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.
Friday, April 24, 2009
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!"
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