Jean-Honore Fragonard le jourJean-Honore Fragonard l'auroreJean-Honore Fragonard Cephale et ProcrisEdgar Degas DancerWilliam Beard So You Wanna Get Married
'Imagine the sensation when he put it on for the first time,' she went on. 'I expect there was an eldritch tingling sensation.'
'Actually, it felt rather—' Tomjon began, but no-one was listening to him. He shrugged and leaned over to Hwel, who was still scribbling busily.
'Does eldritch mean uncomfortable?' he hissed.
The dwarf looked at him with unfocused eyes.
'What?'hoarsely. 'Everyone says I take after dad!'
'Funny thing, all this taking after people,' said the dwarf vaguely. 'I mean, if I took after my dad, I'd be a hundred feet underground digging rocks, whereas—' His voice died away. He stared at the nib of his pen as though it held an incredible fascination.
'Whereas what?''I said, does eldritch mean uncomfortable?''Eh? Oh. No. No, I shouldn't think so.''What does it mean then?''Dunno. Oblong, I think.' Hwel's glance returned to his scrawls as though magnetised. 'Can you remember what he said after all those tomorrows? I didn't catch the bit after that . . .''And there wasn't any need for you to tell everyone I was – adopted,' said Tomjon.'That's how it was, you see,' said the dwarf vaguely. 'Best to be honest about these things. Now then, did he actually stab her, or just accuse her?''I don't want to be a king!' Tomjon whispered
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Jean-Honore Fragonard Cephale et Procris
Jean-Honore Fragonard Cephale et ProcrisEdgar Degas DancerWilliam Beard So You Wanna Get MarriedWilliam Beard Phantom CraneWilliam Beard Owls
'Excuse me,' said Magrat, louder this time. 'Who was Black Aliss? And,' she added quickly, 'none of this exchanging meaningful glances and talking over my head. There's three witches in this coven, remember?'
'She was before your time,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Before mine, really. She lived over Skunid way. Very powerful witch.'
'If you listen to rumour,' said Granny.
'She turned a pumpkin into a royal coach once,' said Nanny.
'Showy,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'That's no help to anyone, turning up at a ball smelling like a pie. And that business 'And you're going to send the castle to sleep?' said Magrat.
'She never sent the castle to sleep,' said Granny. 'That's just an old wives' tale,' she added, glaring at Nanny. 'She just stirred up time a little. It's not as hard as people think. Everyone does it all the time. It's like rubber, is time. You can stretch it to suit yourself.'with the glass slipper. Dangerous, to my mind.''But the biggest thing she ever did,' said Nanny, ignoring the interruption, 'was to send a whole palace to sleep for a hundred years until. . .' She hesitated. 'Can't remember. Was there rose bushes involved, or was it spinning wheels in that one? I think some princess had to finger . . . no, there was a prince. That was it.''Finger a prince?' said Magrat, uneasily.'No . . .he had to kiss her. Very romantic, Black Aliss was. There was always a bit of romance in her spells. She liked nothing better than Girl meets Frog.''Why did they call her Black Aliss?''Fingernails,' said Granny.'And teeth,' said Nanny Ogg. 'She had a sweet tooth. Lived in a real gingerbread cottage. Couple of kids shoved her in her own oven at the end. Shocking.'
'Excuse me,' said Magrat, louder this time. 'Who was Black Aliss? And,' she added quickly, 'none of this exchanging meaningful glances and talking over my head. There's three witches in this coven, remember?'
'She was before your time,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Before mine, really. She lived over Skunid way. Very powerful witch.'
'If you listen to rumour,' said Granny.
'She turned a pumpkin into a royal coach once,' said Nanny.
'Showy,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'That's no help to anyone, turning up at a ball smelling like a pie. And that business 'And you're going to send the castle to sleep?' said Magrat.
'She never sent the castle to sleep,' said Granny. 'That's just an old wives' tale,' she added, glaring at Nanny. 'She just stirred up time a little. It's not as hard as people think. Everyone does it all the time. It's like rubber, is time. You can stretch it to suit yourself.'with the glass slipper. Dangerous, to my mind.''But the biggest thing she ever did,' said Nanny, ignoring the interruption, 'was to send a whole palace to sleep for a hundred years until. . .' She hesitated. 'Can't remember. Was there rose bushes involved, or was it spinning wheels in that one? I think some princess had to finger . . . no, there was a prince. That was it.''Finger a prince?' said Magrat, uneasily.'No . . .he had to kiss her. Very romantic, Black Aliss was. There was always a bit of romance in her spells. She liked nothing better than Girl meets Frog.''Why did they call her Black Aliss?''Fingernails,' said Granny.'And teeth,' said Nanny Ogg. 'She had a sweet tooth. Lived in a real gingerbread cottage. Couple of kids shoved her in her own oven at the end. Shocking.'
Monday, March 16, 2009
warmth by volk
warmth by volkUnknown Artist James Wiens Birch Silhouette IPablo Picasso the dogUnknown Artist Still Life with Musical InstrumentsUnknown Artist Pieter Claesz Still Life
listen to me, sweetheart,' he said. 'You ain't the first witch we've had down here, if witch you be, but you could be lucky and walk out again. If you are nice to us, d'you see?'
There was a shrill, short scream from somewhere nearby.
'Let her go this minute!' he shouted. 'Or I'll report you!'
'Oh, you'll report us, will you?' said Hron. 'And will anyone listen to you, you earwax-coloured little twerp?'
'This is a witch we have here,' said the other guard. 'So you can go and tinkle somewhere else.' He turned back to Magrat. 'I like a girl with spirit,' he said, incorrectly as it turned out.
The Fool advanced with the bravery of the terminally angry.'That, you see,' said the guard, 'was a witch having it the hard way. You could do us all a favour, see? Lucky you met us, really.'His questing hand stopped its wandering. 'What's this?' he said to Magrat's pale face. 'A knife? A knife? I reckon we've got to take that very seriously, don't you, Hron?''You got to tie her hands and gag her,' said Hron hurriedly.'They can't do no magic if they can't speak or wave their hands about . . .''You can take your hands off her!'All three stared down the passage at the Fool. He was jingling with rage.
listen to me, sweetheart,' he said. 'You ain't the first witch we've had down here, if witch you be, but you could be lucky and walk out again. If you are nice to us, d'you see?'
There was a shrill, short scream from somewhere nearby.
'Let her go this minute!' he shouted. 'Or I'll report you!'
'Oh, you'll report us, will you?' said Hron. 'And will anyone listen to you, you earwax-coloured little twerp?'
'This is a witch we have here,' said the other guard. 'So you can go and tinkle somewhere else.' He turned back to Magrat. 'I like a girl with spirit,' he said, incorrectly as it turned out.
The Fool advanced with the bravery of the terminally angry.'That, you see,' said the guard, 'was a witch having it the hard way. You could do us all a favour, see? Lucky you met us, really.'His questing hand stopped its wandering. 'What's this?' he said to Magrat's pale face. 'A knife? A knife? I reckon we've got to take that very seriously, don't you, Hron?''You got to tie her hands and gag her,' said Hron hurriedly.'They can't do no magic if they can't speak or wave their hands about . . .''You can take your hands off her!'All three stared down the passage at the Fool. He was jingling with rage.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Tom Thomson Woodland Waterfall
Tom Thomson Woodland WaterfallTom Thomson The PoolTom Thomson the jack pineTom Thomson Jack PineRodney White Nothing to Dream
Even the land, at times, seems alive . . .
At times, so does the sky.
The storm was really giving it everything it had. This was its big chance. It had spent years hanging around the provinces, already been pointed out, play games other than chess with the fates of mortals and the thrones of kings. It is important to remember that they always cheat, right up to the end . . .
And a coach came hurtling along the rough forest track, jerking violently as the wheels bounced off tree roots. The driver lashed at the team, the desperate crack of his whip providing a rather neat counterpoint to the crash of the tempest overhead.putting in some useful work as a squall, building up experience, making contacts, occasionally leaping out on unsuspecting shepherds or blasting quite small oak trees. Now an opening in the weather had given it an opportunity to strut its hour, and it was building up its role in the hope of being spotted by one of the big climates.It was a good storm. There was quite effective projection and passion there, and critics agreed that if it would only learn to control its thunder it would be, in years to come, a storm to watch.The woods roared their applause and were full of mists and flying leaves.On nights such as these the gods, as has
Even the land, at times, seems alive . . .
At times, so does the sky.
The storm was really giving it everything it had. This was its big chance. It had spent years hanging around the provinces, already been pointed out, play games other than chess with the fates of mortals and the thrones of kings. It is important to remember that they always cheat, right up to the end . . .
And a coach came hurtling along the rough forest track, jerking violently as the wheels bounced off tree roots. The driver lashed at the team, the desperate crack of his whip providing a rather neat counterpoint to the crash of the tempest overhead.putting in some useful work as a squall, building up experience, making contacts, occasionally leaping out on unsuspecting shepherds or blasting quite small oak trees. Now an opening in the weather had given it an opportunity to strut its hour, and it was building up its role in the hope of being spotted by one of the big climates.It was a good storm. There was quite effective projection and passion there, and critics agreed that if it would only learn to control its thunder it would be, in years to come, a storm to watch.The woods roared their applause and were full of mists and flying leaves.On nights such as these the gods, as has
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Fabian Perez Waiting For the Romance to Come Back II
Fabian Perez Waiting For the Romance to Come Back IIFabian Perez VeniceFabian Perez For a Better Life III
They're always telling folk how much better it's going to be when they're dead. We tell them it could be pretty good right here if only they'd put their minds to it.'
Mort up by a couple of others in the depths of the forest. Mort had never heard anything so mournful.
He glanced sideways at the still figure of Goodie Hamstring and then, with mounting panic, at the hourglass. He sprang to his feet, snatched up the scythe, and brought it around in a two-handed swing.
The witch stood up, leaving her body behind.
'Well done,' she said. 'I thought you'd missed it, for a minute, there.'hesitated. He wanted to say: you're wrong, he's not like that at all, he doesn't care if people are good or bad so long as they're punctual. And kind to cats, he added.But he thought better of it. It occurred to him that people needed to believe things.The wolf howled again, so near that Mort looked around apprehensively. Another one across the valley answered it. The chorus was picked
They're always telling folk how much better it's going to be when they're dead. We tell them it could be pretty good right here if only they'd put their minds to it.'
Mort up by a couple of others in the depths of the forest. Mort had never heard anything so mournful.
He glanced sideways at the still figure of Goodie Hamstring and then, with mounting panic, at the hourglass. He sprang to his feet, snatched up the scythe, and brought it around in a two-handed swing.
The witch stood up, leaving her body behind.
'Well done,' she said. 'I thought you'd missed it, for a minute, there.'hesitated. He wanted to say: you're wrong, he's not like that at all, he doesn't care if people are good or bad so long as they're punctual. And kind to cats, he added.But he thought better of it. It occurred to him that people needed to believe things.The wolf howled again, so near that Mort looked around apprehensively. Another one across the valley answered it. The chorus was picked
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Vincent van Gogh Souvenir de Mauve
Vincent van Gogh Souvenir de MauveVincent van Gogh Peach Tree in BloomVincent van Gogh The Red Vineyard
'Excuse me,' said Mort, 'are you really?'
'Really what?'
'Master of the thingy, Lord High Wossname of the Sacred Dungeons?'
Cutwell pushed back his hood with an annoyed flourish. Instead of the grey-bearded mystic Mort had expected he saw a round, rather plump face, pink and white like a pork pie, which it somewhat resembled in other respects. For example, like most pork pies, it didn't have a beard and, like most pork pies, it looked basically good-humoured.
'In a Mort hesitated, and then put the bag of gold coins on the table. The wizard glanced at them, made a little whinnying noise in the back of his throat, and reached out, Mort's figurative sense,' he said.'What does that mean?''Well, it means no,' said the wizard. 'It's a kind of magic I've been working on. What was it you were wanting, anyway?' He leered suggestively. 'A love philtre, yes? Something to encourage the young ladies?''Is it possible to walk through walls?' said Mort desperately. Cutwell paused with his hand already halfway to a large bottle full of sticky liquid.'Using magic?''Um,' said Mort, 'I don't think so.'Then pick very thin walls,' said Cutwell. 'Better still, use the door. The one over there would be favourite, if you've just come here to waste my time.'
'Excuse me,' said Mort, 'are you really?'
'Really what?'
'Master of the thingy, Lord High Wossname of the Sacred Dungeons?'
Cutwell pushed back his hood with an annoyed flourish. Instead of the grey-bearded mystic Mort had expected he saw a round, rather plump face, pink and white like a pork pie, which it somewhat resembled in other respects. For example, like most pork pies, it didn't have a beard and, like most pork pies, it looked basically good-humoured.
'In a Mort hesitated, and then put the bag of gold coins on the table. The wizard glanced at them, made a little whinnying noise in the back of his throat, and reached out, Mort's figurative sense,' he said.'What does that mean?''Well, it means no,' said the wizard. 'It's a kind of magic I've been working on. What was it you were wanting, anyway?' He leered suggestively. 'A love philtre, yes? Something to encourage the young ladies?''Is it possible to walk through walls?' said Mort desperately. Cutwell paused with his hand already halfway to a large bottle full of sticky liquid.'Using magic?''Um,' said Mort, 'I don't think so.'Then pick very thin walls,' said Cutwell. 'Better still, use the door. The one over there would be favourite, if you've just come here to waste my time.'
Edmund Blair Leighton God Speed
Edmund Blair Leighton God SpeedEdmund Blair Leighton The AccoladeIvan Constantinovich Aivazovsky The Ninth Wave
Although it was well after midnight the twin city of Ankh-Morpork was roaringhad turmoil of the street around him the town was, well, a morgue.
Poets have tried to describe Ankh-Morpork. They have failed. Perhaps it's the sheer zestful vitality of the place, or . Mort had half expected him to pass through the crowds like smoke, but it wasn't like that at all. The simple truth was that wherever Death walked, people just drifted out of the way.
It didn't work like that for Mort. The crowds that gently parted for hismaybe it's just that a city with a million inhabitants and no sewers is rather robust for poets, who prefer daffodils and no wonder. So let's just say that Ankh-Morpor cheese on a hot day, as loud as a curse in a cathedral, as bright as an oil slick, as colourful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound.There were temples, their doors wide open, filling the streets with the sounds of gongs, cymbals and, in the case of some of the more conservative fundamentalist religions, the brief screams of the victims. There were shops whose strange wares spilled out on to the pavement. There seemed to be rather a lot of friendly young ladies who couldn't afford many clothes. There were flares, and jugglers, and assorted sellers of instant transcendence.And Death stalked through it all
Although it was well after midnight the twin city of Ankh-Morpork was roaringhad turmoil of the street around him the town was, well, a morgue.
Poets have tried to describe Ankh-Morpork. They have failed. Perhaps it's the sheer zestful vitality of the place, or . Mort had half expected him to pass through the crowds like smoke, but it wasn't like that at all. The simple truth was that wherever Death walked, people just drifted out of the way.
It didn't work like that for Mort. The crowds that gently parted for hismaybe it's just that a city with a million inhabitants and no sewers is rather robust for poets, who prefer daffodils and no wonder. So let's just say that Ankh-Morpor cheese on a hot day, as loud as a curse in a cathedral, as bright as an oil slick, as colourful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound.There were temples, their doors wide open, filling the streets with the sounds of gongs, cymbals and, in the case of some of the more conservative fundamentalist religions, the brief screams of the victims. There were shops whose strange wares spilled out on to the pavement. There seemed to be rather a lot of friendly young ladies who couldn't afford many clothes. There were flares, and jugglers, and assorted sellers of instant transcendence.And Death stalked through it all
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