Edgar Degas At the Milliners

Edgar Degas At the MillinersFrida Kahlo Without HopeFrida Kahlo Thinking about Death
doing the folk dancing on your nights off, Nobby?'
'Yes, Fred. We're practising "Gathering Sweet Lilacs" this week. There is a very complicated double crossover-step.'
'You're definitely a man of many parts, Nobby.'
'Only if I couldn't cut the rings off, Fred.'
'What I mean is, you presents an intriguing dichotomy.'
Nobby took a kick at a small scruffy dog.
'You been reading books again, Fred?'
'Got to improve my mind, Nobby. It's these new recruits. Carrot's got his nose in a book half the time, Angua knows words I has things. Not because he was clever. A clever Watchman was a contradiction in terms. But sheer randomness might cause trouble. The gonne lay on the table. 'What shall I do about Vimes?' Kill him.

Angua woke up. It was almostto look up, even the shortarse is brighter'n me. They keep on extracting the urine. I'm definitely a bit under-endowed in the head department.''You're brighter than Detritus,' said Nobby.'That's what I tell myself. I say, "Fred, whatever happens, you're brighter than Detritus." But then I say, "Fred – so's yeast.'" He turned away from the window.So. The damn Watch!That damn Vimes! Exactly the wrong man in the wrong place. Why didn't people learn from history? Treachery was in his very genes! How could a city run properly with someone like that, poking around? That wasn't what a Watch was for. Watchmen were supposed to do what they were told, and see to it that other people did too.Someone like Vimes could upset noon, she was in her own bed at Mrs Cake's, and someone was knocking at the door.
'Mmm?' she said.

Caravaggio Adoration of the Shepherds

Caravaggio Adoration of the ShepherdsAndrea Mantegna Samson and DelilahAndrea Mantegna Adoration of the Shepherds

Sorry. No offence meant.'
'None taken,' said Carrot cheerfully.
'It's not that I've got anything against dwarfs. I've always said you'd have to look very hard before you'd find a, a better bunch of highly skilled, law-abiding, hard-working—'
'—little buggers?'
'Yes. No!'
They proceeded.
'That Mrs Cake,' saidyou bloody blind or what?'
It was true that normal people couldn't hear Gaspode speak, because dogs don't speak. It's a well-known fact. It's well known at the organic level, like a lot of other well-known facts which overrule the observations of the senses. This is because if people went around noticing everything that was going on all the time, no-one would ever get anything done.[all dogs don't talk. Ones that do are merely a statistical error, and can therefore be ignored.
However, Gaspode had found he did tend to get heard on

Pop art miles on orange

Pop art miles on orangePop art miles davis no.8Pop art miles 1960Pop art miles 1960, on rustPop art miles 1960, on blue
What she told me to get,” said Nanny “Her old silver tea set. Family heirloom. I’ve only ever seen it but twice, and once was just now when I put it in the sack. I don’t think she’s ever used it. It’s got a cream jug shaped like a humorous cowGranny emerged, leading the unicorn. It walked sedately, muscles moving under its white coat like frogs in oil. And its hooves clattered on the cobbles. Ridcully couldn’t help noticing how they shone.
311
Terry Pratchett
It walked politely alongside the witch until she reached the center of the square. Then she turned it loose, and gave it a light slap on the rump..”More people had arrived outside the forge. The crowd stretched all the way across the square.The hammering stopped. Jason’s voice, quite close, said:“We’re coming out now.”“They’re coming out now,” said Nanny“What’d she say?”“She said they’re coming out now.”“They’re coming out now!”The crowd pulled back. The doors swung open.

Paul Klee Zitronen

Paul Klee ZitronenPaul Klee Villa RPaul Klee The Golden FishPaul Klee Insula Dulcamara
air was colder here, far too cold for a midsummer night. As she plodded onward, flakes of snow swirled in the breeze and turned to rain.
Ridcully materialized inside the castle, and then clung on
to a pillar for support until he got his breath back. Trans-
migration “What’s going on, young—“ he began, and then stopped.
Shawn Ogg looked around.
“The scheming minx!” said Ridcully, to the air in gener-al. ‘”Oh, go back and get it then,’ she said, and I fell right for it! Even if I could cut the mustard again I don’t know where we were!”
“Sir?” said Shawn.always made blue spots appear in front of hiseyes.No one noticed him. The castle was in turmoil. Not everyone had run home. Armies had marched across Lancre many times over the last few thousand years, and the recollection of the castle’s thick safe walls had been practi-cally engraved in the folk memory. Run to the castle. And now it held most of the little country’s population.Ridcully blinked. People were milling around and beingharangued by a small young man in loose-fitting chain-mailand one arm in a sling, who seemed to be the only personwith any grip on things.When he was certain he could walk straight, Ridcullyheaded toward him.

Horace Vernet The Lion Hunt

Horace Vernet The Lion HuntSir Henry Raeburn The Reverend Robert Walker SkatingJean Auguste Dominique Ingres Princesse Albert de BrogliePeter Paul Rubens The Judgment of Paris
Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he con-
Terry Pratchett
sidered this. Then he shook himself free of Magrat’s grasp and listened at the door.
The singing had stopped. For a moment Magrat thought she heard footsteps outside the door, hurrying away.
“Well, Miss Queen, our mum and Mistress Weatherwax
was up at the Dancers—“
Magrat listened.
Finally she said, “And where’s everyone now?”
“Dunno, miss. All gone to the Entertainment . . . but they ought to’ve been back by now.”
“Where’s the “I’m feared about what’s happened to everyone. Our Jason said they’d be back in an hour or so, and that was hours ago.”
“But there’s almost a hundred guests and everyone from the town, practically. Elves couldn’t do anything to them.”Entertainment?”“Dunno, miss. Miss?”“Yes?”“Why’ve you got your wedding dress on?”“Never you mind.”“It’s unlucky for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding,” said Shawn, taking refuge in run-of-the-mill idiocies to relieve his terror.“It will be for him if I see him first,” snarled Magrat.“Miss?”“Yes?”
“They wouldn’t have to, miss.” Shawn went to the unglazed window. “Look, miss. I can drop down on to the

Franz Marc Drei Katzen

Franz Marc Drei KatzenFranz Marc Dog Lying in the SnowFranz Marc Die kleinen gelben PferdeFranz Marc Deer in the Woods II
LOR06 ft/VO LftDf£6
back to me ... What a summer that was. They don’t make ‘em like that anymore.” He sighed. “You know,” he said, “I’d give anything to walk through those woods with her again. There were so many things we never—oh, well. Come on.”
Ponder looked around at Lancre. He’d been born and raised in Ankh-Morpork. As far as he was concerned, the countryside was something that happened to other people, and most of them had four legs. As far as he was concerned, the countryside was “Well, I, er, I should just drink anything you like, in your case,” said Ridcully.
He hauled the mail sack down from the roof.
“What do we do with this?” he said.
There were ambling footsteps behind him, and he turned to see a short, red-faced youth in ill-fittinlike raw chaos before the universe, which was to say something with cobbles and walls, some-thing civilized, was created.“This is the capital city?” he said.“More or less,” said Casanunda, who tended to feel the same way about places that weren’t paved.“I bet there’s not a single delicatessen anywhere,” said Ponder.“And the beer here,” said Ridcully, “the beer here—well, you’d just better taste the beer here! And there’s stuff called scumble, they make it from apples and . . . and damned if I know what else they put in it, except you daren’t pour it into metal mugs. You ought to try it, Mr. Stibbons. It’d put hair on your chest. And yours—“ he turned to the next one down from the coach, who turned out to be the Librarian.“Oook?”g

Vincent van Gogh Still life with a bottle of lemons and oranges

Vincent van Gogh Still life with a bottle of lemons and orangesVincent van Gogh Self-Portrait with StrawVincent van Gogh Self-Portrait with Felt Hat greyVincent van Gogh Seascape at Saintes-Maries
the Sun, West of the Moon.
Or: Behind the North Wind.
Or: At the Back of Beyond.
Or: There and Back Again.
Or: Beyond thein the air, buzzing like tiny early warning systems, which is what they are.
Bees are sensible. It’s a human word. But bees are crea-tures of order, and programmed into their very genes is a hatred of chaos. Fields We Know.And sometimes there’s a short cut. A door or a gate. Some standing stones, a tree cleft by lightning, a filing cabinet.Maybe just a spot on some moorland somewhere ...A place where there is very nearly here.Nearly, but not quite. There’s enough leakage to make pendulums swing and psychics get nasty headaches, to give a house a reputation for being haunted, to make the occa-sional pot hurl across a room. There’s enough leakage to make the drones fly guard.Oh, yes. The drones.There are things called drone assemblies. Sometimes, onfine summer days, the drones from hives for miles around66LQR06 ftttO iftQ/£6will congregate in some spot, and fly circles

Mark Spain Flamenco I

Mark Spain Flamenco IMark Spain Eternal FlameMark Spain Encore
seemed to live there now, and Omnia was even producing one or two of its own. And even priests were coming to spend some time in it, because of the collection of religious books. There were one thousand, two hundred and eighty-three religious books in there now, each one-according to itself-the only book any man need ever read. It was sort of nice to see them all together. As Didactylos used to say, you had to laugh.
Ix was while Brutha was eating his breakfast that the subdeacon whose job it was to read him his appointments for the day, and tactfully . Good lord. I forgot." He laughed. "I forgot. One hundred years, eh? But here and now, we-”
The subdeacon turned round.
"Cenobiarch?"
He stepped closer, the blood draining from his face.
"Lord?"
He turned and ran for help.make sure he wasn't wearing his underpants on the outside, shyly offered him congratulations."Mmm?" said Brutha, his gruel dripping off the spoon."One hundred years," said the subdeacon. "Since you walked in the desert, Sir.""Really? I thought it was, mm, fifty years? Can't be more than sixty years, boy.""Uh, one hundred years, lord. We had a look in the records.""Really. One hundred years? One hundred years' time?" Brutha laid down his spoon very carefully, and stared at the plain white wall opposite him. The subdeacon found himself turning to see what it was the Cenobiarch was looking at, but there was nothing, only the whiteness of the wall."One hundred years," mused Brutha. "Mmm

Mark Spain Night Light

Mark Spain Night LightMark Spain Forever YouMark Spain Flamenco II
Thank you, lord. I thought I might go down to the forest and watch a few falling trees."
"Good practice. Good practice. Mind always on the job, eh?"
As Lu-Tze left, the abbot glanced up at his opponent.
"Good man, age, but this at least was not unusual in the Church. As he said, you had to keep busy, every day.
He rose at dawn, and wandered over to the window. He liked to watch the sunrise.
They hadn't got around to replacing the Temple doors. Apart from anything else, even Urn hadn't been able to think of a way of removing the weirdly contorted heap of molten metal. So they'd just built steps over them. And after a year or two people had quite accepted it, and said it was probably a symbol. Not of anything, exactly, but still a symbol. Definitely symbolic.
But the sun did shine off the copper dome of the Library. Brutha made a mental note to enquire about the progress of the new wing. There were too many complaints about overcrowding these days.
People came from everywhere to visit the Library. It was the biggest non-magical library in the worldthat," he said. "Your move."The opponent looked long and hard at the board.The abbot waited to see what long-term, devious strategies were being evolved. Then his opponent tapped a piece with a bony finger.REMIND ME AGAIN, he said. HOW THE LITTLE HORSESHAPED ONES MOVE.Eventually Brutha died, in unusual circumstances.He had reached a great

Pablo Picasso Bread and Fruit Dish on a Table

Pablo Picasso Bread and Fruit Dish on a TablePablo Picasso Ambroise VollardPablo Picasso Accordionist
Funny?" said Brutha.
"Makes you think. Even Ossory must have been a man who walked around, just like you and me. Got wax in his ears, just like ordinary people. Funny thing."
"What is?"
"The whole thingnot deigning to say anything.
Now, there was nothing to hear.
He might as well be talking to himself, and listening to himself.
Like Vorbis.
That thought wouldn't go away. Mind like a steel ball, Om had said. Nothing got in or out."Dhblah gave Brutha another conspiratorial grin and then sold a footsore pilgrim a bowl of hummus that he would come to regret.Brutha wandered down to his dormitory It was empty at this time of day, hanging around dormitories being discouraged in case the presence of the rockhard mattresses engendered thoughts of sin. His few possessions were gone from the shelf by his bunk. Probably he had a room of his own somewhere, although no one had told him.Brutha felt totally lost.He lay down on the bunk, just in case, and offered up a prayer to Om. There was no reply. There had been no reply for almost all of his life, and that hadn't been too bad, because he'd never expected one. And before, there'd always been the comfort that perhaps Om was listening and simply

Edward Hopper Sailing

Edward Hopper SailingEdward Hopper Ryder's HouseEdward Hopper Railroad TrainEdward Hopper New York Office
seemed to have only a shaky grasp of the concepts of "inside" and "outside"-except for the palace's encircling labyrinth, which was very clear on the subject.
"Danger attends us at every turn," said Vorbis quietly. "Any man who breaks rank or fraternizes in any way will explain his conduct to the inquisitors. At length."
Brutha lookedwalls was a place Brutha wanted to find out more about. He felt like a big empty jug. The thing to do with something empty was fill it up.
"Are you doing something to me?" he whispered.
In his box, Om looked at the shape of Brutha's mind. Then he tried to think quickly.
"No," he said, and that at least was the truth. Had this ever happened before? at a woman filling a jug from a well. It did not look like a very military act.He was feeling that strange double feeling again. On the surface there were the thoughts of Brutha, which were exactly the thoughts that the Citadel would have approved of. This was a nest of infidels and unbelievers, its very mundanity a subtle cloak for the traps of wrong thinking and heresy. It might be bright with sunlight, but in reality it was a place of shadows.But down below were the thoughts of the Brutha that watched Brutha from the inside . . .Vorbis looked wrong here. Sharp and unpleasant. And any city where potters didn't worry at all when naked, dripping wet old men came and drew triangles on their

Marc Chagall Paris Through the Window

Marc Chagall Paris Through the WindowMarc Chagall Adam and EveMarc Chagall La Mariee
knife . . .
But many of the inquisitors liked the old ways best.
After a whileAnyone could go to the Place of Lamentation. It was one of the great freedoms of Omnianism.
There were all sorts of ways to petition the Great God, but they depended largely on how much you could afford, which was right and proper and exactly how things should be. After all, those who had achieved success in the world clearly had done it with the approval of the Great God, because it was impossible to believe that they had managed it with His disapproval. In the same way, the Quisition could, Om very slowly hauled himself up to the grille, neck muscles twitching. Like a creature with its mind on something else, the tortoise hooked first one front leg over a bar, then another. His back legs waggled for a while, and then he hooked a claw on to the rough stonework.He strained for a moment and then pulled himself back into the light.He walked off slowly, keeping close to the wall to avoid the feet. He had no alternative to walking slowly in any case, but now he was walking slowly because he was thinking. Most gods find it hard to walk and think at the same time.

Paul Klee Insula Dulcamara

Paul Klee Insula DulcamaraPaul Klee Fish MagicPaul Klee Around the Fish
sock in the other.
'No magic, right?' he said.
'Yes,' said the boy.
'Whatever happens, you musn't use magic?'
'That's it. Not here. They haven't got much power here, if you don't use magic. Once they break through, though ...''No matter what?' said Coin uncertainly.
'No matter what.' Rincewind gave a brave little smile. 'Especially no matter what you hear.'
He was vaguely cheered to see Coin's mouth become an 'O' of terror.
'And then,' he continued, 'when you get back to the other side-’
'What shall I do?'
Rincewind hesitated. 'I don't know,' he said. 'Any­thing you can. As much magic as you like. Anything. Just stop them. And ... um ...'His voice trailed away.'Pretty awful,' Rincewind nodded.'Terrible,' said Coin.Rincewind sighed. He wished he still had his hat. He'd just have to do without it.All right,' he said. 'When I shout, you make a run for the light. Do you understand? No looking back or any­thing. No matter what happens.'

Marc Chagall The Cattle Dealer

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'My mouth feels all horrible, too,' muttered Creosote, determined to cling on to the remnant of his anger.
Conina turned back to the fire, and became aware of a gap in the scenery. It was Rincewind-shaped.
'He's gone!'its own.
The area around the tower of Al Khali, under the relentless magical bombardment, was already drifting beyond that reality horizon where time, space and mat­ter lose their separate identities and start wearing one another's clothes. It was quite impossible to describe.In fact Rincewind was already half a mile out over the dark sea, squatting on the carpet like an angry buddha, his mind a soup of rage, humiliation and fury, with a side order of outrage.He hadn't wanted much, ever. He'd stuck with wiz­ardry even though he wasn't any good at it, he'd always done his best, and now the whole world was conspiring against him. Well, he'd show them. Precisely who "they" were and what they were going to be shown was merely a matter of detail.He reached up and touched his hat for reassurance, even as it lost its last few sequins in the slipstream. The Luggage was having problems of

Leroy Neiman The Brooklyn Bridge

Leroy Neiman The Brooklyn BridgeLeroy Neiman Roulette IILeroy Neiman Marlin Fishing
There was dead silence.
Spelter hesitated. 'Can you?' he said.
'That remains to be seen,' said Carding. 'But if we change the world, then human nature also will change. Is that not so, brothers?'
'We have the city,' said one of the wizards. 'I myself have created a castle-’
'We rule the city, but who rules the world?' said Card­ing. 'There must be a thousand petty kings and emperors and 'Tomorrow the world, and-’ he calculated quickly-’on Friday the universe!'
That leaves the weekend free, thought Spelter. He recalled the box in his arms, and held it out towards Coin. But Carding floated in front of him, seized the box in one fluid movement and offered it to the boy with a flourish.
'The Archchancellor's hat,' he said. 'Rightfully yours, we think.'chieftains down there.''Not one of whom can read without moving his lips,' said a wizard.'The Patrician could read,' said Spelter.'Not if you cut off his index finger,' said Carding. 'What happened to the lizard, anyway? Never mind. The point is, the world should surely be run by men of wisdom and philosophy. It must be guided. We've spent centuries fighting amongst ourselves, but together... who knows what we could do?''Today the city, tomorrow the world,' said someone at the back of the crowd.Carding nodded.
Coin took it. For the first time Spelter saw uncertainty

Rembrandt The Holy Family with Angels

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child had forced his way into here because, he says, he wants to meet a powerful wizard,' said Spelter, disapprovingly. Spelter disliked children intensely, which was perhaps why they found him so fascinating. At the moment he was successfully preventing himself from wondering about the door.
'Nothing wrongmagic. And when I have beaten you, why, then I shall be Archchancellor.'
'Why, you impudent-’ began Spelter, but his protest was lost in the roar of laughter from the rest of the wizards. Billias slapped his knees, or as near to them as he could reach.
'A duel, eh?' he said. 'Pretty good, eh?' with that,' said Billias. 'Any lad worth his salt wants to be a wizard. I wanted to be a wizard when I was a lad. Isn't that right lad?''Are you puissant?' said the boy.'Hmm?''I said, are you puissant? How powerful are you?''Powerful?' said Billias. He stood up, fingered his eighth-level sash, and winked at Spelter. 'Oh, pretty powerful. Quite powerful as wizards go.''Good. I challenge you. Show me your strongest

Paul Cezanne Still Life with Fruit

Paul Cezanne Still Life with FruitPaul Cezanne Still Life with Flowers and FruitPaul Cezanne Still Life with Apples and Oranges
You know,’ she said, ‘there’s more glass than I’ve seen before, but these clear bits look a bit like shops. Does that make sense? A great big shop full of shops?’
‘And not ripe yet,’ said Windle.
‘Sorry?’
‘Just thinking aloud. Can you see what the merchandise is?’
Ludmilla shaded her eyes.
‘It just looks like a lot of colour and glitter.’
‘Letup speed.
The first one dodged Lupine’s jaws and butted Windle full in the knees, knocking him over. As the second passed over him he reached up wildly, grabbed randomly at the metal, and pulled hard. A wheel spun off and the trolley cartwheeled into the wall. me know if you see a wizard.’Someone screamed.‘Or hear one, for example,’ Windle added. Lupine bounded off down a passageway. Windle lurched swiftly after him.Someone was on their back, trying desperately to fight off a couple of the trolleys. They were bigger than the ones Windle had seen before, with a golden sheen to them.‘Hey!’ he yelled.They stopped trying to gore the prone figure and three-point-turned towards him.‘Oh, ‘ he said, as they got

Marc Chagall Paris Through the Window

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You want mother,’ said the tall girl. ‘Mother! There’s a gentleman!’ A distant muttering became a closer muttering, and then Mrs Cake appeared around the side of her daughter like a small moon emerging from planetary shadow.
‘What d’yew want?’ said Mrs Cake.
Windle took a step backwards. Unlike her daughter, Mrs Cake was quite
short, and almost perfectly circular. And still unlike her daughter, whose
.
‘Oim down ‘ere,’ said a reproachful voice.
Windle lowered his gaze.
‘That’s ‘oo I am, ‘ said Mrs Cake.
‘Am I addressing Mrs Cake?’ said Windle.
‘Yes, oi, know,’ said Mrs Cake.dedicated to making herself look small, she loomed tremendously. This was largely because of her hat, which he later learned she wore at all times with the dedication of a wizard. It was huge and black and had things on it, like bird wings and wax cherries and hatpins; Carmen Miranda could have worn that hat to the funeral of a continent. Mrs Cake travelled underneath it as the basket travels under a balloon. People often found themselves talking to her hat. ‘Mrs Cake?’ said Windle, fascinated
‘My name’s Windle Poons.’
‘Oi knew that, too.’

Edward Hopper Cape Cod Morning

Edward Hopper Cape Cod MorningAmedeo Modigliani the Reclining NudeAlphonse Maria Mucha Summer
The Rite doesn’t need any of that stuff,’ said Ridcully sharply. ‘It might not need them, but I do,’ muttered the Dean.’Doing it without the right paraphernalia is like taking all your clothes off to have a bath.’ ‘a wearer, but at the same time had a feeling of hollowness, as if it was merely a shape for something with no shape of its own. The hood was empty.
The emptiness watched the wizards for a few seconds and then focused on the Archchancellor.
It said, Who are you?That’s what I do,’ said Ridcully.‘Humph. Well, each to his own, of course, but some of us like to think that we’re maintaining standards.’‘Perhaps he’s on holiday?’ said the Bursar.‘Oh, yes,’ sneered the Dean.’On a beach somewhere? A few iced drinks and a Kiss Me Quick hat?’‘Hold on. Hold on. Someone’s coming,’ hissed the Senior Wrangler. The faint outlines of a hooded figure appeared above the octogram. It wavered constantly, as if it was being seen through superheated air. ‘That’s him, ‘ said the Dean.‘No it isn’t, ‘ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.’It’s just a grey ?ro? - there’s nothing in -‘ He stopped.It turned, slowly. It was filled out, suggesting

Francois Boucher Brown Odalisk

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being dead. Well, the first thing to do was get out and make a proper end to himself - ‘ ‘Evening, Mr Poons.’
He turned around very slowly and saw the small figure of Modo, the University’s dwarf gardener, who was sitting in the twilight smoking his pipe. ‘Oh. Hallo, Modo.’
‘I ‘eard you was took dead, Mr Poons.’
‘Er. Yes. I was.’
‘See you .
Modo relit his pipe. You see a lot of interesting things in this job, he thought.
In an alley, temporarily out of sight of passers-by, someone called Reg Shoe, who was dead, looked both ways, took a brush and a paint tin out of his pocket, and painted on the wall the words:got over it, then.’Poons nodded, and looked dismally around the walls. The University gates were always locked at sunset every evening, obliging students and staff to climb over the walls. He doubted very much that he’d be able to manage that.He clenched and unclenched his hands. Oh, well . . .‘Is there any other gateway around here, Modo?’ he said. ‘No, Mr Poons.’‘Well, where shall we have one?’‘Sorry, Mr Poons?’There was the sound of tortured masonry, followed by a vaguely Poons-shaped hole in the wall. Windle’s hand reached back in and picked up his hat