Gustav Klimt Women Friends

Gustav Klimt Women FriendsGustav Klimt The BrideGustav Klimt Schubert at the PianoGustav Klimt Malcesine on Lake Garda
nodded. It sits up here in all weather straining gnats through its ears, he thought. People like that don't have a crowded address book. Even whelks get out more.
'I'm Captain wasn't so likeable.
'You live right up here,' said Vimes, interested despite the more pressing problem on his mind, 'how come you know Arrot . . . Carrot?'
'Ee cuns uk ere um-imes an awks oo ugg.'
'Uz ee?'
'Egg.'
'Did someone else come up here? Just now?'Vimes of the Watch.'The gargoyle pricked up its huge ears.'Ar. Oo erk or Ister Arrot?'Vimes worked this one out, too, and blinked.'You know Corporal Carrot?''Oh, Ess. Air-ee-un owes Arrot.'Vimes snorted. I grew up here, he thought, and when I walk down the street everyone says, 'Who's that glum bugger?' Carrot's been here a few months and everyone knows him. And he knows everyone. Everyone likes him. I'd be annoyed about that, if only he

Thomas Kinkade Autumn Snow

Thomas Kinkade Autumn SnowEdward Hopper The Lighthouse at Two LightsEdward Hopper Tables for LadiesEdward Hopper Sunlight in a Cafeteria
hand on the hilt of his sword, but it could also have been because Assassins did have a certain code, after all. It was dishonourable to kill someone if you weren't being paid.
'It seems to be some ,' said Dr Cruces.
'Good. Good. Thank you very much.' Captain Vimes paused at the doorway, and then thumped the palm of his hand on his forehead. 'Sorry, excuse me – mind like a sieve these days – what was it you said was stolen?'
Not a muscle, not a sinew moved on Dr Cruces' face.
'I didn't say anything was stolen, Captain Vimes.'
Vimes gaped at him for a moment.kind of . . . museum,' said Vimes. 'Guild memorabilia, that sort of thing?''Yes, exactly. Odd and ends. You know how they mount up over the years.''Oh. Well, that all seems in order,' said Vimes. 'Sorry to have troubled you, doctor. I will be going. I hope I have not inconvenienced you in any way.''Of course not! Glad to have been able to put your mind at rest.'They were ushered gently yet firmly towards the gateway.'I should clean up this glass,' said Captain Vimes, glancing at the debris again. 'Someone could hurt themselves, all this glass lying around. Wouldn't like to see one of your people get hurt.''We Shall be doing it right this minute, captain

Pop art trane in blue

Pop art trane in bluePop art guitarPop art guitar playerPop art elvisPop art coltrane on rust
works out,” said Granny Weatherwax, “some-
where. Your young wizard knows that, he just puts daft
words around it. He’d be quite bright, if only he’d look at
what’s in front of him.”
“He wants to. It could

turn out to be anything. And everything.”
She picked up a pebble. It hit the water at the same time as one of Ridcully’s own, making a double plunk.
“Do you think,” said Ridcully, “that . . . somewhere . . .
it all went right?”
“Yes. Here!” stay here for a while,” said Ridcullygloomily. He flicked another pebble into the depths. “Seems fascinated by the stones. I can’t say no, can I? The king’s all for it. He says other kings have always had fools, so he’ll try having a wise man around, just in case that works better.”Granny laughed.“And there’s young Diamanda going to be up and aboutany day now,” she said.“What do you mean?”“Oh, nothing. That’s the thing about the future

Juan Gris The Guitar

Juan Gris The GuitarJuan Gris BreakfastGeorge Bellows Stag at Sharkey's
Pratchett
currently wearing high cheekbones and hair tied in a pony-tail; it wore odds and ends of rags and lace and fur, confi-dent in the hid-den in the trees.”
There was indeed a rustling in the trees on one side of the track, but it was followed by a thump. The elves looked disconcerted.
“Get out of my way,” said Magrat.
“I think you have a very wrong idea,” said the elf. Its smile widened, but vanished when there was another sylvan crash from the other side of the track.
“We felt you coming all the way up the track,” said the elf. “The brave girl off to rescue her knowledge that anything would look good on an elf.It wrinkled its perfect nose at her.“There is only one Queen in Lancre,” it said. “And you are, most definitely, not her.”Magrat tried to concentrate.“Where is she, then?” she said.The other two raised their bows.“You are looking for the Queen? Then we will take you to her,” Lankin stated. “And, lady, should you be inclined to make use of that nasty iron bow there are more archers

Edgar Degas Dancer

Edgar Degas DancerWilliam Beard So You Wanna Get MarriedWilliam Beard Phantom CraneWilliam Beard Owls
We could sit here and—“
“You’re falling for it too,” said Granny. “All that dreamy-weamy, eyes-across-a-crowded-room stuff. Can’t imagine how you keep your job as head wizard.”
“Mainly by checking my bed carefully and makin’ sure
someone else has already had a slice of whatever it is I’m
eating,” said Ridcully, with disarming honesty. “There’s not
much to it, really. Mainly it’s signin’ things and having a
good shout—“
Ridcully gave up.
“Anyway, you “You know?”
218
LOR08 ft/VO ift0/£6
“Yes, because I’ve been paying attention while you were dodging the traffic in Memory Lane,” said Granny. “There’s at least five of ‘em, and they’re right above us. How’s those magic fingers of yours?”looked pretty surprised when you saw me,” he said. “Your face went white.”“Anyone’d go white, seeing a full-grown man standing there looking like a sheep about to choke,” said Granny.“You really don’t let up, do you?” said Ridcully.“Amazing. You don’t give an inch.”Another leaf drifted past.Ridcully didn’t move his head.“You know,” he said, his voice staying quite level, “either autumn comes really early in these parts, or the birds here are the ones out of that story I mentioned, or someone’s in the tree above us.”“I know.”

Mark Rothko Violet Green and Red 1951

Mark Rothko Violet Green and Red 1951Mark Rothko Untitled 1962Mark Rothko Untitled 1960Mark Rothko Untitled 1949
Goodnight.”
They kissed, and turned away, and headed for their own rooms.
The sheets on Magrat’s bed were just beginning to turn brown. She pulled out the warming pan and dropped it out of the window.
She glared at the garderobe.
Magrat was castle wall far below, where there was an opening from which biodegradability took place once a week by means of an organo-dynamic process known as Shawn Ogg and his wheelbarrow. That much Magrat understood. It kind of fit-ted in with the whole idea of royalty and commonality. What shocked her were the hooks.
154
LORQS ftMO Lft0f£6
They were for storing clothes in the garderobe. Millie had explained probably the only person in Lancre who worried about things being biodegradable. Everyone else just hoped things would last and knew that damn near everything went rotten if you left it long enough.At home—correction, at the cottage where she used to live—there had been a privy at the bottom of the garden.She’d approved of it. With a regular bucket of ashes and a copy of last year’s Almanack on a nail and a bunch-of-grapes cutout on the door it functioned quite effectively. About once every few months she’d have to dig a big hole and get someone to help her move the shed itself.The garderobe was this: a sort of small roofed-in room inside the wall, with a wooden seat positioned over a large square hole that went down all the way to the foot of the

Vincent van Gogh Olive grove I

Vincent van Gogh Olive grove IVincent van Gogh Madhouse garden of St-RemyVincent van Gogh Landscape at Auvers in the Rain
paint my toenails red when I was young,” said Nanny, wistfully.
“Toenails is different. So’s red. Anyway,” said Granny, “you only did it to appear allurin’.”
“It worked, too.”
“Hah!”
They walked along in silence for a bit.
“I felt a lot of power there,” Nanny Ogg said, eventually.
“Yes. I know.”
“A lot.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not saying you couldn’t beat her,” said Nanny quickly. “I’m not saying that. But I don’t reckon I could, and it seemed to me it’d raise a bit of a sweat even on you. You’ll have to hurt her to beat her.”
“I’m losin’ my judgment, aren’t I?”
“Oh, I—““Sorry, Esme.”
A bat fluttered by. Granny nodded to it.
“Heard how Magrat’s getting along?” she said, in a tone of voice which forced casualness embraced like a corset.
68
LORQ6 ft/YD iftQ/£6“She riled me, Gytha. Couldn’t help myself. Now I’ve got to duel with a gel of seventeen, and if I wins I’m a wicked bullyin’ old witch, and if I loses ...”She kicked up a drift of old leaves.“Can’t stop myself, that’s my trouble.”Nanny Ogg said nothing.“And I loses my temper over the least little—““Yes, but—““I hadn’t finished talkin’.”

Mark Spain Cordoba

Mark Spain CordobaMark Spain ContemplationMark Spain Castilla
But Vorbis died a hundred years ago!"
YES. HE HAD TO WALK IT ALL ALONE. ALL ALONE WITH HIMSELF. IF HE DARED.
"He's been here for a hundred years?"
POSSIBLY NOT. TIME IS DIFFERENT HERE. IT IS . . . MORE PERSONAL.
"Ah. You mean a hundred years can pass like a few seconds?"
A HUNDRED YEARS CAN PASS LIKE INFINITY.
The black-on-black eyes stared imploringly at Brutha, who reached out automatically, without thinking . . . and then hesitated.across the desert.
Death watched them walk away.
[1] Or, if you are a believer in Omnianism, the Pole.
[2] Which were of the one-size-fits-all, tighten-the-HE WAS A MURDERER, said Death. AND A CREATOR OF MURDERERS. A TORTURER. WITHOUT PASSION. CRUEL. CALLOUS. COMPASSIONLESS."Yes. I know. He's Vorbis," said Brutha. Vorbis changed people. Sometimes he changed them into dead people. But he always changed them. That was his triumph.He sighed."But I'm me," he said.Vorbis stood up, uncertainly, and followed Brutha

Pino Purity

Pino PurityPablo Picasso Three Women at the SpringPablo Picasso Three Dancers
As they moved away, Brutha saw something he hadn't noticed before. There were members of the Holy Guard, armed with bows, in the good job, even down to the patterning on the shell and the scales on the legs. It was about eight feet long.
Brutha heard a rushing noise in his ears as Vorbis spoke.
"They speak poisonous gibberish about turtles, do they not? They think they live on the back of a Great Turtle. Well, let them die on one."garden. They were in the shade of trees, or amongst bushes-not too obvious, but not exactly hidden.Steps led from the garden to the maze of underground tunnels and rooms that underlay the Temple and, indeed, the whole of the Citadel. Noiselessly, a couple of guards fell in behind them at a respectful distance.Brutha followed Vorbis through the tunnels to the artificers' quarter, where forges and workshops clustered around one wide, deep light-well. Smoke and fumes billowed up around the hewn rock walls.Vorbis walked directly to a large alcove that glowed red with the light of forge fires. Several workers were clustered around something wide and curved."There," said Vorbis. "What do you think?"It was a turtle.The iron-founders had done a pretty

Edward Hopper Chair Car

Edward Hopper Chair CarEdward Hopper A Woman in the SunUnknown Artist Mary Magdalene at the Tomb
was still on the table, staring fixedly at the melon.
"I nearly committed a terrible sin," said Brutha. "I nearly ate fruit on a fruitless day."
"That's a terrible thing, a terrible thing," said Om. "Now cut the melon."
"But it is forbidden!" said Brutha.
"No it's not," said Om. "Cut the melon."
"But it was the eating of fruit that caused passion to invade the world," said Brutha.
"All it caused was flatulence," said Om. "Cut the melon!"
"You're "And eat up quick," said Om.
"In case Vorbis finds us?"
"Because you've got to go and find a philosopher," said Om. The fact that his mouth was full didn't make any difference to his voice in Brutha's mind. "You know, melons grow wild in the wilderness. Not big ones like this. Little green jobs. Skin like leather. Can't bite through 'emtempting me!""No I'm not. I'm giving you permission. Special dispensation! Cut the damn melon!""Only a bishop or higher is allowed to giv-” Brutha began. And then he stopped.Om glared at him."Yes. Exactly," he said. "And now cut the melon." His tone softened a bit. "If it makes you feel any better, I shall declare that it is bread. I happen to be the God in this immediate vicinity. I can call it what I damn well like. It's bread. Right? Now cut the damn melon.""Loaf," corrected Brutha."Right. And give me a slice without any seeds in it.Brutha did so, a bit carefully.

Paul Gauguin Yellow Christ

Paul Gauguin Yellow ChristPaul Gauguin Where Do We Come FromPaul Gauguin The Yellow ChristPaul Gauguin The Vision After the Sermon
proof. How could it be anything else? The Great God would not have seen fit to put the suspicion in the minds of His two hundred meters across, rose the Great Temple itself.
There, without a shadow of a doubt, the God listened.
Or somewhere close, anyway . . .
Thousands of pilgrims visited the Place every day.
A heel knocked Om's shell, bouncing him off the wall. On the rebound a crutch caught the edge of his carapace and whirled him away into the crowd, spinning like a coin. He bounced up against the bedroll exquisitors unless it was right that it should be there. Life could be very simple, if you believed in the Great God Om. And sometimes quite short, too.But there were always the improvident, the stupid, and those who, because of some flaw or oversight in this life or a past one, were not even able to afford a pinch of incense. And the Great God, in His wisdom and mercy as filtered through His priests, had made provision for them.Prayers and entreaties could be offered up in the Place of Lamentation. They would assuredly be heard. They might even be heeded.Behind the Place, which was a square

Paul Klee Ancient Sound

Paul Klee Ancient SoundRene Magritte HomesicknessArthur Hughes Phyllis
Rincewind gazed up at the Thing, which was still star­ing into the light.
'If it ... you know ... if anyone gets out of this, you know, and everything is all right after all, sort of thing, Id like you to sort ofto know that.'
'There was something else I was trying to say,' said Rincewind, letting go of the hand. He looked blank for a moment, and then added, 'Oh, yes. It's vital to remember who you really are. It's very important. It isn't a good idea to rely on other people or things to do it for you, you see. They always get it wrong.'
'I'll try and remember,' said Coin.
'It's very important,' Rincewind repeated, almost to tell people I sort of stayed here. Perhaps they could sort of write it down somewhere. I mean, I wouldn't want a statue or anything,' he added virtuously.After a while he added, 'I think you ought to blow your nose.'Coin did so, on the hem of his robe, and then shook Rincewind's hand solemnly.'If ever you ...' he began, 'that is, you're the first ... it's been a great ... you see, I never really ...' His voice trailed off, and then he said, 'I just wanted you

Franz Marc Affenfries

Franz Marc AffenfriesGarmash Sleeping BeautyMarc Chagall The Wedding Candles
They're probably all right,' said Rincewind.
'Good.'
'Whatever they are.'
'What?'
Conina grabbed his arm. 'Don't shout at him,' she said. 'He's not himself.'
Ah,' said Creosote dourly, 'an improvement.'
'I say, that's 'I think that's a bit cruel,' said Conina, but with an edge in her voice that suggested that she could be open to persuasion on the subject.
'Well, they make me sick,' muttered Creosote, who was feeling acutely sober and didn't like it much.
'I think we'll all feel better if we try to get a bit more sleep,' said Nijel diplomatically. 'Things always look better by daylight. Nearly always, anyway.'a bit unfair,' Nijel protested. 'I mean, he got me out of the snake pit and, well, he knows a lot-’'Yes, wizards are good at getting you out of the sort of trouble that only wizards can get you into,' said Creosote. 'Then they expect you to thank them.''Oh, I think-’'It's got to be said,' said Creosote, waving his hands irritably. He was briefly illuminated by the passage of another spell across the tormented sky.'Look at that!' he snapped. 'Oh, he means well. They all mean well. They probably all think the Disc would be a better place if they were in charge. Take it from me, there's nothing more terrible than someone out to do the world a favour. Wizards! When all's said and done, what good are they? I mean, can you name me something worthwhile any wizard's done?'

George Stubbs Lion Devouring a Horse

George Stubbs Lion Devouring a HorseUnknown Artist Sea of Cortez Cabo San LucasLeroy Neiman Washington Square Park
floated in a a remark at him.
'I'm sorry?' he corrected himself. 'It was just that the world ... so beautiful ...'
'Our Spelter is an aesthete,' said Coin, and there was a brief chuckle from one or two wizards who knew what the word meant, 'but as to the world, it could be improved. I had said, Spelter, that everywhere we look we can see cruelty and inhumanity and greed, which tell us that the world is indeed governed badly, does it not?'
Spelter was aware of two dozen pairs of eyes turning to him.
'Um,' he said. 'Well, you can't change human nature.'puddle of black night somehow set into the floor itself, and Spelter knew with a terrible certainty that it was the world, not some image or simple projec­tion. There were cloud patterns and everything. There were the frosty wastes of the Hublands, the Counter­weight Continent, the Circle Sea, the Rimfall, all tiny and pastel-coloured but nevertheless real ...Someone was speaking to him.'Um?' he said, and the sudden drop in metaphorical temperature jerked him back into reality. He realised with horror that Coin had just directed

Rembrandt Belshazzar's Feast

Rembrandt Belshazzar's FeastJohn Singer Sargent Sargent PoppiesLord Frederick Leighton Leighton Idyll
is forbidden, as well you know,' said Spelter. 'Anyway, it's totally ridiculous! I don't know who did the doors for him, but I will not stand here and see you waste all our time-‘
'Now, now,' a theatrical flourish, he rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and extended his hand.
The assembled wizards watched with interest. Eighth-levels were above magic, as a rule, spending most of their time in contemplation -normally of the next menu - and, of course, avoiding the attentions of ambitious wizards of the seventh-level. This should be worth seeing.
Billias grinned at the boy, who returned it with a stare that focused on a point asaid Billias. 'What's your name, lad?''Coin.''Coin sir,' snapped Spelter.'Well, now, Coin,' said Billias. 'You want to see the best I can do, eh?''Yes.''Yes sir,' snapped Spelter. Coin gave him an unblinking stare, a stare as old as time, the kind of stare that basks on rocks on volcanic islands and never gets tired. Spelter felt his mouth go dry.Billias held out his hands for silence. Then, with

Paul Cezanne The Banks of the Marne

Paul Cezanne The Banks of the MarnePaul Cezanne Still Life with OnionsPaul Cezanne Still Life with Kettle
the stairs,’ said Windle.
‘Don’t be silly, Mr Poons. Stairs don’t suck.’
Windle looked down.
‘These ‘You want to stand on them?’
‘No. But the wizards aren’t on this floor and it’s that or slide down the handrail. Have you looked closely at the handrail?’ They looked at the handrail.
‘I think,’ said Doreen nervously, ‘that down is more us.’ They went down in silence. Arthur fell over at the point where the travelling stairs were sucked into the floor again. ‘I had this horrible feeling it was going to drag me under,’ he said apologetically, and then looked around him.
‘It’s big,’ he concluded.’Roomy. I could do wonders down here with some stone-effect wallpaper.’
Ludmilla wandered over to the nearest wall.do.’They were black, like a sloping river. As the dark substance flowed out from under the floor it humped itself into something resembling steps, which travelled up the slope until they disappeared under the floor again, somewhere above. When the steps emerged they made a slow, rhythmic shlup-shlup noise, like someone ‘Do you know,’ said Ludmilla, ‘that’s quite possibly the most unpleasant thing I’ve ever seen?’‘I’ve seen worse,’ said Windle. ‘But it’s pretty bad.Shall we go up or down?’

Franz Marc fate animals

Franz Marc fate animalsFranz Marc Blue HorseMarc Chagall The Three Candles
WHAT?
It’ll keep you busy. Keep your mind off things. Besides, I’m paying you sixpence a week. And sixpence is sixpence.’
Mrs Cake’s house was also in Elm Street. Windle knocked on the door.
After a while who goes through life crouching slightly and looking apologetic in case they inadvertently loom.
And she had magnificent hair. It crowned her head and flowed out behind her like a cloak. She also had slightly pointed ears and teeth which, while white and quite beautiful, caught the light in a disturbing way. Windle was amazed at the speed at which his heightened zombie senses reached a conclusion. He looked down.
Lupine was sitting bolt upright, too excited even to wag his tail.
‘I don’t think you could be Mrs Cake,’ said Windle.a muffled voice called out, ‘Is there anybody there?’‘Knock once for yes,’ Schleppel volunteered.Windle levered open the letter-box.‘Excuse me? Mrs Cake?’The door opened.Mrs Cake wasn’t what Windle had expected. She was big, but not in the sense of being fat. She was just built to a scale slightly larger than normal; the sort of person

Thomas Kinkade Cobblestone Bridge

Thomas Kinkade Cobblestone BridgeThomas Kinkade Clearing StormsThomas Kinkade Bridge of Faith
the desert a dark and empty shell moved purposefully, half an inch above the ground . . . the Death of Tortoises.
The a very faint jangling sound, disappearing into the distance.
‘Don’t stand in the doorway, friend. Don’t block up the hall. Come on in.’
Windle Poons blinked in the gloom.
When his eyes became accustomed to it, he realised that there was a semicircle of chairs in an otherwise rather bare and dusty room. They were all occupied.
In the centre - at the focus, as it were, of the half circle - was a small table Death of Humanity hadn’t been finished yet.Humans can believe some very complex things.It’s like the difference between off-the-peg and bespoke.The metallic sounds stopped coming from the alley. Then there was a silence. It was the particularly wary silence of something making no noise.And, finally, there was

Leroy Neiman Nantucket Sailing

Leroy Neiman Nantucket SailingUnknown Artist Apple Tree with Red FruitGeorge Frederick Watts Orpheus and EurydiceGeorge Frederick Watts Orpheus and Eurydice detailUnknown Artist The SunFlowers
Does that mean he’ll be playing kettle drums and doing that bimbo dancing all night, then?’
‘Is that what they do?’
‘Old Windle? Doesn’t sound like his cup of tea. He never liked dancing much when he was alive -‘ ‘Anyway, you can’t trust those voodoo gods. Never trust a god who grins all the time and wears a top hat, that’s my motto.’ ‘- I’m damned if I’m going to give up my bedroom to a zombie after waiting years for it -‘ ‘Is it? That’s a funny motto.’
Windle No wonder the undead were traditionally considered to be very angry.
Something wonderful, if you took the long view, was about to happen. If you took the short or medium view, something horrible was about to happen.
It’s like the difference between seeing a beautiful new star in the winter
sky and actually being close toPoons strolled around the inside of his own head again. Strange thing, this. Now he was dead, or not living any more, or whatever he was, his mind felt clearer than it had ever done. And control seemed to be getting easier, too. He hardly had to bother about the whole respiratory thing, the spleen seemed to be working after a fashion, the senses were operating at full speed. The digestive system was still a bit of a mystery, though.He looked at himself in a silver plate.He still looked dead. Pale face, red under the eyes. A dead body. Operating but still, basically, dead. Was that fair? Was that justice? Was that a proper reward for being a firm believer in reincarnation for almost 130 years? You come back as a corpse?