existed.'
'She'll suddenly die?'
'You don't quite understand. She will have been dead for a week. All this —' he waved his hands vaguely in the air – 'will not have happened. The assassin will have done his job. You will have done yours. History will have healed itself. Everything will be all right. From History's point of view, that is. There really isn't any other.'hear it.'Cutwell shut the door behind them and fumbled for a candlestick. There was a pop, a flash of blue light and a whimper.'Sorry,' he said, sucking his fingers. 'Fire spell. Never really got the hang of it.''You were expecting the dome thing, weren't you?' said Mort urgently. 'What will happen when it closes in?'The wizard sat down heavily on the remains of a bacon sandwich.'I'm not exactly sure,' he said. 'It'll be interesting to watch. But not from inside, I'm afraid. What I think will happen is that the last week will never
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Edward Hopper The Lighthouse at Two Lights
Edward Hopper The Lighthouse at Two LightsEdward Hopper Tables for LadiesEdward Hopper Sunlight in a Cafeteria
she lets Gammer Nutley have the pink marble washstand, she's had her eye on it for years.'
The cat yawped knowingly.
'I haven't, that is, I HAVEN'T GOT ALL NIGHT, YOU KNOW,' said Mort reproachfully.
'You have, I haven't, and there's no need to shout,' said the witch. She slid off her stall and then Mort saw how bent she was, like a bow. With some difficulty she unhooked a tall pointed hat from its nail on the wall, skewered it into place on her white hair with a battery of hatpins, and grasped two walking sticks.
She tottered 'Death,' said the witch, simply. 'It's part of the arrangement, you see. One gets to know the time of one's death in advance, and one is guaranteed – personal attention.'
'I'm it,'said Mort.
'It?'
'The personal attention. He sent me. I work for him. Noacross the floor towards Mort, and looked up at him with eyes as small and bright as blackcurrants.'Will I need my shawl? Shall I need a shawl, d'you think? No, I suppose not. I imagine it's quite warm where I'm going.' She peered closely at Mort, and frowned.'You're rather younger than I imagined,' she said. Mort said nothing. Then Goodie Hamstring said, quietly, 'You know, I don't think you're who I was expecting at all.'Mort cleared his throat.'Who were you expecting, precisely?' he said.
she lets Gammer Nutley have the pink marble washstand, she's had her eye on it for years.'
The cat yawped knowingly.
'I haven't, that is, I HAVEN'T GOT ALL NIGHT, YOU KNOW,' said Mort reproachfully.
'You have, I haven't, and there's no need to shout,' said the witch. She slid off her stall and then Mort saw how bent she was, like a bow. With some difficulty she unhooked a tall pointed hat from its nail on the wall, skewered it into place on her white hair with a battery of hatpins, and grasped two walking sticks.
She tottered 'Death,' said the witch, simply. 'It's part of the arrangement, you see. One gets to know the time of one's death in advance, and one is guaranteed – personal attention.'
'I'm it,'said Mort.
'It?'
'The personal attention. He sent me. I work for him. Noacross the floor towards Mort, and looked up at him with eyes as small and bright as blackcurrants.'Will I need my shawl? Shall I need a shawl, d'you think? No, I suppose not. I imagine it's quite warm where I'm going.' She peered closely at Mort, and frowned.'You're rather younger than I imagined,' she said. Mort said nothing. Then Goodie Hamstring said, quietly, 'You know, I don't think you're who I was expecting at all.'Mort cleared his throat.'Who were you expecting, precisely?' he said.
Pierre Auguste Renoir Two Sisters (On the Terrace)
Pierre Auguste Renoir Two Sisters (On the Terrace)Thomas Kinkade The Garden of PrayerThomas Kinkade Lombard Street
Mort looked at his feet. He was a dutiful son, when he remembered, and if being an apprentice was what was expected of him then he was determined to be a good one. Carpentry didn't sound very promising, though – , and a tendency to split. And official thieves were rare in the Ramtops, where , but the crimson fires of shame and stubbornness flared up inside him, hotter than the slopes of Hell. He blew on his fingers for something to do and stared up at the freezing sky, trying to avoid the stares of the few stragglers among what remained of the fair.
Most of the stallkeepers had packed up and gone. Even the hot meat pie man had stopped crying his wares and, with no regard for personal safety, was eating one.people weren't rich enough to afford them.'All right,' he said eventually, 'I'll go and give it a try. But what happens if I don't get prenticed?'Lezek scratched his head.'I don't know,' he said. 'I expect you just wait until the end of the fair. At midnight. I suppose.' And now midnight approached.A light frost began to crisp the cobblestones. In the ornamental clock tower that overlooked the square a couple of delicately-carved little automatons whirred out of trapdoors in the clockface and struck the quarter hour.Fifteen minutes to midnight. Mort shivered
Mort looked at his feet. He was a dutiful son, when he remembered, and if being an apprentice was what was expected of him then he was determined to be a good one. Carpentry didn't sound very promising, though – , and a tendency to split. And official thieves were rare in the Ramtops, where , but the crimson fires of shame and stubbornness flared up inside him, hotter than the slopes of Hell. He blew on his fingers for something to do and stared up at the freezing sky, trying to avoid the stares of the few stragglers among what remained of the fair.
Most of the stallkeepers had packed up and gone. Even the hot meat pie man had stopped crying his wares and, with no regard for personal safety, was eating one.people weren't rich enough to afford them.'All right,' he said eventually, 'I'll go and give it a try. But what happens if I don't get prenticed?'Lezek scratched his head.'I don't know,' he said. 'I expect you just wait until the end of the fair. At midnight. I suppose.' And now midnight approached.A light frost began to crisp the cobblestones. In the ornamental clock tower that overlooked the square a couple of delicately-carved little automatons whirred out of trapdoors in the clockface and struck the quarter hour.Fifteen minutes to midnight. Mort shivered
Monday, March 9, 2009
Frederic Remington The Cowboy
Frederic Remington The CowboyThomas Kinkade veniceThomas Kinkade HOMETOWN MEMORIES
powerful books managed to jerk out of their shelves and swung, flapping madly, from the end of their chains. A huge grimoire plunged from its eyrie on the topmost shelf - tearing itself free of its chain in the process - and flopped . There's the sound of the little meaningful chuckle in the locked dark room, the sight of half a caterpillar in your forkful of salad, the curious smell from the lodger's bedroom, the taste of slug in the cauliflower cheese. Touch doesn't normally get a look-in.
But something happened to the floor under Esk's hands. She looked downaway like a frightened chicken, scattering its pages behind it. A magical wind blew away Esk's headscarf and her hair streamed out behind her. She saw Simon trying to steady himself against a bookshelf as books exploded around him. The air was thick and tasted of tin. It buzzed. "They're trying to get in!" she screamed. Simon's tortured face turned to her. A fear-crazed incunable hit him heavily in the small of the back and knocked him to the heaving floor before it bounced high over the shelves. Esk ducked as a flock of thesauri wheeled past, towing their shelf behind them, and scuttled on hands and knees towards him. "That's what's making the books so frightened!" she shrieked in his ear. "Can't you see them up there?" Simon mutely shook his head. A book burst its bindings over them, showering them in pages. Horror can steal into the mind via all the senses
powerful books managed to jerk out of their shelves and swung, flapping madly, from the end of their chains. A huge grimoire plunged from its eyrie on the topmost shelf - tearing itself free of its chain in the process - and flopped . There's the sound of the little meaningful chuckle in the locked dark room, the sight of half a caterpillar in your forkful of salad, the curious smell from the lodger's bedroom, the taste of slug in the cauliflower cheese. Touch doesn't normally get a look-in.
But something happened to the floor under Esk's hands. She looked downaway like a frightened chicken, scattering its pages behind it. A magical wind blew away Esk's headscarf and her hair streamed out behind her. She saw Simon trying to steady himself against a bookshelf as books exploded around him. The air was thick and tasted of tin. It buzzed. "They're trying to get in!" she screamed. Simon's tortured face turned to her. A fear-crazed incunable hit him heavily in the small of the back and knocked him to the heaving floor before it bounced high over the shelves. Esk ducked as a flock of thesauri wheeled past, towing their shelf behind them, and scuttled on hands and knees towards him. "That's what's making the books so frightened!" she shrieked in his ear. "Can't you see them up there?" Simon mutely shook his head. A book burst its bindings over them, showering them in pages. Horror can steal into the mind via all the senses
Pablo Picasso Mandolin and Guitar
Pablo Picasso Mandolin and GuitarPablo Picasso Girl Before a MirrorYvonne Jeanette Karlsen Nude
even if these do not become necessary, for lighting fires. A wizard of the third rank or above does not expect to pay for the privilege of joining the party. Rather, he expects to be paid. Delicate were even now coming to a University for that small detail," said Treatle loftily. Wizards parted with money slightly less readily than tigers parted with their teeth.
Gander looked at the lad in question. He had met a good many wizards in his time and considered himself a good judge and he had to admit that this boy looked like good wizard material. In other conclusion. "Fair enough, Master Treatle, but what of the young man?" said the trail boss, one Adab Gander, an impressive figure in a trollhide jerkin, rakishly floppy hat and a leather kilt. "He's no wizard, I can see." "He is in training," said Treatle- a tall skinny wizard whose robes declared him to be a mage of the Ancient and Truly Original Brothers of the Silver Star, one of the eight orders of wizardry. "Then no wizard he," said Gander. "I know the rules, and you're not a wizard unless you've got a staff. And he hasn't." "Even now he travels to the Unseen
even if these do not become necessary, for lighting fires. A wizard of the third rank or above does not expect to pay for the privilege of joining the party. Rather, he expects to be paid. Delicate were even now coming to a University for that small detail," said Treatle loftily. Wizards parted with money slightly less readily than tigers parted with their teeth.
Gander looked at the lad in question. He had met a good many wizards in his time and considered himself a good judge and he had to admit that this boy looked like good wizard material. In other conclusion. "Fair enough, Master Treatle, but what of the young man?" said the trail boss, one Adab Gander, an impressive figure in a trollhide jerkin, rakishly floppy hat and a leather kilt. "He's no wizard, I can see." "He is in training," said Treatle- a tall skinny wizard whose robes declared him to be a mage of the Ancient and Truly Original Brothers of the Silver Star, one of the eight orders of wizardry. "Then no wizard he," said Gander. "I know the rules, and you're not a wizard unless you've got a staff. And he hasn't." "Even now he travels to the Unseen
Friday, March 6, 2009
Claude Monet Haystack at Giverny
Claude Monet Haystack at GivernyJean Auguste Dominique Ingres Ingres The SourcePeter Paul Rubens Samson and Delilah
Do you really think you're the first, my girl? Do you think we haven't all thought what a fine thing it would be, to take on another body and tread the wind or breathe the water? And do you really think it would be as easy as that?"
Esk glowered at her.
"No need to look like that," said Granny. "You'll thank me one day. Don't you start playing around before you know what fought, and didn't have time to panic. Esk held it wrapped in her own mind It writhed for an instant, and then melted into leer.
Granny opened her eyes in time to see the bird give a hoarse cry of triumph, curve down low over the grass-grown scree, and skim away down the mountainside. For a moment it was a vanishing dot and then it had gone, leaving only another echoing shriek.you're about, eh? Before you get up to tricks you've got to learn what to do if things go wrong. Don't try to walk before you can run." "I can feel how to do it, Granny." "That's as maybe. It's harder than it seems, is Borrowing, although I'll grant you've got a knack. That's enough for today, bring us in over ourselves and I'll show you how to Return." The eagle beat the air over the two recumbent forms and Esk saw, in her mind's eye, two channels open for them. Granny's mindshape vanished. Now Granny had been wrong. The eagle mind barely
Do you really think you're the first, my girl? Do you think we haven't all thought what a fine thing it would be, to take on another body and tread the wind or breathe the water? And do you really think it would be as easy as that?"
Esk glowered at her.
"No need to look like that," said Granny. "You'll thank me one day. Don't you start playing around before you know what fought, and didn't have time to panic. Esk held it wrapped in her own mind It writhed for an instant, and then melted into leer.
Granny opened her eyes in time to see the bird give a hoarse cry of triumph, curve down low over the grass-grown scree, and skim away down the mountainside. For a moment it was a vanishing dot and then it had gone, leaving only another echoing shriek.you're about, eh? Before you get up to tricks you've got to learn what to do if things go wrong. Don't try to walk before you can run." "I can feel how to do it, Granny." "That's as maybe. It's harder than it seems, is Borrowing, although I'll grant you've got a knack. That's enough for today, bring us in over ourselves and I'll show you how to Return." The eagle beat the air over the two recumbent forms and Esk saw, in her mind's eye, two channels open for them. Granny's mindshape vanished. Now Granny had been wrong. The eagle mind barely
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Salvador Dali Manhattan Skyline
Salvador Dali Manhattan SkylineMartin Johnson Heade Cattleya Orchid and Three Brazilian HummingbirdsCaravaggio The Raising of LazarusCaravaggio Beheading of Saint John the Baptist
would agree that if you had to liken Ankh-Morpork to anything, then it might as well be a piece of rubbish covered with the diseased secretions of a dying mollusc.There have been bigger cities. There have been richer cities. There have certainly been prettier cities. But no city in the multiverse could rival Ankh-Morpork for its smell.The Ancient Ones, who know everything about all the universes and have smelt the smells of Calcutta has that kind of effect.
There is only really one way to describe the effect the smell of Ankh-Morpork has on the visiting nose, and that is by analogy.
Take a tartan. Sprinkle it with confetti. Light it with strobe lights.
Now take a chameleon.
Put the chameleon on the tartan.
Watch it closely.
See?and !Xrc —! and dauntocum Marsport, have agreed that even these fine examples of nasal poetry are mere limericks when set against the glory of the Ankh-Morpork smell.You can talk about ramps. You can talk about garlic. You can talk about France. Go on. But if you haven't smelled Ankh-Morpork on a hot day you haven't smelled anything.The citizens are proud of it. They carry chairs outside
would agree that if you had to liken Ankh-Morpork to anything, then it might as well be a piece of rubbish covered with the diseased secretions of a dying mollusc.There have been bigger cities. There have been richer cities. There have certainly been prettier cities. But no city in the multiverse could rival Ankh-Morpork for its smell.The Ancient Ones, who know everything about all the universes and have smelt the smells of Calcutta has that kind of effect.
There is only really one way to describe the effect the smell of Ankh-Morpork has on the visiting nose, and that is by analogy.
Take a tartan. Sprinkle it with confetti. Light it with strobe lights.
Now take a chameleon.
Put the chameleon on the tartan.
Watch it closely.
See?and !Xrc —! and dauntocum Marsport, have agreed that even these fine examples of nasal poetry are mere limericks when set against the glory of the Ankh-Morpork smell.You can talk about ramps. You can talk about garlic. You can talk about France. Go on. But if you haven't smelled Ankh-Morpork on a hot day you haven't smelled anything.The citizens are proud of it. They carry chairs outside
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Francois Boucher Shepherd and Shepherdess Reposing
Francois Boucher Shepherd and Shepherdess ReposingFrancois Boucher Brown OdaliskFrancois Boucher Are They Thinking About the GrapFrancois Boucher An Autumn Pastoral
thousand miles through strange seas, or send a million lemmings running joyfully back to an ancestral homeland which, owing to a slight kink in the continental drift, isn't rose up inside Rincewind like a late-night prawn biriani, flowed along the tenuous thread linking his tortured soul to his body, dug its heels in and tugged . . .
The spells were alone inside their Octavo.
Alone, at had walked over your grave.'
'Uh, yes, it was probably me,' he said. He held up his fingers and counted them. There appeared to be the normal amount.
'Um, have I moved at all?' he said.
'You just looked at the fire as if you had seen a ghost,' said Bethan.any rate, apart from the Luggage.They looked at it, not with eyes, but with consciousness as old as the Discworld itself.'And you can bugger off too,' they said. '— bad.'Rincewind knew it was himself speaking, he recognised the voice. For a moment he was looking out through his eyes not in any normal way, but as a spy might peer through the cut-out eyes of a picture. Then he was back.'You okay, Rinshwind?' said Cohen. 'You looked a bit gone there.''You did look a bit white,' agreed Bethan. 'Like someone
There was a groan behind them. Twoflower was sitting up, holding his head in his hands
thousand miles through strange seas, or send a million lemmings running joyfully back to an ancestral homeland which, owing to a slight kink in the continental drift, isn't rose up inside Rincewind like a late-night prawn biriani, flowed along the tenuous thread linking his tortured soul to his body, dug its heels in and tugged . . .
The spells were alone inside their Octavo.
Alone, at had walked over your grave.'
'Uh, yes, it was probably me,' he said. He held up his fingers and counted them. There appeared to be the normal amount.
'Um, have I moved at all?' he said.
'You just looked at the fire as if you had seen a ghost,' said Bethan.any rate, apart from the Luggage.They looked at it, not with eyes, but with consciousness as old as the Discworld itself.'And you can bugger off too,' they said. '— bad.'Rincewind knew it was himself speaking, he recognised the voice. For a moment he was looking out through his eyes not in any normal way, but as a spy might peer through the cut-out eyes of a picture. Then he was back.'You okay, Rinshwind?' said Cohen. 'You looked a bit gone there.''You did look a bit white,' agreed Bethan. 'Like someone
There was a groan behind them. Twoflower was sitting up, holding his head in his hands
Monday, March 2, 2009
Fabian Perez For a Better Life III
Fabian Perez For a Better Life IIIFabian Perez Untitled IIThomas Kinkade The Aspen ChapelFabian Perez Rojo Sillion III Second State
hope it is a good party,' said Galder, loudly.
AT THE MOMENT IT IS, said Death levelly. I THINK IT MIGHT GO DOWNHILL VERY QUICKLY AT MIDNIGHT.
'Why?'
THAT'S WHENhad got down to some serious arguing about what the apparition had meant he was down in the main levels of the University library.
It was an awe-inspiring place. Many of the books were magical, and the important thing to remember about grimoires is that they are deadly in the hands of any ibrarian who cares about order, because he's bound to stick them all on the same shelf. This is not a good idea with books that tend to leak magic, because more than one or two of them together form a critical Black Mass. On top THEY THINK I'LL BE TAKING MY MASK OFF.He vanished, leaving only a cocktail stick and a short paper streamer behind. There had been an unseen observer of all this. It was of course entirely against the rules, but Trymon knew all about rules and had always considered they were for making, not obeying.Long before the eight mages
hope it is a good party,' said Galder, loudly.
AT THE MOMENT IT IS, said Death levelly. I THINK IT MIGHT GO DOWNHILL VERY QUICKLY AT MIDNIGHT.
'Why?'
THAT'S WHENhad got down to some serious arguing about what the apparition had meant he was down in the main levels of the University library.
It was an awe-inspiring place. Many of the books were magical, and the important thing to remember about grimoires is that they are deadly in the hands of any ibrarian who cares about order, because he's bound to stick them all on the same shelf. This is not a good idea with books that tend to leak magic, because more than one or two of them together form a critical Black Mass. On top THEY THINK I'LL BE TAKING MY MASK OFF.He vanished, leaving only a cocktail stick and a short paper streamer behind. There had been an unseen observer of all this. It was of course entirely against the rules, but Trymon knew all about rules and had always considered they were for making, not obeying.Long before the eight mages
Cassius Marcellus Coolidge Waterloo
Cassius Marcellus Coolidge WaterlooPino Morning BreezePino First GlanceEdvard Munch The Girls on the Bridge
Would he leave that sort of thing around if it could hurt him?" Twoflower wondered aloud.
Rincewind ignored him and took up a position beside the door. When it opened some ten minutes later he moved him. He looked up into Tethis' face, which was shaking sadly from side to side.
"It wouldn't have harmed me," said the troll, "but nevertheless, I am hurt. Deeply hurt." He reached over the wizard and jerked the sword out of the wood. With no apparent effort he bent its blade into a circle and sent it bowling away over the rocks until it hit a stone and sprang, still spinning, in a silver arc that ended in the mists forming over the Rimfall.
"Very deeply hurt," he concluded. unhesitatingly, swinging it across the opening at what he judged was the troll's head height. It swished harmlessly through nothing at all and struck the doorpost, jerking him off his feet and on to the floor.There was a sigh above
Would he leave that sort of thing around if it could hurt him?" Twoflower wondered aloud.
Rincewind ignored him and took up a position beside the door. When it opened some ten minutes later he moved him. He looked up into Tethis' face, which was shaking sadly from side to side.
"It wouldn't have harmed me," said the troll, "but nevertheless, I am hurt. Deeply hurt." He reached over the wizard and jerked the sword out of the wood. With no apparent effort he bent its blade into a circle and sent it bowling away over the rocks until it hit a stone and sprang, still spinning, in a silver arc that ended in the mists forming over the Rimfall.
"Very deeply hurt," he concluded. unhesitatingly, swinging it across the opening at what he judged was the troll's head height. It swished harmlessly through nothing at all and struck the doorpost, jerking him off his feet and on to the floor.There was a sigh above
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