Peter Paul Rubens Hippopotamus and Crocodile HuntJohn William Godward Summer FlowersJohn William Godward Absence Makes the Heart Grow FonderJohn William Waterhouse In the PeristyleJohn William Waterhouse Gather Ye Rosebuds while ye may
?’ he said.
‘There are a queue, you know,’ said the troll.
The Dean nodded politely. In Ankh‑Morpork a queue was, almost by definition, something with a wizard at the head of it. ‘So I see,’ he said. ‘And a very good thing, too. And if you will be so good as to stand aside, we’d like to take our seats.’
The trollhis voice became an incoherent squeak as the troll picked him up by the collar of his robe and propelled him out into the road.
‘You get in queue like everyone else,’ he said. There was a chorus of jeers from the queue.
The Dean growled and raised his right hand, fingers spread‑
The Chair grabbed his arm.
‘Oh, yes,’ he hissed., ‘That’d do a lot of good, wouldn’t it? Come on.’ prodded him in the stomach.‘What you fink you are?’ he said. ‘A wizard or something?’ This got a laugh from the nearest queuers.The Dean leaned closer.‘As a matter of fact, we are wizards,’ he hissed.The troll grinned at him.‘Don’t come the raw trilobite with me,’ he said. ‘I can see your false beard!’‘Now listen–‘ the Dean began, but
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Edward Hopper Les Pont Royal
Edward Hopper Les Pont RoyalEdward Hopper Les Pont des ArtsEdward Hopper Jo in WyomingEdward Hopper Hills South TruroEdward Hopper High Road
The origins of the Ankh-Morpork Civil War (8.32 p.m., Grune 3, 432 -10.45 a. m., Grune 4, 432) have always been a subject of of palming more than the usual number of aces, and knives had been drawn, and then someone had hit someone with a "bench, and then someone else had stabbed someone, and arrows started to fly, and someone had swung on the chandelier, and a carelesslyhurled axe had hit someone in the street, and then the Watch had been called in, and someone had set fire to the place, and someone had hit a lot of people with a table, and then everyone lost their tempers and commenced to start fighting.
Anyway, it all caused a civil war, which is something every mature civilization heated debate among historians. There are two main theories: 1. The common people, having been heavily taxed by a particularly stupid and unpleasant king, decided that enough was enough and that it was time to do away with the outmoded concept of monarchy and replace it with, as it turned out, a series of despotic overlords who still taxed heavily but at least had the decency not to pretend the gods had given them the right to do it, which made everyone feel a bit better OR 2. One of the players in a game of Cripple Mr Onion in a tavern had accused another
The origins of the Ankh-Morpork Civil War (8.32 p.m., Grune 3, 432 -10.45 a. m., Grune 4, 432) have always been a subject of of palming more than the usual number of aces, and knives had been drawn, and then someone had hit someone with a "bench, and then someone else had stabbed someone, and arrows started to fly, and someone had swung on the chandelier, and a carelesslyhurled axe had hit someone in the street, and then the Watch had been called in, and someone had set fire to the place, and someone had hit a lot of people with a table, and then everyone lost their tempers and commenced to start fighting.
Anyway, it all caused a civil war, which is something every mature civilization heated debate among historians. There are two main theories: 1. The common people, having been heavily taxed by a particularly stupid and unpleasant king, decided that enough was enough and that it was time to do away with the outmoded concept of monarchy and replace it with, as it turned out, a series of despotic overlords who still taxed heavily but at least had the decency not to pretend the gods had given them the right to do it, which made everyone feel a bit better OR 2. One of the players in a game of Cripple Mr Onion in a tavern had accused another
Thursday, March 26, 2009
George Bellows Club Night
George Bellows Club NightCaravaggio The Seven Acts of MercyCaravaggio The Lute PlayerCaravaggio The Inspiration of Saint MatthewCaravaggio The Fortune Teller
Dibbler glanced at Detritus, who was lost in a reverie concerning Ruby, and then stared at Ginger.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Ten. Because I like you. But it’s cutting my own throat.’
‘Done.’
Throat held out a hand. Victor stared at his own as if he was seeing it for the first time, and then shook.
‘And now let’s get back down,’ said Dibbler. ‘Lot to organize.’
He strode .
‘Oh, it’s - it’s just this dog we found,’ said Victor hurriedly. ‘He’s called Gaspode. After the famous Gaspode, you know.’
‘He does tricks,’ said Ginger, malevolently.
‘A performing dog?’ Dibbler reached down and patted Gaspode’s bullet head.
‘Growl, growl.’ off through the trees. Victor and Ginger followed meekly behind him, in a state of shock. ‘Are you crazy?’ Ginger hissed. ‘Holding out like that! We could have lost our chance!’ ‘I didn’t say anything! I thought it was you!’ said Victor. ‘It was you!’ said Ginger. Their eyes met. They looked down. ‘Bark, bark,’ said Gaspode the Wonder Dog. Dibbler turned round. ‘What’s that noise?’ he said
Dibbler glanced at Detritus, who was lost in a reverie concerning Ruby, and then stared at Ginger.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Ten. Because I like you. But it’s cutting my own throat.’
‘Done.’
Throat held out a hand. Victor stared at his own as if he was seeing it for the first time, and then shook.
‘And now let’s get back down,’ said Dibbler. ‘Lot to organize.’
He strode .
‘Oh, it’s - it’s just this dog we found,’ said Victor hurriedly. ‘He’s called Gaspode. After the famous Gaspode, you know.’
‘He does tricks,’ said Ginger, malevolently.
‘A performing dog?’ Dibbler reached down and patted Gaspode’s bullet head.
‘Growl, growl.’ off through the trees. Victor and Ginger followed meekly behind him, in a state of shock. ‘Are you crazy?’ Ginger hissed. ‘Holding out like that! We could have lost our chance!’ ‘I didn’t say anything! I thought it was you!’ said Victor. ‘It was you!’ said Ginger. Their eyes met. They looked down. ‘Bark, bark,’ said Gaspode the Wonder Dog. Dibbler turned round. ‘What’s that noise?’ he said
Wednesday, March 25, 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
records turned up Ridcully the Brown who, after becoming a Seventh Level mage at the incredibly young age of twenty-seven, had quit the University in order to look after his family’s estates deep in the country.
He looked ideal.
‘Justthe Brown had sighed, cursed a bit, found his staff in the kitchen garden where it had been supporting a scarecrow, and had set out.
‘And if he’s any problem,’ the wizards had added, in the privacy of their own heads, ‘anyone who talks to trees should be no trouble to get rid of.’
And then he’d arrived, and it turned out that Ridcully the Brown did speak to the birds the chap,’ they all said. ‘Clean sweep. New broom. A country wizard. Back to the thingumajigs, the roots of wizardry. Jolly old boy with a pipe and twinkly eyes. Sort of chap who can tell one herb from another, roams-the-high-forest-with-every-beast-his-brother kind of thing. Sleeps under the stars, like as not. Knows what the wind is saying, we shouldn’t wonder. Got a name for all the trees, you can bank on it. Speaks to the birds, too.’ A messenger had been sent. Ridcully
records turned up Ridcully the Brown who, after becoming a Seventh Level mage at the incredibly young age of twenty-seven, had quit the University in order to look after his family’s estates deep in the country.
He looked ideal.
‘Justthe Brown had sighed, cursed a bit, found his staff in the kitchen garden where it had been supporting a scarecrow, and had set out.
‘And if he’s any problem,’ the wizards had added, in the privacy of their own heads, ‘anyone who talks to trees should be no trouble to get rid of.’
And then he’d arrived, and it turned out that Ridcully the Brown did speak to the birds the chap,’ they all said. ‘Clean sweep. New broom. A country wizard. Back to the thingumajigs, the roots of wizardry. Jolly old boy with a pipe and twinkly eyes. Sort of chap who can tell one herb from another, roams-the-high-forest-with-every-beast-his-brother kind of thing. Sleeps under the stars, like as not. Knows what the wind is saying, we shouldn’t wonder. Got a name for all the trees, you can bank on it. Speaks to the birds, too.’ A messenger had been sent. Ridcully
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Caravaggio The Sacrifice of Isaac
Caravaggio The Sacrifice of IsaacCaravaggio The MusiciansCaravaggio St JeromeCaravaggio NarcissusCaravaggio Madonna di Loreto
words. The message received by Teppicymon originally began, 'Handcuffed to the bed, the aunt thirsted.') who was at the end of the line. '"And-the-First-Spake, and-This-He-Spake, Build-for-Me-a-Pyramid, That-I-May-Rest, and-Build-it-of-These-Dimensions, That-it-Be-Proper. And-Thus-It-Was-Done, and-The-Name-of-the-First-was . . the opposite horizon. The Tsorteans' main force was getting there first.
He stood up, nodded professionally to his counterpart across the way, and looked at the double handful of men under his command.
'I need a messenger to take, er, a message back to the city,' he said. A forest of hands shot up. The sergeant sighed, and selected young Autocue, who he knew was missing his mum.
'Run like the wind,' he said. 'Although I expect you won't need telling, will you? And then . . . and then . .
He stood with his lips moving silently, while the sun scoured the rocks of the hot, narrow pass ."' But there was no name. It was just a babble of raised voices, arguments, ancient cursewords, spreading along the line of desiccated ancestors like a spark along a powder trail. Until it reached Teppicymon, who exploded. The Ephebian sergeant, quietly perspiring in the shade, saw what he had been half expecting and wholly dreading. There was a column of dust on
words. The message received by Teppicymon originally began, 'Handcuffed to the bed, the aunt thirsted.') who was at the end of the line. '"And-the-First-Spake, and-This-He-Spake, Build-for-Me-a-Pyramid, That-I-May-Rest, and-Build-it-of-These-Dimensions, That-it-Be-Proper. And-Thus-It-Was-Done, and-The-Name-of-the-First-was . . the opposite horizon. The Tsorteans' main force was getting there first.
He stood up, nodded professionally to his counterpart across the way, and looked at the double handful of men under his command.
'I need a messenger to take, er, a message back to the city,' he said. A forest of hands shot up. The sergeant sighed, and selected young Autocue, who he knew was missing his mum.
'Run like the wind,' he said. 'Although I expect you won't need telling, will you? And then . . . and then . .
He stood with his lips moving silently, while the sun scoured the rocks of the hot, narrow pass ."' But there was no name. It was just a babble of raised voices, arguments, ancient cursewords, spreading along the line of desiccated ancestors like a spark along a powder trail. Until it reached Teppicymon, who exploded. The Ephebian sergeant, quietly perspiring in the shade, saw what he had been half expecting and wholly dreading. There was a column of dust on
Friday, March 20, 2009
Pierre Auguste Renoir By the Seashore
Pierre Auguste Renoir By the SeashoreThomas Kinkade Victorian AutumnThomas Kinkade The Night Before ChristmasThomas Kinkade The Good LifeThomas Kinkade Stairway to Paradise
Some of the pyramids were small, and made of rough-hewn blocks that contrived to look far older than the mountains that fenced the valley from the high desert. After all, mountains had always been there. Words like 'young' and 'old' didn't apply temples, which flocked around the base of the pyramids like tugboats around the dreadnoughts of eternity, could be worthy of attention.
Dreadnoughts of eternity, he thought, sailing ponderously through the mists of Time with every passenger travelling first class . . .
A few stars had been let out early. Teppic looked up at them. Perhaps, he thought, there is life somewhere to them. But those first pyramids had been built by human beings, little bags of thinking water held up briefly by fragile accumulations of calcium, who had cut rocks into pieces and then painfully put them back together again in a better shape. They were old. Over the millennia the fashions had fluctuated. Later pyramids were smooth and sharp, or flattened and tiled with mica. Even the steepest of them, Teppic mused, wouldn't rate more than 1.O on any edificeer's scale, although some of the stelae and
Some of the pyramids were small, and made of rough-hewn blocks that contrived to look far older than the mountains that fenced the valley from the high desert. After all, mountains had always been there. Words like 'young' and 'old' didn't apply temples, which flocked around the base of the pyramids like tugboats around the dreadnoughts of eternity, could be worthy of attention.
Dreadnoughts of eternity, he thought, sailing ponderously through the mists of Time with every passenger travelling first class . . .
A few stars had been let out early. Teppic looked up at them. Perhaps, he thought, there is life somewhere to them. But those first pyramids had been built by human beings, little bags of thinking water held up briefly by fragile accumulations of calcium, who had cut rocks into pieces and then painfully put them back together again in a better shape. They were old. Over the millennia the fashions had fluctuated. Later pyramids were smooth and sharp, or flattened and tiled with mica. Even the steepest of them, Teppic mused, wouldn't rate more than 1.O on any edificeer's scale, although some of the stelae and
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Andrea Mantegna Madonna with Sleeping Child
Andrea Mantegna Madonna with Sleeping ChildAlbert Bierstadt California SpringAlbert Bierstadt The Mountain BrookJames Jacques Joseph Tissot Journey of the MagiJules Joseph Lefebvre Mary Magdalene In The Cave
silent, woman!' she said. 'The true King of Lancre stands before you!'
She clapped Tomjon on the shoulder.
'What, him?'
'Who, me?'
'Ridiculous,' said the duchess. 'He's a mummer, of sorts.'
'She's right, miss,' said Tomjon, on the edge of panic. 'My father runs a theatre, not a kingdom.'
'He is the true king. We can prove it,' said Granny.
'Oh, no,' said the duchess. 'We're not having that. There's no mysterious returned heirs in this kingdom. Guards – take him.'
Granny Weatherwax held up a hand. The soldiers lurched from foot to foot, uncertainly.
'She's a 'Of course it did, it was meant—' the duchess began.
She sighed, and snatched a spear out of the guard's hand.
'I'll show you the power of these witches,' she said, and hurled it at Granny's facewitch, isn't she?' said one of them, tentatively.'Certainly,' said the duchess.The guards shifted uneasily.'We seen where they turn people into newts,' said one.'And then shipwreck them.''Yeah, and alarum the divers.''Yeah.''We ought to talk about this. We ought to get extra for witches.''She could do anything to us, look. She could be a drabe, even.''Don't be foolish,' said the duchess. 'Witches don't do that sort of thing. They're just stories to frighten people.'The guard shook his head.'It looked pretty convincing to me.'
silent, woman!' she said. 'The true King of Lancre stands before you!'
She clapped Tomjon on the shoulder.
'What, him?'
'Who, me?'
'Ridiculous,' said the duchess. 'He's a mummer, of sorts.'
'She's right, miss,' said Tomjon, on the edge of panic. 'My father runs a theatre, not a kingdom.'
'He is the true king. We can prove it,' said Granny.
'Oh, no,' said the duchess. 'We're not having that. There's no mysterious returned heirs in this kingdom. Guards – take him.'
Granny Weatherwax held up a hand. The soldiers lurched from foot to foot, uncertainly.
'She's a 'Of course it did, it was meant—' the duchess began.
She sighed, and snatched a spear out of the guard's hand.
'I'll show you the power of these witches,' she said, and hurled it at Granny's facewitch, isn't she?' said one of them, tentatively.'Certainly,' said the duchess.The guards shifted uneasily.'We seen where they turn people into newts,' said one.'And then shipwreck them.''Yeah, and alarum the divers.''Yeah.''We ought to talk about this. We ought to get extra for witches.''She could do anything to us, look. She could be a drabe, even.''Don't be foolish,' said the duchess. 'Witches don't do that sort of thing. They're just stories to frighten people.'The guard shook his head.'It looked pretty convincing to me.'
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Fabian Perez Rojo Sillion III Second State
Fabian Perez Rojo Sillion III Second StateFabian Perez Balcony at Buenos Aires IIPino WHITE SANDPino WHISPERING HEARTPino THINKING OF YOU
dug her heels in and forced the broomstick to yield the last dregs of its power in a brief burst, sending it skimming erratically a few feet from the trees. As it sagged again and started to plough a furrow among the midnight small miracle which then occurred, for – in a forest full of cold rocks, jagged stumps and thorn bushes – Magrat landed on something soft.
Granny, meanwhile, was accelerating towards the mountains on the second leg of the journey. She consumed the regrettably tepid cocoa and, with proper environmental considerationleaves she tensed herself, prayed to whatever gods of the forest might be listening that she would land on something soft, and let go.There are three thousand known major gods on the Disc, and research theologians discover more every week. Apart from the minor gods of rock, tree and water, there are two that haunt the Ramtops – Hoki, half a man, half a goat, and entirely a bad practical joker, who was banished from Dunmanifestin for pulling the old exploding mistletoe joke on Blind Io, chief of all the gods; and also Herne the Hunted, the terrified and apprehensive deity of all small furry creatures whose destiny it is to end their lives as a brief, crunchy squeak . . .Either could have been candidates for the
dug her heels in and forced the broomstick to yield the last dregs of its power in a brief burst, sending it skimming erratically a few feet from the trees. As it sagged again and started to plough a furrow among the midnight small miracle which then occurred, for – in a forest full of cold rocks, jagged stumps and thorn bushes – Magrat landed on something soft.
Granny, meanwhile, was accelerating towards the mountains on the second leg of the journey. She consumed the regrettably tepid cocoa and, with proper environmental considerationleaves she tensed herself, prayed to whatever gods of the forest might be listening that she would land on something soft, and let go.There are three thousand known major gods on the Disc, and research theologians discover more every week. Apart from the minor gods of rock, tree and water, there are two that haunt the Ramtops – Hoki, half a man, half a goat, and entirely a bad practical joker, who was banished from Dunmanifestin for pulling the old exploding mistletoe joke on Blind Io, chief of all the gods; and also Herne the Hunted, the terrified and apprehensive deity of all small furry creatures whose destiny it is to end their lives as a brief, crunchy squeak . . .Either could have been candidates for the
Monday, March 16, 2009
William Bouguereau The Madonna of the Roses
William Bouguereau The Madonna of the RosesWilliam Bouguereau The WaveWilliam Bouguereau RestWilliam Bouguereau The Rapture of PsycheWilliam Bouguereau Cupid and Psyche as Children
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.
'I am a harmless old seller of apples,' she said, in a voice more appropriate for the opening of hostilities in a middle-range war. 'Pray let me past, dearie.' The last word had knives in it.
'No-one must enter the castle,' said one of the guards. 'Orders of the duke.'
Granny shrugged. The apple-seller gambit had never worked more than once in the entire history of witchcraft-bred mercenary brought up to swell the ranks depleted in recent years. His face was a patchwork of scar tissue. Several of the scars rearranged themselves into what was possibly a sneer.
'So that's witches' magic, is it?' said the guard. 'Pretty poor stuff. Maybe it frightens these country idiots, woman, but it doesn't frighten me.', as far as she knew, but it was traditional.'I know you, Champett Poldy,' she said. 'I recall I laid out your grandad and I brought you into the world.' She glanced at the crowds, which had regathered a little way off, and turned back to the guard, whose face was already a mask of terror. She leaned a little closer, and said, 'I gave you your first good hiding in this valley of tears and by all the gods if you cross me now I will give you your last.'There was a soft metallic noise as the spear fell out of the man's fearful fingers. Granny reached and gave the trembling man a reassuring pat on the shoulder.'But don't worry about it,' she added. 'Have an apple.'She made to step forward, and a second spear barred her way. She looked up with interest.The other guard was not a Ramtopper, but a city
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.
'I am a harmless old seller of apples,' she said, in a voice more appropriate for the opening of hostilities in a middle-range war. 'Pray let me past, dearie.' The last word had knives in it.
'No-one must enter the castle,' said one of the guards. 'Orders of the duke.'
Granny shrugged. The apple-seller gambit had never worked more than once in the entire history of witchcraft-bred mercenary brought up to swell the ranks depleted in recent years. His face was a patchwork of scar tissue. Several of the scars rearranged themselves into what was possibly a sneer.
'So that's witches' magic, is it?' said the guard. 'Pretty poor stuff. Maybe it frightens these country idiots, woman, but it doesn't frighten me.', as far as she knew, but it was traditional.'I know you, Champett Poldy,' she said. 'I recall I laid out your grandad and I brought you into the world.' She glanced at the crowds, which had regathered a little way off, and turned back to the guard, whose face was already a mask of terror. She leaned a little closer, and said, 'I gave you your first good hiding in this valley of tears and by all the gods if you cross me now I will give you your last.'There was a soft metallic noise as the spear fell out of the man's fearful fingers. Granny reached and gave the trembling man a reassuring pat on the shoulder.'But don't worry about it,' she added. 'Have an apple.'She made to step forward, and a second spear barred her way. She looked up with interest.The other guard was not a Ramtopper, but a city
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Thomas Kinkade Elegant Evening at Biltmore
Thomas Kinkade Elegant Evening at BiltmoreThomas Kinkade DawsonThomas Kinkade CourageThomas Kinkade City by the BayThomas Kinkade Blessings of Christmas
flourishing things. They were the eyes of one who knows exactly what swords are for. He reached out his hand.
'You will give it to me,' he said.
Granny twitched aside the blanket in her arms and looked down at a small face, wrapped in sleep.
She looked up.
'No,' she said, on general principles.
The soldier'Sir,' said the man. His eyes caught Granny's for a moment, and reflected hopeless terror.
The leader grinned at Granny, who hadn't moved a muscle. glanced from her to Magrat and Nanny Ogg, who were as still as the standing stones of the moor.'You are witches?' he said.Granny nodded. Lightning skewered down from the sky and a bush a hundred yards away blossomed into fire. The two soldiers behind the man muttered something, but he smiled and raised a mailed hand.'Does the skin of witches turn aside steel?' he said.'Not that I'm aware,' said Granny, levelly. 'You could give it a try.'One of the soldiers stepped forward and touched the man's arm gingerly.'Sir, with respect, sir, it's not a good idea—''Be silent.''But it's terrible bad luck to—''Must I ask you again?'
flourishing things. They were the eyes of one who knows exactly what swords are for. He reached out his hand.
'You will give it to me,' he said.
Granny twitched aside the blanket in her arms and looked down at a small face, wrapped in sleep.
She looked up.
'No,' she said, on general principles.
The soldier'Sir,' said the man. His eyes caught Granny's for a moment, and reflected hopeless terror.
The leader grinned at Granny, who hadn't moved a muscle. glanced from her to Magrat and Nanny Ogg, who were as still as the standing stones of the moor.'You are witches?' he said.Granny nodded. Lightning skewered down from the sky and a bush a hundred yards away blossomed into fire. The two soldiers behind the man muttered something, but he smiled and raised a mailed hand.'Does the skin of witches turn aside steel?' he said.'Not that I'm aware,' said Granny, levelly. 'You could give it a try.'One of the soldiers stepped forward and touched the man's arm gingerly.'Sir, with respect, sir, it's not a good idea—''Be silent.''But it's terrible bad luck to—''Must I ask you again?'
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Jean-Honore Fragonard Cephale et Procris
Jean-Honore Fragonard Cephale et ProcrisEdgar Degas DancerWilliam Beard So You Wanna Get Married
Cutwell took a deep breath. 'Everyone shut up!' he screamed.
There was silence. Then the wizard grabbed Mort's arm. 'Come on,' he said, pulling him back along the corridor. 'I .' He delved again, produced a key and unlocked the door.
'It's going to kill the princess, isn't it?' said Mort.
'Yes,' said Cutwell, 'and then again, no.' He paused with his hand on the doorhandle. 'That was pretty perspicacious of you. How did you know?'
'I —' Mort hesitated.
'She told me a very strange story,' said Cutwell.don't know who you are exactly and I hope I've got time to find out one day but something really horrible is going to happen soon and I think you're involved, somehow.''Something horrible? When?'That depends on how far away the interface is and how fast it's moving,' said Cutwell, dragging Mort down a side passage. When they were outside a small oak door he let go of his arm and fumbled in his pocket again, removing a small hard piece of cheese and an unpleasantly squashy tomato.'Hold these, will you? Thank you
Cutwell took a deep breath. 'Everyone shut up!' he screamed.
There was silence. Then the wizard grabbed Mort's arm. 'Come on,' he said, pulling him back along the corridor. 'I .' He delved again, produced a key and unlocked the door.
'It's going to kill the princess, isn't it?' said Mort.
'Yes,' said Cutwell, 'and then again, no.' He paused with his hand on the doorhandle. 'That was pretty perspicacious of you. How did you know?'
'I —' Mort hesitated.
'She told me a very strange story,' said Cutwell.don't know who you are exactly and I hope I've got time to find out one day but something really horrible is going to happen soon and I think you're involved, somehow.''Something horrible? When?'That depends on how far away the interface is and how fast it's moving,' said Cutwell, dragging Mort down a side passage. When they were outside a small oak door he let go of his arm and fumbled in his pocket again, removing a small hard piece of cheese and an unpleasantly squashy tomato.'Hold these, will you? Thank you
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Juan Gris Landscape with Houses at Ceret
Juan Gris Landscape with Houses at CeretGeorge Bellows Club NightCaravaggio The Seven Acts of Mercy
And although the Holy Listeners were so remote, many people took the extremely long and dangerous path to their templefrom the sky. Mort leapt from his back and ran through the silent cloisters to the room where the 88th abbot lay dying, surrounded by his devout followers.
Mort's footsteps boomed as he hurried across the intricate mosaic floor. The monks themselves wore woollen overshoes.
He reached the bed and waited for a moment, leaning on the scythe, until he could get his breath back.
The abbot, who was small and totally bald and had more wrinkles than a sackful of prunes, opened his eyes., travelling through frozen, troll-haunted lands, fording swift icy rivers, climbing forbidding mountains, trekking across inhospitable tundra, in order to climb the narrow stairway that led into the hidden valley and seek with an open heart the secrets of being.And the monks would cry unto them, 'Keep the bloody noise down!'Binky came through the mountain tops like a white blur, touching down in the snowy emptiness of a courtyard made spectral by the disco light
And although the Holy Listeners were so remote, many people took the extremely long and dangerous path to their templefrom the sky. Mort leapt from his back and ran through the silent cloisters to the room where the 88th abbot lay dying, surrounded by his devout followers.
Mort's footsteps boomed as he hurried across the intricate mosaic floor. The monks themselves wore woollen overshoes.
He reached the bed and waited for a moment, leaning on the scythe, until he could get his breath back.
The abbot, who was small and totally bald and had more wrinkles than a sackful of prunes, opened his eyes., travelling through frozen, troll-haunted lands, fording swift icy rivers, climbing forbidding mountains, trekking across inhospitable tundra, in order to climb the narrow stairway that led into the hidden valley and seek with an open heart the secrets of being.And the monks would cry unto them, 'Keep the bloody noise down!'Binky came through the mountain tops like a white blur, touching down in the snowy emptiness of a courtyard made spectral by the disco light
Vincent van Gogh Almond Branches in Bloom
Vincent van Gogh Almond Branches in BloomUnknown Artist Ford Smith Just Between UsSalvador Dali Sleep
'There's a brain there all right,' Lezek conceded. 'Sometimes he starts thinking so hard you has to hit him round the head to get his attention. His granny taught him to read, see. I reckon it overheated his mind.'
Mort had got up and tripped over his robe.
'You ought to set him to a trade,' said Hamesh, reflectively. 'The priesthood, maybe. Or wizardry. They do a lot of reading, wizards.'
They him as a prentice, see, and his new master'll have the job of knocking him into shape. 'Tis the law. Get him indentured, and 'tis binding.'
Lezek looked across the field at his son, who was examining a rock.
'I wouldn't want anything to happen to him, mind,' he said doubtfully. 'We're quite fond of him, his mother and me. You get used to people.'looked at each other. Into both their minds stole an inkling of what Mort might be capable of if he got his well-meaning hands on a book of magic.'All right,' said Hamesh hurriedly. 'Something else, then. There must be lots of things he could turn his hand to.''He starts thinking too much, that's the trouble,' said Lezek. 'Look at him now. You don't think about how to scare birds, you just does it. A normal boy, I mean.'Hamesh scratched his chin thoughtfully.'It could be someone else's problem,' he said.Lezek's expression did not alter, but there was a subtle change around his eyes.'How do you mean?' he said.'There's the hiring fair at Sheepridge next week. You set
'There's a brain there all right,' Lezek conceded. 'Sometimes he starts thinking so hard you has to hit him round the head to get his attention. His granny taught him to read, see. I reckon it overheated his mind.'
Mort had got up and tripped over his robe.
'You ought to set him to a trade,' said Hamesh, reflectively. 'The priesthood, maybe. Or wizardry. They do a lot of reading, wizards.'
They him as a prentice, see, and his new master'll have the job of knocking him into shape. 'Tis the law. Get him indentured, and 'tis binding.'
Lezek looked across the field at his son, who was examining a rock.
'I wouldn't want anything to happen to him, mind,' he said doubtfully. 'We're quite fond of him, his mother and me. You get used to people.'looked at each other. Into both their minds stole an inkling of what Mort might be capable of if he got his well-meaning hands on a book of magic.'All right,' said Hamesh hurriedly. 'Something else, then. There must be lots of things he could turn his hand to.''He starts thinking too much, that's the trouble,' said Lezek. 'Look at him now. You don't think about how to scare birds, you just does it. A normal boy, I mean.'Hamesh scratched his chin thoughtfully.'It could be someone else's problem,' he said.Lezek's expression did not alter, but there was a subtle change around his eyes.'How do you mean?' he said.'There's the hiring fair at Sheepridge next week. You set
Monday, March 9, 2009
Unknown Artist Spring is in the Air
Unknown Artist Spring is in the AirSalvador Dali The Great MasturbatorSalvador Dali Leda Atomica
turn him back, explaining in sign language that life as an orang-outanhuman being, because all the big philosophical questions resolved themselves into wondering where the next banana was so much magic distorted the space around it. Down in the stacks the very denim, or possibly flannelette, of the universe was tortured into very peculiar shapes. The millions of trapped words, unable to escape, bent reality around them.
It seemed logical to Esk that among all these books should be one that told you how to read all the others. She wasn't sure how to find it, but deep in her soul she felt it would probably have pictures coming from. Anyway, long arms and prehensile feet were ideal for dealing with high shelves. Esk gave him the whole bunch of bananas and scurried away amongst the books before he could object. Esk had never seen more than one book at a time and so the library was, for all she knew, just like any other library. True, it was a bit odd the way the floor seemed to become the wall in the distance, and there was something strange about the way the shelves played tricks on the eyes and seemed to twist through rather more dimensions than the normal three, and it was quite surprising to look up and see shelves on the ceiling, with the occasional student wandering unconcernedly among them. The truth was that the presence of
turn him back, explaining in sign language that life as an orang-outanhuman being, because all the big philosophical questions resolved themselves into wondering where the next banana was so much magic distorted the space around it. Down in the stacks the very denim, or possibly flannelette, of the universe was tortured into very peculiar shapes. The millions of trapped words, unable to escape, bent reality around them.
It seemed logical to Esk that among all these books should be one that told you how to read all the others. She wasn't sure how to find it, but deep in her soul she felt it would probably have pictures coming from. Anyway, long arms and prehensile feet were ideal for dealing with high shelves. Esk gave him the whole bunch of bananas and scurried away amongst the books before he could object. Esk had never seen more than one book at a time and so the library was, for all she knew, just like any other library. True, it was a bit odd the way the floor seemed to become the wall in the distance, and there was something strange about the way the shelves played tricks on the eyes and seemed to twist through rather more dimensions than the normal three, and it was quite surprising to look up and see shelves on the ceiling, with the occasional student wandering unconcernedly among them. The truth was that the presence of
Claude Monet Poplars
Claude Monet PoplarsJohannes Vermeer View Of DelftJohannes Vermeer The Kitchen Maid
Its lifting spells had worn so thin that it wouldn't even begin to operate until it was already moving at a fair lick. It was, in fact, the only broomstick ever to need bump-starting.
And it was while Granny Weatherwax, sweating and cursing, was running along a forest path holding the damn thing at The startled heads withdrew and Granny could hear a hasty whispered conversation. They had seen the hat and broomstick.
Finally a bearded head reappeared, rather reluctantly, as if the body it was attached to was being pushed forward.
"Um," it began, "look, mother -"shoulder height for the tenth time that she had found the bear trap. The second problem was that a bear had found it first. In fact this hadn't been too much of a problem because Granny, already in a bad temper, hit it right between the eyes with the broomstick and it was now sitting as far away from her as it was possible to get in a pit, and trying to think happy thoughts. It was not a very comfortable night and the morning wasn't much better for the party of hunters who, around dawn, peered over the edge of the pit. "About time, too," said Granny. "Get me out."
Its lifting spells had worn so thin that it wouldn't even begin to operate until it was already moving at a fair lick. It was, in fact, the only broomstick ever to need bump-starting.
And it was while Granny Weatherwax, sweating and cursing, was running along a forest path holding the damn thing at The startled heads withdrew and Granny could hear a hasty whispered conversation. They had seen the hat and broomstick.
Finally a bearded head reappeared, rather reluctantly, as if the body it was attached to was being pushed forward.
"Um," it began, "look, mother -"shoulder height for the tenth time that she had found the bear trap. The second problem was that a bear had found it first. In fact this hadn't been too much of a problem because Granny, already in a bad temper, hit it right between the eyes with the broomstick and it was now sitting as far away from her as it was possible to get in a pit, and trying to think happy thoughts. It was not a very comfortable night and the morning wasn't much better for the party of hunters who, around dawn, peered over the edge of the pit. "About time, too," said Granny. "Get me out."
Friday, March 6, 2009
Frederic Edwin Church The Icebergs
Frederic Edwin Church The IcebergsFrederic Edwin Church Twilight in the WildernessJulius LeBlanc Stewart At Home
Mhnf?"
Esk thought for a moment. "Are you having a good time?" she said artfully.
"Mnph."
"You said you'd show me some real magic, all in good time," said Esk, "and this is a good time."
"Mnph."
Granny Weatherwax opened her eyes and looked straight up at the sky; it was darker up here, more purple than blue. She thought: why not? She's a quick learner. She knows more herblore than I do. At her age old Gammer Tumult had me Borrowing and Shifting and Sending all the hours of the day. Maybe I'm being too cautious.
"Just a bit?" pleaded Esk.
Granny turned it over in her mind. She couldn't think of any more excuses. I'm surely going to regret this, she told herself, displaying considerable foresight.
"All right," sheblue-hazed patch of forest. Its mind was currently at ease. It would do nicely.
She Called it gently, and it began to circle towards them.
"The first thing to remember about Borrowing is said shortly. "Real magic?" said Esk. "Not more herbs or headology?" "Real magic, as you call it, yes." "A spell?" "No. A Borrowing." Esk's face was a picture of expectation. She looked more alive, it seemed to Granny, than she had ever been before. Granny looked over the valleys stretching out before them until she found what she was after. A grey eagle was circling lazily over a distant that you must be comfortable and somewhere safe," she said, smoothing out the grass behind her. "Bed's best."
"But what is Borrowing?"
Mhnf?"
Esk thought for a moment. "Are you having a good time?" she said artfully.
"Mnph."
"You said you'd show me some real magic, all in good time," said Esk, "and this is a good time."
"Mnph."
Granny Weatherwax opened her eyes and looked straight up at the sky; it was darker up here, more purple than blue. She thought: why not? She's a quick learner. She knows more herblore than I do. At her age old Gammer Tumult had me Borrowing and Shifting and Sending all the hours of the day. Maybe I'm being too cautious.
"Just a bit?" pleaded Esk.
Granny turned it over in her mind. She couldn't think of any more excuses. I'm surely going to regret this, she told herself, displaying considerable foresight.
"All right," sheblue-hazed patch of forest. Its mind was currently at ease. It would do nicely.
She Called it gently, and it began to circle towards them.
"The first thing to remember about Borrowing is said shortly. "Real magic?" said Esk. "Not more herbs or headology?" "Real magic, as you call it, yes." "A spell?" "No. A Borrowing." Esk's face was a picture of expectation. She looked more alive, it seemed to Granny, than she had ever been before. Granny looked over the valleys stretching out before them until she found what she was after. A grey eagle was circling lazily over a distant that you must be comfortable and somewhere safe," she said, smoothing out the grass behind her. "Bed's best."
"But what is Borrowing?"
Thursday, March 5, 2009
John William Waterhouse The Enchanted Garden
John William Waterhouse The Enchanted GardenJohn William Waterhouse Psyche Entering Cupid's GardenJohn William Waterhouse Nymphs Finding the Head of OrpheusJohn William Waterhouse Juliet
occurred to Twoflower that some words of comfort were called for, a little tactful small talk to take Bethan out f herself, as he would put it, and generally cheer her up.
'Don't worry,' he said. There's just a chance that Cohen might still be alive.'
'Oh, I expect he's alive all right,' she said, stamping along the cobbles as if she nursed a personal grievance against each one of them. 'You don't live to be eighty-seven in his job if you go around dying all the time. But he's not here.'
'Nor is my Luggage,' said Twoflower. 'Of course, that's not the same thing.'
'Do you think the star is going to hit the Disc?'
'No,' said Twoflower confidently.
'Why not?'
'Because Rincewind doesn't think so.'
She looked at him in amazement.
'You see,' the tourist went on, 'you know that thing you do with seaweed?'
Bethan, brought up on the Vortex Plains, had only heard of the sea in stories, and had decided she didn't like it. She looked blank.
'Eat it?'
'No, what 'Well, no. Metaphorically speaking.'you do is, you hang it up outside your door, and it tells you if it's going to rain.'Another thing Bethan had learned was that there was no real point in trying to understand anything Twoflower said, and that all anyone could do was run alongside the conversation and hope to jump on as it turned a corner.'I see,' she said.'Rincewind is like that, you see.''Like seaweed.''Yes. If there was anything at all to be frightened about, he'd be frightened. But he's not. The star is just about the only thing I've ever seen him not frightened of. If he's not worried, then take it from me, there's nothing to worry about.''It's not going to rain?' said Bethan.
'Oh.' Bethan decided not to ask what 'metaphorically' meant, in case it was something
occurred to Twoflower that some words of comfort were called for, a little tactful small talk to take Bethan out f herself, as he would put it, and generally cheer her up.
'Don't worry,' he said. There's just a chance that Cohen might still be alive.'
'Oh, I expect he's alive all right,' she said, stamping along the cobbles as if she nursed a personal grievance against each one of them. 'You don't live to be eighty-seven in his job if you go around dying all the time. But he's not here.'
'Nor is my Luggage,' said Twoflower. 'Of course, that's not the same thing.'
'Do you think the star is going to hit the Disc?'
'No,' said Twoflower confidently.
'Why not?'
'Because Rincewind doesn't think so.'
She looked at him in amazement.
'You see,' the tourist went on, 'you know that thing you do with seaweed?'
Bethan, brought up on the Vortex Plains, had only heard of the sea in stories, and had decided she didn't like it. She looked blank.
'Eat it?'
'No, what 'Well, no. Metaphorically speaking.'you do is, you hang it up outside your door, and it tells you if it's going to rain.'Another thing Bethan had learned was that there was no real point in trying to understand anything Twoflower said, and that all anyone could do was run alongside the conversation and hope to jump on as it turned a corner.'I see,' she said.'Rincewind is like that, you see.''Like seaweed.''Yes. If there was anything at all to be frightened about, he'd be frightened. But he's not. The star is just about the only thing I've ever seen him not frightened of. If he's not worried, then take it from me, there's nothing to worry about.''It's not going to rain?' said Bethan.
'Oh.' Bethan decided not to ask what 'metaphorically' meant, in case it was something
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Andrew Atroshenko Just for Love
Andrew Atroshenko Just for LoveEdward Hopper Two on the AisleEdward Hopper Corn Hill Truro Cape CodEdward Hopper Bridle Path
she's rather taken with you,' he said. Cohen sighed.
If I wash twenty yearsh younger,' he said wistfully.
'Yes?'
'I'd be shixty-sheven.'
'What's that got to do with it?'
'Well – how can I put it? When I wash a young man, carving my name in the world, well, then I liked my women red-haired and fiery.'
'Ah.'
'And then I grew a little older and for preference I looked for a woman with blonde hair, and the glint of the world in her eye.'
'Oh? Yes?'
'But then I grew a little older again and I came to see the point of dark women of a sultry nature.'
He paused. same air as the greatest hero of all time.
'Is he perhapsh being sharcashtic?' said Cohen to Rincewind.
'No. He's always like that.'
Cohen turned in his saddle. Twoflower beamed at him, and waved proudly. Cohen turned back, and grunted.
'He's got eyesh, hashn't he?'Rincewind waited.'And?' he said. 'Then what? What is it that you look for in a woman now?'Cohen turned one rheumy blue eye on him.'Patience,' he said.'I can't believe it!' said a voice behind them. 'Me riding ith Cohen the Barbarian!'It was Twoflower. Since early morning he had been like a monkey with the key to the banana plantation after discovering he was breathing the
'Yes, but they don't work like other people's. Take it from me. I mean – well, you know the Horse people's yurt, where we were last night?'
she's rather taken with you,' he said. Cohen sighed.
If I wash twenty yearsh younger,' he said wistfully.
'Yes?'
'I'd be shixty-sheven.'
'What's that got to do with it?'
'Well – how can I put it? When I wash a young man, carving my name in the world, well, then I liked my women red-haired and fiery.'
'Ah.'
'And then I grew a little older and for preference I looked for a woman with blonde hair, and the glint of the world in her eye.'
'Oh? Yes?'
'But then I grew a little older again and I came to see the point of dark women of a sultry nature.'
He paused. same air as the greatest hero of all time.
'Is he perhapsh being sharcashtic?' said Cohen to Rincewind.
'No. He's always like that.'
Cohen turned in his saddle. Twoflower beamed at him, and waved proudly. Cohen turned back, and grunted.
'He's got eyesh, hashn't he?'Rincewind waited.'And?' he said. 'Then what? What is it that you look for in a woman now?'Cohen turned one rheumy blue eye on him.'Patience,' he said.'I can't believe it!' said a voice behind them. 'Me riding ith Cohen the Barbarian!'It was Twoflower. Since early morning he had been like a monkey with the key to the banana plantation after discovering he was breathing the
'Yes, but they don't work like other people's. Take it from me. I mean – well, you know the Horse people's yurt, where we were last night?'
Monday, March 2, 2009
Rodney White Small Change
Rodney White Small ChangeRodney White Share a Random MomentUnknown Artist Woodland WalkUnknown Artist football
considerably and, after a mere forty minutes, Galder chanted the final words of the spell. They hung in front of him for a moment before dissolving.
The air in the centre of the octogram shimmered and thickened, and suddenly contained a tall, dark figure.
Most of it was hidden by a black robe and hood and this was probably just as well. It held a long scythe in one hand and one couldn't help noticing that what should have been fingers were simply white bone.
The other YES, YES, I KNOW ALL THAT, he said. WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?
'It is said that you can see both the past and future,' said Galder a little sulkily, because the big speech of binding and conjuration was one he rather liked and people had said he was very good at it.
THAT IS ABSOLUTELY CORRECT.
Then perhaps you can tell us what exactly it was that happened this morning?' said skeletal hand held small cubes of cheese and pineapple on a stick.WELL? said Death, in a voice with all the warmth and colour of an iceberg. He caught the wizards' gaze, and glanced down at the stick.I WAS AT A PARTY, he added, a shade reproachfully.'O Creature of Earth and Darkness, we do charge thee to abjure from—' began Galder in a firm, commanding voice. Death nodded.
considerably and, after a mere forty minutes, Galder chanted the final words of the spell. They hung in front of him for a moment before dissolving.
The air in the centre of the octogram shimmered and thickened, and suddenly contained a tall, dark figure.
Most of it was hidden by a black robe and hood and this was probably just as well. It held a long scythe in one hand and one couldn't help noticing that what should have been fingers were simply white bone.
The other YES, YES, I KNOW ALL THAT, he said. WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?
'It is said that you can see both the past and future,' said Galder a little sulkily, because the big speech of binding and conjuration was one he rather liked and people had said he was very good at it.
THAT IS ABSOLUTELY CORRECT.
Then perhaps you can tell us what exactly it was that happened this morning?' said skeletal hand held small cubes of cheese and pineapple on a stick.WELL? said Death, in a voice with all the warmth and colour of an iceberg. He caught the wizards' gaze, and glanced down at the stick.I WAS AT A PARTY, he added, a shade reproachfully.'O Creature of Earth and Darkness, we do charge thee to abjure from—' began Galder in a firm, commanding voice. Death nodded.
William Bouguereau Yvonne
William Bouguereau YvonneWilliam Bouguereau Le JourWilliam Bouguereau DawnWilliam Bouguereau Dante and Virgil in Hell
There's another world down there?" said Twoflower, peering over. "Where, exactly?"
The troll waved an arm vaguely. "Somewhere," he said. "That's all I know. It was quite a small world. Mostly blue."
"So why are buffalo that abounded in the stormhaunted continents. His particular yacht had been blown into uncharted lands by a freak gale. The rest of the crew had taken the yacht's little rowing trolley and had struck out for a distant lake, but Tethis, as master, had elected to remain with his Vessel. The storm had carried it right over the rocky rim of the world, smashing it to matchwood in the process.
"At first I fell," said Tethis, "but falling you here?" said Twoflower."Isn't it obvious?" snapped the troll. "I fell off the edge!"He told them of the world of Bathys, somewhere among the Stars, where the seafolk had built a number of thriving civilisations in the three large oceans that sprawled across its disc. He had been a meatman, one of the caste which earned a perilous living in large, sail-powered land yachts that ventured far out to land and hunted the shoals of deer and
There's another world down there?" said Twoflower, peering over. "Where, exactly?"
The troll waved an arm vaguely. "Somewhere," he said. "That's all I know. It was quite a small world. Mostly blue."
"So why are buffalo that abounded in the stormhaunted continents. His particular yacht had been blown into uncharted lands by a freak gale. The rest of the crew had taken the yacht's little rowing trolley and had struck out for a distant lake, but Tethis, as master, had elected to remain with his Vessel. The storm had carried it right over the rocky rim of the world, smashing it to matchwood in the process.
"At first I fell," said Tethis, "but falling you here?" said Twoflower."Isn't it obvious?" snapped the troll. "I fell off the edge!"He told them of the world of Bathys, somewhere among the Stars, where the seafolk had built a number of thriving civilisations in the three large oceans that sprawled across its disc. He had been a meatman, one of the caste which earned a perilous living in large, sail-powered land yachts that ventured far out to land and hunted the shoals of deer and
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