Paul Klee Around the FishPaul Klee Ancient SoundRene Magritte Homesickness
in her hearts of hearts, she was too embarrassed; she felt like a farrier who could shoe horses, cure them, rear them and judge them, but had only the sketchiest idea about how one rode them.
She pasted the label on to the phial and wrapped it carefully in plain paper.
Now.
"There is another way into the University," she said, looking sidelong at Esk, who was making a disgruntled job of mashing herbs in a mortar. "A witches' way."
Esk . "I said I'd find a way, didn't I? A very good way, too. You won't have to bother with lessons, you can go all over the place, no one will notice you you'll be invisible really - and, well, you can really clean up. But of course, after all that laughing, you won't be interested. Will you?"
"Pray have another cup of tea, Mrs Weatherwax?" said Mrs Whitlow.
"Mistress," said Granny.
"Pardon?"looked up. Granny treated herself to a thin smile and started work on another label; writing labels was always the hard part of magic, as far as she was concerned. "But I don't expect you'd be interested," she went on. "It's not very glamorous." "They laughed at me," Esk mumbled. "Yes. You said. So you won't be wanting to try again, then. I quite understand." There was silence broken only by the scratching of Granny's pen. Eventually Esk said: "This way -" "Mmph?" "It'll get me into the University?" "Of course," said Granny haughtily
Monday, March 9, 2009
Titian Sacred and Profane Love
Titian Sacred and Profane LoveFrancisco de Goya The ParasolBartolome Esteban Murillo Madonna and Child
She picked it up and smashed it against the doors. There was a shower of octarine sparks, but the black metal was unscathed.
Esk's eyes narrowed. She held the staff at arm's length and concentrated until a thin line of fire leapt from the wood and burst against the gate. The ice flashed into steam but the darkness - she was sure now that it wasn't metal - absorbed the power without so much as glowing. She doubled the energy, letting the staff put all its storedmost unpleasant sounds Esk had ever heard.
She woke up shivering. It was long after midnight and the stars looked damp and chilly; the air was full of the busy silence of the night, which is created by hundreds of small furry things treading very carefully in the hope of finding dinner while avoiding being the main course.
A crescent moon was setting and a thin grey glow towards the rim of the world suggested magic into a beam that was now so bright that she had to shut her eyes /and could still see it as a brilliant line in her mind/. Then it winked out. After a few seconds Esk ran forward and touched the doors gingerly. The coldness nearly froze her fingers off. And from the battlements above she could hear the sound of sniggering. Laughter wouldn't have been so bad, especially an impressive demonic laugh with lots of echo, but this was just -sniggering. It went on for a long time. It was one of the
She picked it up and smashed it against the doors. There was a shower of octarine sparks, but the black metal was unscathed.
Esk's eyes narrowed. She held the staff at arm's length and concentrated until a thin line of fire leapt from the wood and burst against the gate. The ice flashed into steam but the darkness - she was sure now that it wasn't metal - absorbed the power without so much as glowing. She doubled the energy, letting the staff put all its storedmost unpleasant sounds Esk had ever heard.
She woke up shivering. It was long after midnight and the stars looked damp and chilly; the air was full of the busy silence of the night, which is created by hundreds of small furry things treading very carefully in the hope of finding dinner while avoiding being the main course.
A crescent moon was setting and a thin grey glow towards the rim of the world suggested magic into a beam that was now so bright that she had to shut her eyes /and could still see it as a brilliant line in her mind/. Then it winked out. After a few seconds Esk ran forward and touched the doors gingerly. The coldness nearly froze her fingers off. And from the battlements above she could hear the sound of sniggering. Laughter wouldn't have been so bad, especially an impressive demonic laugh with lots of echo, but this was just -sniggering. It went on for a long time. It was one of the
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Claude Monet Poplars
Claude Monet PoplarsJohannes Vermeer View Of DelftJohannes Vermeer The Kitchen Maid
and pumped the bellows until the flames roared up the chimney.
When she was satisfied she turned, muttered a few precautionary protective spells under her breath, and grabbed the staff. It didn't resist; she nearly fell over. But now she had it in her hands, and felt the tingle of it, the distinctive thunderstorm crackle of the magic in it, and she laughed.Granny was old and tired and not entirely clear about things after a long day, but to survive as a witch requires an ability to jump to very large conclusions and as she stared at the staff in the flames and heard the scream her hands were already reaching for the big black kettle. She upended it over the fire, dragged the staff out of the cloud of steam, and ran upstairs, dreading what she might see.
It was as simple as this, then. There was no fight in it now.
Calling down a curse upon wizards and all their works she raised the staff above her head and brought it down with a clang across the firedogs, over the hottest part of the fire.
and pumped the bellows until the flames roared up the chimney.
When she was satisfied she turned, muttered a few precautionary protective spells under her breath, and grabbed the staff. It didn't resist; she nearly fell over. But now she had it in her hands, and felt the tingle of it, the distinctive thunderstorm crackle of the magic in it, and she laughed.Granny was old and tired and not entirely clear about things after a long day, but to survive as a witch requires an ability to jump to very large conclusions and as she stared at the staff in the flames and heard the scream her hands were already reaching for the big black kettle. She upended it over the fire, dragged the staff out of the cloud of steam, and ran upstairs, dreading what she might see.
It was as simple as this, then. There was no fight in it now.
Calling down a curse upon wizards and all their works she raised the staff above her head and brought it down with a clang across the firedogs, over the hottest part of the fire.
Edward Hopper Hills South Truro
Edward Hopper Hills South TruroEdward Hopper High RoadEdward Hopper First Row OrchestraEdward Hopper El Palacio
Rincewind swallowed. 'Tall man?' he said. 'Fair hair, looks a bit like a ferret?'
'Now that you mention it —'
'He was in my class,' said Rincewind. 'They always said he'd go a long way.'
'He'll go a lot further if he opens the book,' said one of the wizards, who was hastily rolling a cigarette in shaking fingers.
'Why?' said Twoflower. 'What will happen?'
The wizards looked at one another.
'It's an ancient secret, handed down from mage to mage, and we can't pass it on to knowlessmen,' said Wert.
'Oh, go on,' said Twoflower.
'Oh well, it probably doesn't matter any more. One mind can't hold all the spells. It'll break down, and leave a hole.'than the Disc's own moon, and each was in shadow except for a pink crescent where it caught the light of the star.
But in front of everything the top of the Tower of Art was an incandescent fury
Rincewind swallowed. 'Tall man?' he said. 'Fair hair, looks a bit like a ferret?'
'Now that you mention it —'
'He was in my class,' said Rincewind. 'They always said he'd go a long way.'
'He'll go a lot further if he opens the book,' said one of the wizards, who was hastily rolling a cigarette in shaking fingers.
'Why?' said Twoflower. 'What will happen?'
The wizards looked at one another.
'It's an ancient secret, handed down from mage to mage, and we can't pass it on to knowlessmen,' said Wert.
'Oh, go on,' said Twoflower.
'Oh well, it probably doesn't matter any more. One mind can't hold all the spells. It'll break down, and leave a hole.'than the Disc's own moon, and each was in shadow except for a pink crescent where it caught the light of the star.
But in front of everything the top of the Tower of Art was an incandescent fury
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Marc Chagall The Wedding Candles
Marc Chagall The Wedding CandlesMarc Chagall The Cattle DealerMarc Chagall Lovers in the MoonlightMarc Chagall Le Champ de Mars
sad.' She brightened. 'But come and meet him – he's got his friends in tonight, I'm sure hell be interested to see you. He doesn't meet many people socially. Nor do I, actually,' she added.
'Sorry,' said Rincewind. 'Have I got it right? We're talking about Death, yes? Tall, thin, empty eye-sockets, handy in the scythe department?'
She sighed. 'Yes. His looks are against him, I'm afraid.'
While it was true that, as has already been indicated, Rincewind was to magic what a bicycle is to a bumblebee, he nevertheless retained one privilege available to practitioners of the art, which was that at the point of death it would be This is what the voices were saying:
WOULD YOU MIND EXPLAINING THAT AGAIN?
Well, if you return anything except a trump, South will be able to get in his two ruffs, losing only one Turtle, one Elephant and one Major Arcana, then —'Death himself who turned up to claim him (instead of delegating the job to a lesser mythological anthropomorphic personification, as is usually the case). Owing largely to inefficiency Rincewind had consistently failed to die at the right time, and if there is one thing that Death does not like it is unpunctuality.'Look, I expect my friend has just wandered off somewhere,' he said. 'He's always doing that, voices on the other side – eldritch voices, the sort of voices that mere typography will remain totally unable to convey until someone can make a linotype machine with echo-reverb and, possibly, a typeface that looks like something said by a slug.
sad.' She brightened. 'But come and meet him – he's got his friends in tonight, I'm sure hell be interested to see you. He doesn't meet many people socially. Nor do I, actually,' she added.
'Sorry,' said Rincewind. 'Have I got it right? We're talking about Death, yes? Tall, thin, empty eye-sockets, handy in the scythe department?'
She sighed. 'Yes. His looks are against him, I'm afraid.'
While it was true that, as has already been indicated, Rincewind was to magic what a bicycle is to a bumblebee, he nevertheless retained one privilege available to practitioners of the art, which was that at the point of death it would be This is what the voices were saying:
WOULD YOU MIND EXPLAINING THAT AGAIN?
Well, if you return anything except a trump, South will be able to get in his two ruffs, losing only one Turtle, one Elephant and one Major Arcana, then —'Death himself who turned up to claim him (instead of delegating the job to a lesser mythological anthropomorphic personification, as is usually the case). Owing largely to inefficiency Rincewind had consistently failed to die at the right time, and if there is one thing that Death does not like it is unpunctuality.'Look, I expect my friend has just wandered off somewhere,' he said. 'He's always doing that, voices on the other side – eldritch voices, the sort of voices that mere typography will remain totally unable to convey until someone can make a linotype machine with echo-reverb and, possibly, a typeface that looks like something said by a slug.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Caravaggio Beheading of Saint John the Baptist
Caravaggio Beheading of Saint John the BaptistJohannes Vermeer Woman with a Pearl NecklaceJohannes Vermeer Saint PraxidisJohannes Vermeer Lady Standing at a Virginal
Galder broke off first – looking hard at Trymon always bothered him. It had the same disconcerting effect as gazing into a mirror and seeing no-one there.
'Anyway,' heGalder got to his feet and shuffled across to the forge, which was now cold. The strand of magic still writhed, though, at once present and not present, like a slit cut into another universe full of hot blue light. He picked it p easily, took a longbow from a rack, said a word of power, and watched with satisfaction as the magic grasped the ends of the bow and then tightened until the wood creaked. Then lie selected an arrow. said, 'strangely enough, I found assistance elsewhere. In my own modest bookshelves, in fact. The journal of Skrelt Changebasket, the founder of our order. You, my keen young man who would rush off so soon, do you know what happens when a wizard dies?''Any spells he has memorised say themselves,' said Trymon. 'It is one of the first things we learn.''In fact it is not true of the original Eight Great Spells. By dint of close study Skrelt learned that a Great Spell will simply take refuge in the nearest mind open and ready to receive it. Just push the big mirror over here, will you?'
Galder broke off first – looking hard at Trymon always bothered him. It had the same disconcerting effect as gazing into a mirror and seeing no-one there.
'Anyway,' heGalder got to his feet and shuffled across to the forge, which was now cold. The strand of magic still writhed, though, at once present and not present, like a slit cut into another universe full of hot blue light. He picked it p easily, took a longbow from a rack, said a word of power, and watched with satisfaction as the magic grasped the ends of the bow and then tightened until the wood creaked. Then lie selected an arrow. said, 'strangely enough, I found assistance elsewhere. In my own modest bookshelves, in fact. The journal of Skrelt Changebasket, the founder of our order. You, my keen young man who would rush off so soon, do you know what happens when a wizard dies?''Any spells he has memorised say themselves,' said Trymon. 'It is one of the first things we learn.''In fact it is not true of the original Eight Great Spells. By dint of close study Skrelt learned that a Great Spell will simply take refuge in the nearest mind open and ready to receive it. Just push the big mirror over here, will you?'
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Sewing the Sail
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Sewing the SailJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Ninos en el MarJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Leaving the BathJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Children on the Beach
found himself looking at a rather squat but not particularly ugly old man who would quite easily have passed for normal on any city street, always provided that other people on the street were used to seeing old men who were up the beach. The troll was a pleasant translucent blue colour. As Rincewind stared a small shoal of silver fish flashed across its chest.
"It's rude to stare," said the troll. Its mouth opened with a little crest of foam, and shut again in exactly the same way that water closes over a stone."
"Is it? Why?" asked Rincewind. How does he hold himself together, his mind screamed at him. Whyapparently composed of water and very little else. It was as if the ocean had decided to create life without going through all that tedious Business of evolution, and had simply formed a part of itself into a biped and sent it walking squishily
found himself looking at a rather squat but not particularly ugly old man who would quite easily have passed for normal on any city street, always provided that other people on the street were used to seeing old men who were up the beach. The troll was a pleasant translucent blue colour. As Rincewind stared a small shoal of silver fish flashed across its chest.
"It's rude to stare," said the troll. Its mouth opened with a little crest of foam, and shut again in exactly the same way that water closes over a stone."
"Is it? Why?" asked Rincewind. How does he hold himself together, his mind screamed at him. Whyapparently composed of water and very little else. It was as if the ocean had decided to create life without going through all that tedious Business of evolution, and had simply formed a part of itself into a biped and sent it walking squishily
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