Tamara de Lempicka Saint MoritzTamara de Lempicka PrintempsTamara de Lempicka Portrait of Ira
Carrot smiled, and then nodded at the cook behind the counter and cleared his throat noisily.
'I think I might have a throat sweet somewhere —' Angua began.
'I was ordering breakfast,' said Carrot.
'You know the menu off by heart?'
'Oh, yes. But it's written on the wall as well.'
Angua turned and looked again at what she'd thought were merely random scratches.
'It's Oggham,' said Carrot. 'An ancient and poetic runic script whose origins are lost in the mists of time but it's thought to have been invented even before the Gods.'
'Gosh. What does it say?'
Carrot really cleared his throat this time.
breath and threw up allegro ma non troppo.
Then he leaned against the wall, waving his crossbow vaguely in front of him.
There wasn't anyone else on the roof. There were just the leads, stretching away, drinking up the morning sunlight. It was already almost too hot to move.
When he felt a bit better he poked around among the chimneys and skylight. But there were a dozen ways down, and a thousand places to hide.'Soss, egg, beans and rat 12p Soss, rat and fried slice l0p Cream-cheese rat 9p Rat and beans 8p Rat and ketchup 7p Rat 4p' 'Why does ketchup cost almost as much as the rat?' said Angua.'Have you tried rat without ketchup?' said Carrot. 'Anyway, I ordered you dwarf bread. Have you ever eaten dwarf bread?''No.''Everyone should try it once,' said Carrot. He appeared to consider Three and a half minutes after waking up, Captain Samuel Vimes, Night Watch, staggered up the last few steps to the roof of the city's opera house, gasped for
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Juan Gris Landscape with Houses at Ceret
Juan Gris Landscape with Houses at CeretGeorge Bellows Club NightCaravaggio The Seven Acts of Mercy
What? OK. OK. Let's believe he's a good man. But his second-in-command – is he a good man too? You'd better hope so. Because he's the minds, boy. Honest men start bowing and bobbing just because someone's grandad was a bigger murdering bastard than theirs was. Listen! We probably had good kings, once! But kings breed other kings! And blood tells, and you end up with a bunch of arrogant, murdering bastards! Chopping off queens' heads and fighting their cousins every five minutes! And we had centuries of that! And then one day a man said "No more kings!" and we rose up and we fought the bloody nobles and we dragged the king off his throne and we dragged him into Sator Square and we chopped his bloody head off! Job well done!'supreme ruler, too, in the name of the king. And the rest of the court . . . they've got to be good men. Because if just one of them's a bad man the result is bribery and patronage.''The Patrician's a supreme ruler,' Carrot pointed out. He nodded at a passing troll. 'G'day, Mr Carbuncle.''But he doesn't wear a crown or sit on a throne and he doesn't tell you it's right that he should rule,' said Vimes. 'I hate the bastard. But he's honest. Honest like a corkscrew.''Even so, a good man as king—''Yes? And then what? Royalty pollutes people's
What? OK. OK. Let's believe he's a good man. But his second-in-command – is he a good man too? You'd better hope so. Because he's the minds, boy. Honest men start bowing and bobbing just because someone's grandad was a bigger murdering bastard than theirs was. Listen! We probably had good kings, once! But kings breed other kings! And blood tells, and you end up with a bunch of arrogant, murdering bastards! Chopping off queens' heads and fighting their cousins every five minutes! And we had centuries of that! And then one day a man said "No more kings!" and we rose up and we fought the bloody nobles and we dragged the king off his throne and we dragged him into Sator Square and we chopped his bloody head off! Job well done!'supreme ruler, too, in the name of the king. And the rest of the court . . . they've got to be good men. Because if just one of them's a bad man the result is bribery and patronage.''The Patrician's a supreme ruler,' Carrot pointed out. He nodded at a passing troll. 'G'day, Mr Carbuncle.''But he doesn't wear a crown or sit on a throne and he doesn't tell you it's right that he should rule,' said Vimes. 'I hate the bastard. But he's honest. Honest like a corkscrew.''Even so, a good man as king—''Yes? And then what? Royalty pollutes people's
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Cao Yong THE VISION BEYOND
Cao Yong THE VISION BEYONDCao Yong SUMMER BREEZECao Yong SACRED POOLSCao Yong Red UmbrellaCao Yong Paradise
The unicorn threw back its head and screamed.
Half the town was waiting as Granny led the beast into Lancre, hooves skidding on the cobbles, because when you tell Nanny Ogg you tell everyone.
It danced at the end of the impossibly thin tether, kick-ing out at the terminally unwary, but never quite managing to pull free.
Jason Ogg, still in his best clothes, was standing ner-vously at the open doorway to the forge. Superheated air vibrated over the chimney.
308
LORDS ft^O “I don’t know—“
“Listen to me, Jason Ogg,” said Granny, hauling on the hair as the creature skittered around in a circle, “you can shoe anything anyone brings you. And there’s a price for that, ain’t there?”
Jason gave Nanny Ogg a panic-stricken look. She had the grace to look embarrassed.Lft0f£8“Mister Blacksmith,” said Granny Weatherwax, “I have a job for you.”“Er,” said Jason, “that’s a unicorn, is that.”“Correct.”The unicorn screamed again, and rolled mad red eyes at Jason.“No one’s ever put shoes on a unicorn,” said Jason.“Think of this,” said Granny Weatherwax, “as your bigmoment.”The crowd clustered round, trying to see and hear while keeping out of the way of the hooves.Jason rubbed his chin with his hammer.
The unicorn threw back its head and screamed.
Half the town was waiting as Granny led the beast into Lancre, hooves skidding on the cobbles, because when you tell Nanny Ogg you tell everyone.
It danced at the end of the impossibly thin tether, kick-ing out at the terminally unwary, but never quite managing to pull free.
Jason Ogg, still in his best clothes, was standing ner-vously at the open doorway to the forge. Superheated air vibrated over the chimney.
308
LORDS ft^O “I don’t know—“
“Listen to me, Jason Ogg,” said Granny, hauling on the hair as the creature skittered around in a circle, “you can shoe anything anyone brings you. And there’s a price for that, ain’t there?”
Jason gave Nanny Ogg a panic-stricken look. She had the grace to look embarrassed.Lft0f£8“Mister Blacksmith,” said Granny Weatherwax, “I have a job for you.”“Er,” said Jason, “that’s a unicorn, is that.”“Correct.”The unicorn screamed again, and rolled mad red eyes at Jason.“No one’s ever put shoes on a unicorn,” said Jason.“Think of this,” said Granny Weatherwax, “as your bigmoment.”The crowd clustered round, trying to see and hear while keeping out of the way of the hooves.Jason rubbed his chin with his hammer.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Henri Rousseau The Snake Charmer
Henri Rousseau The Snake CharmerHenri Rousseau The DreamPaul Cezanne Mount Sainte Victoire
everyone was having fun. And then . . . and then ...”
“I want to know everything,” said Magrat.
“Well . . . well . . . then there was this bit I can’t really
remember. It was something to do with the acting, I think. I
263
Terry Pratehett
mean, suddenly . “Oook ook eek. Ook! Ook!”
“Cough, Julia! Over the bender!” said the Bursar.
“I didn’t understand what the Librarian said,” said Magrat.
“Um. We were all present at an interdimensional rip,”. . suddenly it all seemed real. Do you know what I mean?”“No.”“There was this chap with a red nose and bandy legs and he was playing the Queen of the Fairies or something and suddenly he was still him but. . . everything felt. . . every-thing round me just vanished, there was just the actors . . . and there was this hill ... I mean, they must have been good, because I really believed ... I think at some point I remember someone asking us to clap our hands . . . and everyone was looking very strange and there was this singing and it was wonderful and ... and ...”“Oook.”“Then the Librarian hit me,” said Ponder simply.“Why?”“Best if he tells it in his own words,” said Ponder.
everyone was having fun. And then . . . and then ...”
“I want to know everything,” said Magrat.
“Well . . . well . . . then there was this bit I can’t really
remember. It was something to do with the acting, I think. I
263
Terry Pratehett
mean, suddenly . “Oook ook eek. Ook! Ook!”
“Cough, Julia! Over the bender!” said the Bursar.
“I didn’t understand what the Librarian said,” said Magrat.
“Um. We were all present at an interdimensional rip,”. . suddenly it all seemed real. Do you know what I mean?”“No.”“There was this chap with a red nose and bandy legs and he was playing the Queen of the Fairies or something and suddenly he was still him but. . . everything felt. . . every-thing round me just vanished, there was just the actors . . . and there was this hill ... I mean, they must have been good, because I really believed ... I think at some point I remember someone asking us to clap our hands . . . and everyone was looking very strange and there was this singing and it was wonderful and ... and ...”“Oook.”“Then the Librarian hit me,” said Ponder simply.“Why?”“Best if he tells it in his own words,” said Ponder.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Lord Frederick Leighton Leighton Winding the Skein
Lord Frederick Leighton Leighton Winding the SkeinWilliam Bouguereau Love Takes FlightWilliam Bouguereau Birth of VenusWilliam Bouguereau Young Gypsies
reached a decision.
It was the hinges that gave way eventually, the rusty bolts finally losing their grip on the stone.
The alcove’s half-drawn curtain moved in the breeze.
The elf smiled, strode to the curtain, and pulled it aside.
The oak lid was up.
The elf looked Magrat peered out into the passage.
She had to move. She picked up a stricken chair leg for the little comfort that it gave, and ventured out.
There was a scream again, from the direction of the Great Hall.down.Magrat rose up behind it like a white ghost and hit it hard across the back of the neck with the chair, which shattered.The elf tried to turn and keep its balance, but there was still enough chair left in Magrat’s hands for her to catch it on the desperate upswing. It toppled backward, flailed at the lid, and only succeeded in pulling it shut behind it. Magrat ‘ heard a thump and a scream of rage as it dropped into the noisome darkness. It’d be too much to hope that the fall would kill it. After all, it’d land in something soft.213Terry Pratchett“Not just high,” said Magrat to herself, “but stinking.”Hiding under the bed is only good for about two sec-onds, but sometimes two seconds is enough.She let go of the chair. She was shaking. But she was still alive, and that felt good. That’s the thing about being alive. You’re alive to enjoy it.
reached a decision.
It was the hinges that gave way eventually, the rusty bolts finally losing their grip on the stone.
The alcove’s half-drawn curtain moved in the breeze.
The elf smiled, strode to the curtain, and pulled it aside.
The oak lid was up.
The elf looked Magrat peered out into the passage.
She had to move. She picked up a stricken chair leg for the little comfort that it gave, and ventured out.
There was a scream again, from the direction of the Great Hall.down.Magrat rose up behind it like a white ghost and hit it hard across the back of the neck with the chair, which shattered.The elf tried to turn and keep its balance, but there was still enough chair left in Magrat’s hands for her to catch it on the desperate upswing. It toppled backward, flailed at the lid, and only succeeded in pulling it shut behind it. Magrat ‘ heard a thump and a scream of rage as it dropped into the noisome darkness. It’d be too much to hope that the fall would kill it. After all, it’d land in something soft.213Terry Pratchett“Not just high,” said Magrat to herself, “but stinking.”Hiding under the bed is only good for about two sec-onds, but sometimes two seconds is enough.She let go of the chair. She was shaking. But she was still alive, and that felt good. That’s the thing about being alive. You’re alive to enjoy it.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Arthur Hughes The Long Engagement
Arthur Hughes The Long EngagementArthur Hughes The King's OrchardGeorge Inness October
don’t want to eat me,” said the Bursar. “You want to eat my brother, he’s much mfmfph mfmfph ...”
l Troll, a lifeform on silicon rather than carbon, can’t infact digest people.
But there’s always someone ready to give it a try.
157
Terry Pratchett
“Well, now,” said the troll, “seems to me that—“ He spotted Casanunda.
“Oh-ho,” he The troll prodded the large mass of red hair.
“Ook...”
“What? A monkey?”
“Oook?”
Several minutes later, the travelers leaned on the para-pet, looking down reflectively at the river far below.said, “dwarf smuggling, eh?”“Don’t be ridiculous, man,” said Ridcully, “there’s no such thing as dwarf smuggling.”“Yeah? Then what’s that you’ve got there?”“I’m a giant,” said Casanunda.“Giants are a lot bigger.”“I’ve been ill.”The troll looked perplexed. This was post-graduate thinking for a troll. But he was looking for trouble. He found it on the roof of the coach, where the Librarian had been sunbathing.“What’s in that sack up there?”“That’s not a sack. That’s the Librarian.”
don’t want to eat me,” said the Bursar. “You want to eat my brother, he’s much mfmfph mfmfph ...”
l Troll, a lifeform on silicon rather than carbon, can’t infact digest people.
But there’s always someone ready to give it a try.
157
Terry Pratchett
“Well, now,” said the troll, “seems to me that—“ He spotted Casanunda.
“Oh-ho,” he The troll prodded the large mass of red hair.
“Ook...”
“What? A monkey?”
“Oook?”
Several minutes later, the travelers leaned on the para-pet, looking down reflectively at the river far below.said, “dwarf smuggling, eh?”“Don’t be ridiculous, man,” said Ridcully, “there’s no such thing as dwarf smuggling.”“Yeah? Then what’s that you’ve got there?”“I’m a giant,” said Casanunda.“Giants are a lot bigger.”“I’ve been ill.”The troll looked perplexed. This was post-graduate thinking for a troll. But he was looking for trouble. He found it on the roof of the coach, where the Librarian had been sunbathing.“What’s in that sack up there?”“That’s not a sack. That’s the Librarian.”
Monday, April 20, 2009
Vincent van Gogh Ladies of Arles
Vincent van Gogh Ladies of ArlesSalvador Dali The Ecumenical CouncilSalvador Dali The Cellist Ricardo Pichot
Diamanda’s mouth dropped open.
“ ‘Ere, you’re doing that wrong. You don’t want to muck about with a hand like that,” said Nanny Ogg helpfully, looking over her shoulder. “You’ve got a Double Onion there.”
“Who are you?”
Suddenly they were there. Perdita thought: one minute there’s shadows, the next minute they were there, solid as anything.
“What’s all the chalk on the floor, then?” said Nanny Ogg. “You’ve got all chalk on the floor. And heathen writ-ing. Not that I’ve got anything against heathens,” she added. She appeared to think about it. “I’m practic’ly one,” she added further, “but I don’t write on the floor. What’d you want to write all on the floor for?” She nudged Perdita. ““Who’s this?” said Diamanda, out of the comer of her mouth.
“Um, it’s Granny Weatherwax,” said Perdita. “Um. She’s a witch, um...”
“What level?” said Diamanda.
Nanny Ogg looked around for something to hide behind.You’ll never get the chalk out,” she said, “it gets right into the grain.”“Um, it’s a magic circle,” said Perdita. “Um, hello, Mrs.Ogg. Um. It’s to keep bad influences away ...”Granny Weatherwax leaned forward slightly.“Tell me, my dear,” she said to Diamanda, “do you think it’s working?”She leaned forward further.Diamanda leaned backward.And then slowly leaned forward again.They ended up nose to nose.
Granny Weatherwax’s eyebrow twitched.
Diamanda’s mouth dropped open.
“ ‘Ere, you’re doing that wrong. You don’t want to muck about with a hand like that,” said Nanny Ogg helpfully, looking over her shoulder. “You’ve got a Double Onion there.”
“Who are you?”
Suddenly they were there. Perdita thought: one minute there’s shadows, the next minute they were there, solid as anything.
“What’s all the chalk on the floor, then?” said Nanny Ogg. “You’ve got all chalk on the floor. And heathen writ-ing. Not that I’ve got anything against heathens,” she added. She appeared to think about it. “I’m practic’ly one,” she added further, “but I don’t write on the floor. What’d you want to write all on the floor for?” She nudged Perdita. ““Who’s this?” said Diamanda, out of the comer of her mouth.
“Um, it’s Granny Weatherwax,” said Perdita. “Um. She’s a witch, um...”
“What level?” said Diamanda.
Nanny Ogg looked around for something to hide behind.You’ll never get the chalk out,” she said, “it gets right into the grain.”“Um, it’s a magic circle,” said Perdita. “Um, hello, Mrs.Ogg. Um. It’s to keep bad influences away ...”Granny Weatherwax leaned forward slightly.“Tell me, my dear,” she said to Diamanda, “do you think it’s working?”She leaned forward further.Diamanda leaned backward.And then slowly leaned forward again.They ended up nose to nose.
Granny Weatherwax’s eyebrow twitched.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Mark Spain Forever You
Mark Spain Forever YouMark Spain Flamenco IIMark Spain Flamenco I
what we have here is not a nice girl, as generally understood. For one thing, she’s not beautiful. There’s a cer-tain set to the jaw and arch to the nose that might, with a following wind and in the right light, be called handsome by a good-natured liar. are.
There’s a skylark in the hot summer sky. Apart from that, there’s no sound. Down in the little valley, and higher in the hills, grasshoppers are sizzling and bees are buzzing and the grass is alive with micro-noise. But it’s always quiet around the stones.
“I’m here,” she says. “Show me.”
A figure of a dark-haired woman in a red dress appearsAlso, there’s a certain glint in her eye generally possessed by those people who have found that they are more intelligent than most people around them but who haven’t yet learned that one of the most intelligent things they can do is prevent said people ever finding this out. Along with the nose, this gives her a piercing expression which is extremely disconcerting. It’s not a face you can talk to. Open your mouth and you’re suddenly the focus of a penetrating stare which declares: what you’re about to say had better be interesting.Now the eight little stones on their little hill are being subjected to the same penetrating gaze.Hmm.And then she approaches, cautiously. It’s not the caution of a rabbit about to run. It’s closer to the way a hunter moves.She puts her hands on her hips, such as they
what we have here is not a nice girl, as generally understood. For one thing, she’s not beautiful. There’s a cer-tain set to the jaw and arch to the nose that might, with a following wind and in the right light, be called handsome by a good-natured liar. are.
There’s a skylark in the hot summer sky. Apart from that, there’s no sound. Down in the little valley, and higher in the hills, grasshoppers are sizzling and bees are buzzing and the grass is alive with micro-noise. But it’s always quiet around the stones.
“I’m here,” she says. “Show me.”
A figure of a dark-haired woman in a red dress appearsAlso, there’s a certain glint in her eye generally possessed by those people who have found that they are more intelligent than most people around them but who haven’t yet learned that one of the most intelligent things they can do is prevent said people ever finding this out. Along with the nose, this gives her a piercing expression which is extremely disconcerting. It’s not a face you can talk to. Open your mouth and you’re suddenly the focus of a penetrating stare which declares: what you’re about to say had better be interesting.Now the eight little stones on their little hill are being subjected to the same penetrating gaze.Hmm.And then she approaches, cautiously. It’s not the caution of a rabbit about to run. It’s closer to the way a hunter moves.She puts her hands on her hips, such as they
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Frida Kahlo Still Life with Parrot
Frida Kahlo Still Life with ParrotFrida Kahlo Self Portrait with Loose HairFrida Kahlo Self Portrait with Cropped Hair
Brutha had known about these parts of the Citadel only by hearsay. Brother Nhumrod had never seen them, either. Although he had not been specifically included in the summons, he had come nevertheless, fussing importantly around Brutha as two sturdy novices carried him in a kind of sedan chair normally used by the more crumbling of the senior clerics.
In the center of the Citadel, behind the Temple, was a walled garden. Brutha looked at it with an expert eye. There wasn't an inch of natural soil on the bare rock-every spadeful that these shady trees grew in must have been carried up by hand.
Vorbis was there, put his hand over his mouth and went red with shame and embarrassment.
Vorbis smiled.
"Good Brother Nhumrod is correct," he said. "Who had also not been ordained, unless the qualifications were somewhat relaxed in those days."
There was a chorus of nervous laughs, such as there always is from people who surrounded by bishops and Iams. He looked round as Brutha approached."Ah, my desert companion," he said, amiably. "And Brother Nhumrod, I believe. My brothers, I should like you to know that I have it in mind to raise our Brutha to archbishophood."There was a very faint murmur of astonishment from the clerics, and then a clearing of a throat. Vorbis looked at Bishop Treem, who was the Citadel's archivist."Well, technically he is not yet even ordained," said Bishop Treem, doubtfully. "But of course we all know there has been a precedent.""Ossory's ass," said Brother Nhumrod promptly. He owe their jobs and possibly their lives to a whim of the person who has just cracked the not
Brutha had known about these parts of the Citadel only by hearsay. Brother Nhumrod had never seen them, either. Although he had not been specifically included in the summons, he had come nevertheless, fussing importantly around Brutha as two sturdy novices carried him in a kind of sedan chair normally used by the more crumbling of the senior clerics.
In the center of the Citadel, behind the Temple, was a walled garden. Brutha looked at it with an expert eye. There wasn't an inch of natural soil on the bare rock-every spadeful that these shady trees grew in must have been carried up by hand.
Vorbis was there, put his hand over his mouth and went red with shame and embarrassment.
Vorbis smiled.
"Good Brother Nhumrod is correct," he said. "Who had also not been ordained, unless the qualifications were somewhat relaxed in those days."
There was a chorus of nervous laughs, such as there always is from people who surrounded by bishops and Iams. He looked round as Brutha approached."Ah, my desert companion," he said, amiably. "And Brother Nhumrod, I believe. My brothers, I should like you to know that I have it in mind to raise our Brutha to archbishophood."There was a very faint murmur of astonishment from the clerics, and then a clearing of a throat. Vorbis looked at Bishop Treem, who was the Citadel's archivist."Well, technically he is not yet even ordained," said Bishop Treem, doubtfully. "But of course we all know there has been a precedent.""Ossory's ass," said Brother Nhumrod promptly. He owe their jobs and possibly their lives to a whim of the person who has just cracked the not
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Caravaggio The Annunciation
Caravaggio The AnnunciationCaravaggio Sleeping CupidCaravaggio Lute Player
can I find Mr. Didactylos?" said Brutha.
"In the palace courtyard. Next door to the Library. You can't miss him. Just follow your nose."
"We just came-” Brutha said, but his inner voice prompted him not to complete the sentence. "We'll just be going then."
"Don't forget your tortoise," said the barman. "There's good eating on one of them."
"May all your wine turn to water!" Om shrieked.
"Will it?" said Brutha, as they stepped out into the night.
No."You're not supposed to. The ways of gods aren't supposed to be understandable to men."
"The Quisition keeps us on the path of truth! The Quisition works for the greater glory of the Church!"
"And you believe that, do you?" said the tortoise.
Brutha looked, and found that certainty had gone missing. He opened and shut "Tell me again. Why exactly are we looking for a philosopher?" said Brutha."I want to get my power back," said Om."But everyone believes in you!""If they believed in me they could talk to me. I could talk to them. I don't know what's gone wrong. No one is worshiping any other gods in Omnia, are they?""They wouldn't be allowed to," said Brutha. "The Quisition would see to that.""Yeah. It's hard to kneel if you have no knees."Brutha stopped in the empty street."I don't understand you!"
can I find Mr. Didactylos?" said Brutha.
"In the palace courtyard. Next door to the Library. You can't miss him. Just follow your nose."
"We just came-” Brutha said, but his inner voice prompted him not to complete the sentence. "We'll just be going then."
"Don't forget your tortoise," said the barman. "There's good eating on one of them."
"May all your wine turn to water!" Om shrieked.
"Will it?" said Brutha, as they stepped out into the night.
No."You're not supposed to. The ways of gods aren't supposed to be understandable to men."
"The Quisition keeps us on the path of truth! The Quisition works for the greater glory of the Church!"
"And you believe that, do you?" said the tortoise.
Brutha looked, and found that certainty had gone missing. He opened and shut "Tell me again. Why exactly are we looking for a philosopher?" said Brutha."I want to get my power back," said Om."But everyone believes in you!""If they believed in me they could talk to me. I could talk to them. I don't know what's gone wrong. No one is worshiping any other gods in Omnia, are they?""They wouldn't be allowed to," said Brutha. "The Quisition would see to that.""Yeah. It's hard to kneel if you have no knees."Brutha stopped in the empty street."I don't understand you!"
Monday, April 13, 2009
Paul Klee Fish Magic
Paul Klee Fish MagicPaul Klee Around the FishPaul Klee Ancient Sound
course, the skinny old one hadn't been able to hear him. Nor had the chef. Well, the old one was probably deaf. As for the cook . . . eating!
When he had his power again, he was going to spend quite some time devising a few new hells. And a couple of fresh Precepts, too. Thou shalt not eat of the Meat of the Turtle. That was a good one. He was surprised he hadn't thought of it before. Perspective, that's what it was.
And if he'd thought of one like Thou Shalt Bloody Well Pick up Any Distressed Tortoises and Carry Them Anywhere They Want Unless, And This is Important, You're an Eagle a few Om made a note that, when he was restored to his full godly powers, a special fate was going to lie in wait for the cook. He wasn't sure exactly what it was going to be, but it was going to involve boiling water and probably carrots would come into it somewhere.He enjoyed the thought of that for a moment. But where did it leave him? It left him in this wretched garden, as a tortoise. He knew how he'd got in-he glared in dull terror at the tiny dot in the sky that the eye of memory knew was an eagle-and he'd better find a more terrestrial way out unless he wanted to spend the next month hiding under a melon leaf.Another thought struck him. Good
course, the skinny old one hadn't been able to hear him. Nor had the chef. Well, the old one was probably deaf. As for the cook . . . eating!
When he had his power again, he was going to spend quite some time devising a few new hells. And a couple of fresh Precepts, too. Thou shalt not eat of the Meat of the Turtle. That was a good one. He was surprised he hadn't thought of it before. Perspective, that's what it was.
And if he'd thought of one like Thou Shalt Bloody Well Pick up Any Distressed Tortoises and Carry Them Anywhere They Want Unless, And This is Important, You're an Eagle a few Om made a note that, when he was restored to his full godly powers, a special fate was going to lie in wait for the cook. He wasn't sure exactly what it was going to be, but it was going to involve boiling water and probably carrots would come into it somewhere.He enjoyed the thought of that for a moment. But where did it leave him? It left him in this wretched garden, as a tortoise. He knew how he'd got in-he glared in dull terror at the tiny dot in the sky that the eye of memory knew was an eagle-and he'd better find a more terrestrial way out unless he wanted to spend the next month hiding under a melon leaf.Another thought struck him. Good
Paul Gauguin Hail Mary
Paul Gauguin Hail MaryHenri Matisse Woman with a HatHenri Matisse The Window
me down somewhere a few minutes ahead of them,' said Nijel.
'I really for us for a little while, I suppose, until these horses want their, their, their oats or the lavatory or whatever, which isn't much use to us except maybe Creosote will just about have time to write a sonnet or something about how cold it is all of a sudden, and the whole of human history is about to be scraped up and in these circumstances I would like very much to make it completely clear that I am not about to be argued with, is that absolutely understood?'
He paused for breath, trembling like a harpstring.don't see how that would help.''I wasn't asking your opinion,' said Nijel, quietly. 'Just do it. Put me down a little way ahead of them so I've got a while to get sorted out.''Get what sorted out?'Nijel didn't answer.'I said,' said Conina, 'get what-’'Shut up!''I don't see why-’'Look,' said Nijel, with the patience that lies just short of axe-murdering. 'The ice is going to cover the whole world, right? Everyone's going to die, okay? Except
me down somewhere a few minutes ahead of them,' said Nijel.
'I really for us for a little while, I suppose, until these horses want their, their, their oats or the lavatory or whatever, which isn't much use to us except maybe Creosote will just about have time to write a sonnet or something about how cold it is all of a sudden, and the whole of human history is about to be scraped up and in these circumstances I would like very much to make it completely clear that I am not about to be argued with, is that absolutely understood?'
He paused for breath, trembling like a harpstring.don't see how that would help.''I wasn't asking your opinion,' said Nijel, quietly. 'Just do it. Put me down a little way ahead of them so I've got a while to get sorted out.''Get what sorted out?'Nijel didn't answer.'I said,' said Conina, 'get what-’'Shut up!''I don't see why-’'Look,' said Nijel, with the patience that lies just short of axe-murdering. 'The ice is going to cover the whole world, right? Everyone's going to die, okay? Except
Friday, April 10, 2009
Paul Klee Hermitage
Paul Klee HermitageRene Magritte The Dangerous LiaisonRene Magritte Donna
'What?' said Conina.
'Um?' said Rincewind, vaguely. He looked down blankly at the blue and gold pattern underneath him, and added, 'You're flying this, aren't you?’ Through me! That's sneaky!'
'What are you talking about?'
'Oh. Sorry. emerged on to a beach like this, it would have given up there and then, gone back into the water and told all its relatives to forget the legs, it wasn't worth it. The air felt as though it had been cooked in a sock.
Even so, Nijel insisted that they light a fire.
'It's more friendly,' he said. 'Besides, there could be monsters.'
Conina looked at the oily wavelets, rolling up the beach in what Talking to myself.''I think,' said Conina, 'that we'd better land.'They glided down towards a crescent of beach where the desert reached the sea. In a normal light it would have been blinding white with a sand made up of billions of tiny shell fragments, but at this time of day it was blood-red and primordial. Ranks of driftwood, carved by the waves and bleached by the sun, were piled up on the tideline like the bones of ancient fish or the biggest floral art accessory counter in the universe. Nothing stirred, apart from the waves. There were a few rocks around, but they were firebrick hot and home to no mollusc or seaweed.Even the sea looked arid. If any proto-amphibian
'What?' said Conina.
'Um?' said Rincewind, vaguely. He looked down blankly at the blue and gold pattern underneath him, and added, 'You're flying this, aren't you?’ Through me! That's sneaky!'
'What are you talking about?'
'Oh. Sorry. emerged on to a beach like this, it would have given up there and then, gone back into the water and told all its relatives to forget the legs, it wasn't worth it. The air felt as though it had been cooked in a sock.
Even so, Nijel insisted that they light a fire.
'It's more friendly,' he said. 'Besides, there could be monsters.'
Conina looked at the oily wavelets, rolling up the beach in what Talking to myself.''I think,' said Conina, 'that we'd better land.'They glided down towards a crescent of beach where the desert reached the sea. In a normal light it would have been blinding white with a sand made up of billions of tiny shell fragments, but at this time of day it was blood-red and primordial. Ranks of driftwood, carved by the waves and bleached by the sun, were piled up on the tideline like the bones of ancient fish or the biggest floral art accessory counter in the universe. Nothing stirred, apart from the waves. There were a few rocks around, but they were firebrick hot and home to no mollusc or seaweed.Even the sea looked arid. If any proto-amphibian
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Leroy Neiman International Horse Show New York
Leroy Neiman International Horse Show New YorkLeroy Neiman International CuisineLeroy Neiman High Stakes Blackjack Vegas
Spelter shuddered. In his heart of hearts an inner Spelter had woken, and was struggling to make himself heard. It was a Spelter who suddenly longed for those quiet days, only hours ago, when magic was gentle and shuffled 'Is something the matter, Spelter?' said Coin.
Spelter hopped on one leg, suddenly released, his body flooding with relief as his toes flooded with agony, more grateful than anyone in the entire history of the world that seventeen stones of wizardry had chosen his instep to come down heavily on.
His scream seemed to have broken the spell. Coin sighed, and stood up.around the place in old slippers and always had time for a sherry and wasn't like a hot sword in the brain and, above all, didn't kill people.Terror seized him as he felt his vocal chords twang to attention and prepare, despite all his efforts, to disagree.The staff was trying to find him. He could feel it searching for him. It would vanish him, just like poor old Billias. He clamped his jaws together, but it wouldn't work. He felt his chest heave. His jaw creaked.Carding, shifting uneasily, stood on his foot. Spelter yelped.'Sorry', said Carding.
Spelter shuddered. In his heart of hearts an inner Spelter had woken, and was struggling to make himself heard. It was a Spelter who suddenly longed for those quiet days, only hours ago, when magic was gentle and shuffled 'Is something the matter, Spelter?' said Coin.
Spelter hopped on one leg, suddenly released, his body flooding with relief as his toes flooded with agony, more grateful than anyone in the entire history of the world that seventeen stones of wizardry had chosen his instep to come down heavily on.
His scream seemed to have broken the spell. Coin sighed, and stood up.around the place in old slippers and always had time for a sherry and wasn't like a hot sword in the brain and, above all, didn't kill people.Terror seized him as he felt his vocal chords twang to attention and prepare, despite all his efforts, to disagree.The staff was trying to find him. He could feel it searching for him. It would vanish him, just like poor old Billias. He clamped his jaws together, but it wouldn't work. He felt his chest heave. His jaw creaked.Carding, shifting uneasily, stood on his foot. Spelter yelped.'Sorry', said Carding.
John William Waterhouse Miranda - The Tempest
John William Waterhouse Miranda - The TempestJohn William Waterhouse My Sweet RoseJohn William Waterhouse Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
that moment of shocked silence there was the sharp little snick of the lock. They watched in fascinated horror as the iron bolts travelled back of their own accord; the great oak balks of timber, turned by Time into something tougher than rock, slid out of their sockets; the hinges flared from red through yellow to white and then exploded. Slowly, with a terrible inevitability, the doors fell into the hall.
There was an 'Here, he's no wizard-’
'Where's his hood, then?'
'Where's his hat?'
The stranger walked up the line of astonished wizards until he was standing in front of the top table. Spelter looked down at a thin young face framed by a mass of blond hair, and most of all he looked into two golden eyes that glowed from within. But he felt they indistinct figure standing in the smoke from the burning hinges.'Bloody hell, Virrid,' said one of the wizards nearby, 'that was a good one.'As the figure strode into the light they could all see that it was not, after all, Virrid Wayzygoose.He was at least a head shorter than any other wizard, and wore a simple white robe. He was also several decades younger; he looked about ten years old, and in one hand he held a staff considerably taller than he was.
that moment of shocked silence there was the sharp little snick of the lock. They watched in fascinated horror as the iron bolts travelled back of their own accord; the great oak balks of timber, turned by Time into something tougher than rock, slid out of their sockets; the hinges flared from red through yellow to white and then exploded. Slowly, with a terrible inevitability, the doors fell into the hall.
There was an 'Here, he's no wizard-’
'Where's his hood, then?'
'Where's his hat?'
The stranger walked up the line of astonished wizards until he was standing in front of the top table. Spelter looked down at a thin young face framed by a mass of blond hair, and most of all he looked into two golden eyes that glowed from within. But he felt they indistinct figure standing in the smoke from the burning hinges.'Bloody hell, Virrid,' said one of the wizards nearby, 'that was a good one.'As the figure strode into the light they could all see that it was not, after all, Virrid Wayzygoose.He was at least a head shorter than any other wizard, and wore a simple white robe. He was also several decades younger; he looked about ten years old, and in one hand he held a staff considerably taller than he was.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Piet Mondrian Composition with Red Blue Yellow 2
Piet Mondrian Composition with Red Blue Yellow 2Vincent van Gogh Field with PoppiesHenri Matisse Blue Nude II
The crowned Death saw it coming and raised its own weapon but there was very possibly nothing in the world that would stop the worn blade as it snarled through the air, rage arid vengeance giving it an edge beyond any definition of sharpness. It passed through the metal without slowing. NO CROWN, said Bill Door, looking directly into the smoke. NO CROWN.
ONLY THE HARVEST.
The and gently pressed her hands together.
The image of the lifetimer disappeared.
The blue-and-violet fog on the edge of sight faded as solid reality flowed back.
Down in the town, the clock finished striking midnight. The old woman was shivering. Death snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.
MISS FLITWORTH? RENATA?
‘I - I didn’t know what robe folded up around his blade. There was a thin wail, rising beyond the peak of hearing. A black column, like the negative of lightning, flashed up from the ground and disappeared into the clouds.Death waited for a moment, and then gingerly gave the robe a prod with his foot. The crown, bent slightly out of shape, rolled out of it a little way before evaporating.OH, he said, dismissively. DRAMA. 231 He walked over to Miss Flitworth
The crowned Death saw it coming and raised its own weapon but there was very possibly nothing in the world that would stop the worn blade as it snarled through the air, rage arid vengeance giving it an edge beyond any definition of sharpness. It passed through the metal without slowing. NO CROWN, said Bill Door, looking directly into the smoke. NO CROWN.
ONLY THE HARVEST.
The and gently pressed her hands together.
The image of the lifetimer disappeared.
The blue-and-violet fog on the edge of sight faded as solid reality flowed back.
Down in the town, the clock finished striking midnight. The old woman was shivering. Death snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.
MISS FLITWORTH? RENATA?
‘I - I didn’t know what robe folded up around his blade. There was a thin wail, rising beyond the peak of hearing. A black column, like the negative of lightning, flashed up from the ground and disappeared into the clouds.Death waited for a moment, and then gingerly gave the robe a prod with his foot. The crown, bent slightly out of shape, rolled out of it a little way before evaporating.OH, he said, dismissively. DRAMA. 231 He walked over to Miss Flitworth
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Paul Klee Zitronen
Paul Klee ZitronenPaul Klee Villa RPaul Klee The Golden FishPaul Klee Insula Dulcamara
swatch of white cloth.
YES?
‘Silk,’ she said softly. ‘Finest white silk. The real stuff. Never worn.’
She sat back and stared at it.
After a while he took it tactfully from her fingers.
THANK YOU.
‘Well now,’ she said, waking up. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’
When he turned the blade, it made a noise like whommmm. The fires of the forge were barely alive now, but the blade She watched Bill Door stride out of the forge, and scuttled after him. He went and stood in the middle of the yard, holding the scythe blade edge-on to the faint, dawn breeze.
It hummed.
‘How sharp can a blade get, for goodness’ sake?’glowed with razor light. ‘Sharpened on silk,’ said Miss Flitworth. ‘Who’d believe it?’AND STILL BLUNT.Bill Door looked around the dark forge, and then darted into a corner.‘What have you found?’COBWEB.There was a long thin whine, like the torturing of ants.‘Any good?’STILL TOO BLUNT.
IT CAN GET SHARPER THAN THIS.
Down in his henhouse, Cyril the cockerel
swatch of white cloth.
YES?
‘Silk,’ she said softly. ‘Finest white silk. The real stuff. Never worn.’
She sat back and stared at it.
After a while he took it tactfully from her fingers.
THANK YOU.
‘Well now,’ she said, waking up. ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’
When he turned the blade, it made a noise like whommmm. The fires of the forge were barely alive now, but the blade She watched Bill Door stride out of the forge, and scuttled after him. He went and stood in the middle of the yard, holding the scythe blade edge-on to the faint, dawn breeze.
It hummed.
‘How sharp can a blade get, for goodness’ sake?’glowed with razor light. ‘Sharpened on silk,’ said Miss Flitworth. ‘Who’d believe it?’AND STILL BLUNT.Bill Door looked around the dark forge, and then darted into a corner.‘What have you found?’COBWEB.There was a long thin whine, like the torturing of ants.‘Any good?’STILL TOO BLUNT.
IT CAN GET SHARPER THAN THIS.
Down in his henhouse, Cyril the cockerel
Alphonse Maria Mucha Spring
Alphonse Maria Mucha SpringAlphonse Maria Mucha JOBAlphonse Maria Mucha Gismonda
Ridcully swallowed. ‘Er. Mustrum Ridcully. Archchancellor.’ The hood nodded. The Dean stuck a finger in his ear and . . . first among equals and all that sort of thing . . . yes . . .’ Ridcully managed.
He was told, We bring good news.
‘Good news? Good news?’ Ridcully squirmed under the gazerless gaze.’Oh, good. That is good news.’
He was told, Death has retired.
‘Pardon?’
He was told, Death has retired.
‘Oh? That is . . . news . . .’ said Ridcully uncertainly.
‘Uh. How? Exactly . . . how?’waggled it around. The robe wasn’t talking.Nothing was being heard. It was just that, afterwards, you had a sudden memory of what had just failed to be said and no knowledge of how it had got there.The hood said, You are a superior being on this world?Ridcully looked at the other wizards. The Dean glared.‘Well . . . you know . . . yes
Ridcully swallowed. ‘Er. Mustrum Ridcully. Archchancellor.’ The hood nodded. The Dean stuck a finger in his ear and . . . first among equals and all that sort of thing . . . yes . . .’ Ridcully managed.
He was told, We bring good news.
‘Good news? Good news?’ Ridcully squirmed under the gazerless gaze.’Oh, good. That is good news.’
He was told, Death has retired.
‘Pardon?’
He was told, Death has retired.
‘Oh? That is . . . news . . .’ said Ridcully uncertainly.
‘Uh. How? Exactly . . . how?’waggled it around. The robe wasn’t talking.Nothing was being heard. It was just that, afterwards, you had a sudden memory of what had just failed to be said and no knowledge of how it had got there.The hood said, You are a superior being on this world?Ridcully looked at the other wizards. The Dean glared.‘Well . . . you know . . . yes
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Alphonse Maria Mucha Lance Parfum Rodo
Alphonse Maria Mucha Lance Parfum RodoAlphonse Maria Mucha La Dame aux CameliasAlphonse Maria Mucha Biscuits Champagne Lefevre UtilePierre Auguste Renoir The First OutingPierre Auguste Renoir Sleeping Girl
shouldn’t think so,’ said the Senior Wrangler, doubtfully.’I don’t think you’re supposed to stop miracles of existence.’
‘But that means everythin’ is made up of everythin’ else, ‘ said Ridcully.
‘Yes. to deal with an undead.’
‘Garlic,’ said the Senior Wrangler flatly.’Undead don’t like garlic.’
‘Don’t blame them. Can’t stand the stuff,’ said the Dean. ‘Undead! Undead!’ said the Bursar, pointing an accusing finger. They ignored him.Isn’t it amazing?’ ‘It’s disgusting, is what it is, ‘ said Ridcully, shortly. ‘Anyway, the point I’m making . . . the point I’m making . . .’ He paused, trying to remember.’You can’t just abolish death, that’s the point. Death can’t die. That’s like asking a scorpion to sting itself.’ always ready with a handy fact.’you can get a scorpion to -‘ ‘Shut up, ‘ said the Archchancellor.‘But we can’t have an undead wizard wandering around,’ said the Dean.’There’s no telling what he might take it into his head to do. We’ve got to . . . put a stop to him. For his own good.’‘That’s right,’ said Ridcully.’For his own good. Shouldn’t be too hard. There must be dozens of ways
shouldn’t think so,’ said the Senior Wrangler, doubtfully.’I don’t think you’re supposed to stop miracles of existence.’
‘But that means everythin’ is made up of everythin’ else, ‘ said Ridcully.
‘Yes. to deal with an undead.’
‘Garlic,’ said the Senior Wrangler flatly.’Undead don’t like garlic.’
‘Don’t blame them. Can’t stand the stuff,’ said the Dean. ‘Undead! Undead!’ said the Bursar, pointing an accusing finger. They ignored him.Isn’t it amazing?’ ‘It’s disgusting, is what it is, ‘ said Ridcully, shortly. ‘Anyway, the point I’m making . . . the point I’m making . . .’ He paused, trying to remember.’You can’t just abolish death, that’s the point. Death can’t die. That’s like asking a scorpion to sting itself.’ always ready with a handy fact.’you can get a scorpion to -‘ ‘Shut up, ‘ said the Archchancellor.‘But we can’t have an undead wizard wandering around,’ said the Dean.’There’s no telling what he might take it into his head to do. We’ve got to . . . put a stop to him. For his own good.’‘That’s right,’ said Ridcully.’For his own good. Shouldn’t be too hard. There must be dozens of ways
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)