Gustav Klimt Apple Tree I

Gustav Klimt Apple Tree ISalvador Dali Persistence of MemorySalvador Dali Metamorphosis of NarcissusSalvador Dali Maelstrom
must say you people are getting better,' said Cumbling Michael. 'We only found the poor thing a few minutes ago.'
Angua could feel Carrot opening his mouth to say 'Who?' She nudged him again.
'You'd better take us to him,' she said.
He turned out to be—
—for one thing, he turned out to be a she. In a rag-strewn room on the top floor.
Angua knelt beside the body. It was very clearly a body now. It certainly wasn't a person. A person normally had more head on their shoulders.
'Why?' she said. 'Who'd do such a thing?'
Carrot turned Carrot kicked aside some shards. There was a groove in the floor, and something metallic embedded in it.
'Cumbling Michael, I need a nail and a length of string,' said Carrot, very slowly and carefully. His eyes never left the speck of metal. It was almost as if he expected it to do something.
'I don't think—' the beggar began.to the beggars clustered around the doorway.'Who was she?''Lettice Knibbs,' said Cumbling Michael. 'She was just the lady's maid to Queen Molly.'Angua glanced up at Carrot.'Queen?''They sometimes call the head beggar king or queen,' said Carrot. He was breathing heavily.Angua pulled the maid's velvet cloak over the corpse.'Just the maid,' she muttered.There was a full-length mirror in the middle of the floor, or at least the frame of one. The glass was scattered like sequins around it.So was the glass from a window pane.

Albert Moore A Musician

Albert Moore A MusicianMark Rothko White over RedPaul Klee Red Bridge
out of your way . . .'
'Honestly, I'd like to.'
She looked at his earnest expression.
'I couldn't put 'It seems to have worked.'
'Yes. It's the best job there is.'
'Really?'
'Oh, yes. Do you know what "policeman" means?'
Angua shrugged. 'No.'you to the trouble,' she said.'That's all right. I like walking. It helps me think.'Angua smiled, despite her desperation.They stepped out into the softer heat of the evening. Instinctively, Carrot settled into the policeman's pace.'Very old street, this,' he said. 'They say there's an underground stream under it. I read that. What do you think?''Do you really like walking?' said Angua, falling into step.'Oh, yes. There are many interesting byways and historical buildings to be seen. I often go for walks on my day off.'She looked at his face. Ye gods, she thought.'Why did you join the Watch?' she said.'My father said it'd make a man of me.'

Edward Hopper Girlie Show

Edward Hopper Girlie ShowEdward Hopper Early Sunday MorningJuan Gris The GuitarJuan Gris BreakfastGeorge Bellows Stag at Sharkey's
no-one'll really see 'em. No-one important, anyway.
Vimes had only given in because he knew it wouldn't be his problem for long.
It wasn't as if he was speciesist, he told himself. But the Watch was a job for men.
'How about
'This,' said Corporal Carrot, 'is the Hubwards Gate. To the whole city. Which is what we guard.'
'What from?' said Lance-Constable Angua, the last of the new recruits.
'Oh, you know. Barbarian hordes, warring tribesmen, bandit armies . . . that sort of thing.'
'What? Just us?'Corporal Nobbs?' said the Patrician.'Nobby?'They shared a mental picture of Corporal Nobbs.'No.''No.''Then of course there is,' the Patrician smiled, 'Corporal Carrot. A fine young man. Already making a name for himself, I gather.''That's . . . true,' said Vimes.'A further promotion opportunity, perhaps? I would value your advice.'Vimes formed a mental picture of Corporal Carrot—

Edward Hopper Soir Bleu

Edward Hopper Soir BleuEdward Hopper Cape Cod MorningAmedeo Modigliani the Reclining NudeAlphonse Maria Mucha Summer
managed to half-raise the axe, and then her hand slumped to her side. She looked down. The correct attitude of a human before an “There’s no trickery here,” said the Queen. “No silly women with bags of sweets.”
“You noticed that, did you?” said Granny. “Gytha meant well, I expect. Daft old biddy. Mind if I sit down?”
“Of course you may,” said the Queen. “You are an old woman now, after all.”
She nodded to the elves. Granny subsided gratefully on to a rock, her hands still tied behind her.
“That’s the thing about witchcraft,” she said. “It doesn’t exactly keep you young, but you do stay old for longer. Whereas you, of course, do not age,” she added.
“Indeed, we do not.”elf was one of shame. She had shouted so coarsely at something as beautiful as an elf...The Queen dismounted and walked over to her.“Don’t touch her,” said Granny.The Queen nodded.“You can resist,” she said. “But you see, it doesn’t mat-ter. We can take Lancre without a fight. There is nothing you can do about it. Look at the brave little army, standing like sheep. Humans are so enthusiastic.”Granny looked at her boots.“You can’t rule while I’m alive,” she said.

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Small Monkey

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Small MonkeyFrida Kahlo Portrait of Christina My SisterFrida Kahlo Fulang Chang and IFrida Kahlo Fruits of the Earth
like cucumbers. He’d never heard of chocolate, banana skins, avocado and ginger, marshmallow and the thousand other foods people had occasionally employed to drive an A-to-B freeway through the rambling pathways of romance. Casanunda had spent a busy ten minutes sketching out a detailed menu, and quite a lot of money had changed hands.
He’d arranged a Everything that his fellow dwarfs did very occasionally as
nature demanded he did all the time, sometimes in the back
of a sedan chair and once upside down in a tree—but, and
l Carrots so you can see in the dark, she’d explain, and oysters so’s you’vecareful romantic candlelit supper.Casanunda had always believed in the art of seduction.Many tall women accessible by stepladder across the continent had reflected how odd it was that the dwarfs, a race to whom the aforesaid art of seduction consisted in the main part of tactfully finding out what sex, underneath all that leather and chain-mail, another dwarf was, had generated someone like Casanunda.It was as if Eskimos had produced a natural expert in the care and attention of rare tropical plants. The great pent-up waters of dwarfish sexuality had found a leak at the bot-tom of the dam—small, but with enough power to drive a dynamo.

Pop art art on fire

Pop art art on firePop art another lazy afternoonPop art trane in blue
tried again.
“Don’t exist, is what I’m trying to say.”
Granny reached a dungeon door. It was mainly age-
130
LOR06 ft/YQ LftDf£6
blackened oak, but with a large barred grille occupying some of the top half.
“In there.”
Verence peered inside.
“Good grief!”around. People act funny. They stop thinking clear. Don’t you know anything?”
“I thought . . . elves were just stories . . . like the Tooth “I got Shawn to unlock it. I don’t reckon anyone else saw us come in. Don’t tell anyone. If the dwarfs and the trolls find out, they’ll tear the walls apart to get him out.”“Why? To kill him?”“Of course. They’ve got better memories than humans.”“What am / supposed to do with it?”“Just keep it locked up. How should I know? I’ve got to think!”Verence peered in again at the elf. It was lying curled up in the center of the floor.“That’s an elf? But it’s .. . just a long, thin human with a foxy face. More or less. I thought they were supposed to be beautiful?”“Oh, they are when they’re conscious,” said Granny, wav-ing a hand vaguely “They project this ... this... when people look at them, they see beauty, they see something they want to please. They can look just like you want them to look. ‘S’called glamour. You can tell when elves are

George Inness Spring Blossoms New Jersey

George Inness Spring Blossoms New JerseyGeorge Inness RomeGeorge Inness Pond at Milton on the Hudson
dictator and prevent the war? But the dictator is merely the tip of the whole festering boil of social pus from which dictators emerge; shoot one, and there’ll be another one along in a minute. Shoot him too? Why not shoot everyone and invade Poland? , as
94
LORDS ftttQ t.ft0f£6
remora fish hang on to a passing shark. These are the para-site universes and, when the crop circles burst like rain-drops, they have their chance ...
Lancre castle was far bigger than it needed to be. It wasn’t as if Lancre could have been bigger at one time; inhos-pitable mountains crowded it on three sides, and a more or less sheer drop occupied where the fourth side would In fifty years’, thirty years’, ten years’ time the world will be very nearly back on its old course. History always has a great weight of inertia.Almost always . ..At circle time, when the walls between this and that are thinner, when there are all sorts of strange leakages . . . Ah, then choices are made, then the universe can be sent careen-ing down a different leg of the well-known Trousers of Time.But there are also stagnant pools, universes cut off frompast and future. They have to steal pasts and futures fromother universes; their only hope is to batten on to thedynamic universes as they pass through the fragile period

Cao Yong VILLA ENCANTADA

Cao Yong VILLA ENCANTADACao Yong TWILIGHT BY THE FOUNTAINCao Yong TRANSAMERICA PYRAMID
cheaper to build a new 33-MegaLith cir-cle than upgrade an old slow one there were generally plenty of ancient ones around.
No druids ever came near the Dancers.
The stones weren’t shaped. They weren’t even positioned in any particularly significant way There wasn’t any of that stuff about the sun striking the right stone at dawn on the right day. Someone had just dragged eight red rocks into a rough circle., not in a blan-/ ket but in long raggedy strings.
The stag reached the circle now, and stopped. It trotted back and forth once or twice, and then looked up at Scrope.
27
Terry Pratchett
He raised the crossbow.
The stag turned, and leapt between the stones.But the weather was different. People said that, if it started to rain, it always began to fall inside the circle a few seconds after it had started outside, as if the rain was com-ing from further away. If clouds crossed the sun, it’d be a moment or two before the light faded inside the circle.William Scrope is going to die in a couple of minutes. It has to be said that he shouldn’t have been hunting deer out of season, and especially not the fine stag he was tracking, and certainly not a fine stag of the Ramtop Red species, which is officially endangered although not as endangered, right now, as William Scrope.It was ahead of him, pushing through the bracken, mak-ing so much noise that a blind man could have tracked it.Scrope waded through after it.Mist was still hanging around the stones

Eduard Manet Flowers In A Crystal Vase

Eduard Manet Flowers In A Crystal VaseEduard Manet Bouquet Of VioletsEduard Manet Spring
because of him being a bishop and they do things to you if you jostle bishops.
"II. I said to him,than usual. I mean, I had to keep hitting it with a spoon to stop it getting out of the . . . all right. I was just explaining about the yoghurt. All right. I mean, you want to put a bit of color in, don't you? People like a bit of color. It was green.
"VII. He just stood there, staring. So I said, got a problem, Your Reverence? Upon which he vouch­safed, I cannot hear him. I said, what is this he to whom what you refer? He said, if he was here, he would send me a sign.
"VIII. There is no truth whatsoever in the rumor that I ran away at this juncture. It was just the pressure of the crowd. I have never been a friend of the Quisition. I might have sold them food, but I always charged them hello, Your Graciousness, and offered him a yoghurt practically free."III. He responded, no."IV. I said, it's very healthy, it's a live yoghurt."V. He said, yes, he could see."VI. He was staring at the doors. This was about the time of the third gong, right, so we all knew we'd got hours to wait. He was looking a bit down and it's not as if he even ate the yoghurt, which I admit was on the hum a bit, what with the heat. I mean, it was more alive

Paul Gauguin The White Horse

Paul Gauguin The White HorsePaul Gauguin The SiestaPaul Gauguin Tahitian Women On the BeachPaul Gauguin Still Life with Three Puppies
spent their lives wandering the twisty, uneven and above all many-stepped lanes of Ephebe.
"-eight, nine, ten, eleven," muttered the philosopher, bounding up a pitch-dark flight of steps and haring around a corner.
"Argh, ow, that was my knee," muttered most of the guards, in a heap about halfway up.
One made it to the top, though. By starlight he could just make out the skinny figure, bounding madly along the street. He raised his crossbow. The old fool wasn't even dodging . . .
A perfect target.
There was a twang.
The guard looked puzzled for a moment. The bow toppled from his hands, firing itself as it hit the cobbles and sending its player in other people's lives. Now he was Dervi Ichlos, aged thirtyeight, comparatively blameless in the general scheme of things, and dead.
He raised a hand to his lips uncertainly.
"You're the judge?" he said.bolt ricocheting off a statue. He looked down at the feathered shaft sticking out of his chest, and then at the figure detaching itself from the shadows."Sergeant Simony?" he whispered."I'm sorry," said Simony. "I really am. But the Truth is important."The soldier opened his mouth to give his opinion of the truth and then slumped forward.He opened his eyes.Simony was walking away. Everything looked lighter. It was still dark. But now he could see in the darkness. Everything was shades of gray. And the cobbles under his hand had somehow become a coarse black sand.He looked up.ON YOUR FEET, PRIVATE ICHLOS.He stood up sheepishly. Now he was more than just a soldier, an anonymous figure to chase and be killed and be no more than a shadowy bit-
NOT ME.

Salvador Dali Tiger

Salvador Dali TigerSalvador Dali The Sacrament of the Last SupperSalvador Dali The Rose
course he'd say what he knew . . .
Something went snap inside Fri'it.
He glanced at his sword, hanging on the wall.
And why not? the stables, be well away by dawn, get to Ephebe, maybe, across the desert . . .
He reached the door and fumbled for the handle.
It turned of its own accord.
Fri'it staggered back as the door swung inward.After all, he was going to spend all eternity in a thousand hells . . .The knowledge was freedom, of a sort. When the least they could do to you was everything, then the most they could do to you suddenly held no terror. If he was going to be boiled for a lamb, then he might as well be roasted for a sheep.He staggered to his feet and, after a couple of tries, got the swordbelt off the wall. Vorbis's quarters weren't far away, if he could manage the steps. One stroke, that's all it would take. He could cut Vorbis in half without trying. And maybe . . . maybe nothing would happen afterward. There were others who felt like him-somewhere. Or, anyway, he could get down to

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Monkeys

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with MonkeysFrida Kahlo Self Portrait 1940Frida Kahlo My Dress Hangs There
unusual into the usual.
Because if this was not the case, then human beings, faced with the daily wondrousness of everything, would go around wearing big stupid grins, similar to those worn by certain remote tribesmen who occasionally get raided by the authorities and have the contents of their plastic greenhouses very seriously inspected. They'd say "Wow!" a Brutha spun around, looking for a way to escape. Then there was a cough beside him, and he stared up into the furious faces of a couple of Lesser Iams and, between them, the bemused and geriatrically good-natured expression of the Cenobiarch himself.
The old man raised his hand automatically to bless Brutha with the holy horns, lot. And no one would do much work.Gods don't like people not doing much work. People who aren't busy all the time might start to think.Part of the brain exists to stop this happening. It is very efficient. It can make people experience boredom in the middle of marvels. And Brutha's was working feverishly.So he didn't immediately notice that he'd pushed through the last row of people and had trotted out into the middle of a wide pathway, until he turned and saw the procession approaching.The Cenobiarch was returning to his apartments, after conducting-or at least nodding vaguely while his chaplain conducted on his behalf-the evening service.

Salvador Dali Ascension

Salvador Dali AscensionPhilip Craig Boboli Gardens - FlorenceWassily Kandinsky Dominant Curve
inquisitor gave him the nervous smile of one in the presence of a superior whose merest word could see him manacled on a bench.
"Er . . . yes, lord."
"Heresy and lies everywhere," Vorbis sighed. "And now I shall have to find another secretary. It is too vexing."


After twenty minutes Brutha relaxed. The siren voices of sensuous evil seemed to have gone away.
He got on with the melons. He felt capable of understanding melons. Melons seemed a lot more , had described Brutha's voice as putting him in mind of a disappointed vulture arriving too late at the dead donkey. Choral singing was compulsory for novitiates, but after much petitioning by Brother Preptil a special dispensation had been made for Brutha. The sight of his big round face screwed up in the effort to please was bad enough, but what was worse was listening to his voice, which was certainly powerful and full of intent conviction, swinging backward and forward across the tune without ever quite hitting it.comprehensible than most things."Hey, you!"Brutha straightened up."I do not hear you, oh foul succubus," he said."Oh yes you do, boy. Now, what I want you to do is-”"I've got my fingers in my ears!""Suits you. Suits you. Makes you look like a vase. Now­"I'm humming a tune! I'm humming a tune!"Brother Preptil, the master of the music
He got Extra Melons instead.

Henri Matisse Blue Still Life

Henri Matisse Blue Still LifeGeorges Seurat The Island of La Grande JatteWilliam Blake The Resurrection
Orders; deep in his heart, every wizard knew that the natural unit of wizardry was one wizard. The towers would multiply and fight until there was one tower left, and then the wizards would fight until there was one wizard.
By then, he'd of the Disc.
All he had was nothing, but that was something, and now it had been taken away.
Rincewind turned the carpet until it was facing the distant gleam that was Ankh-Morpork, which was a brilliant speck in the early morning light, and a part of his mind that wasn't doing anything else wondered why it was so bright. There also seemed to be a full moon, and even probably fight himself.The whole edifice that operated as the balance wheel of magic was falling to bits. Rincewind resented that, deeply. He'd never been any good at magic, but that wasn't the point. He knew where he fitted. It was right at the bottom, but at least he fitted. He could look up and see the whole delicate machine ticking away, gently, browsing off the natural magic generated by the turning

Edward Hopper Chair Car

Edward Hopper Chair CarEdward Hopper A Woman in the SunUnknown Artist Mary Magdalene at the Tomb
Troll's Head was a cesspit of a different odour. Its customers, if they reformed, tidied themselves up and generally improved their image out of all recognition might, just might, aspire to be considered the utter dregs of humanity. And in the Shades, a dreg is a dreg.
By the way, the thing on the pole isn't a sign. When they decided to call the place the Troll's Head, they didn't mess about.
Feeling as he followed the demure and surprisingly small figure of Conina into the room. He looked sideways into the leering faces of men who would kill him sooner than think, and in fact would find it a great deal easier.
Where a respectable tavern would have had a bar there was just a row of squat black bottles and a couple of big barrels on trestles against the wall.
The silence tightened like a tourniquet. Any minute now, Rincewind thought.
A big fat man wearing nothing but a fur vest and sick, and clutching the grumbling hatbox to his chest, Rincewind stepped inside.Silence. It wrapped itself around them, nearly as thickly as the smoke of a dozen substances guaranteed to turn any normal brain to cheese. Suspicious eyes peered through the smog.A couple of dice clattered to a halt on a tabletop. They sounded very loud, and probably weren't showing Rincewind's lucky number.He was aware of the stares of several score of cus­tomers

Johannes Vermeer The Love letter

Johannes Vermeer The Love letterJohannes Vermeer The ConcertJohannes Vermeer Girl Reading a Letter at an Open Window
Death had always wondered why people put flowers on graves. It made no sense to him. The dead had gone beyond the scent of roses, after all. But now . . . it wasn’t that he felt he understood, but at least he felt that there was something there capable of understanding.
In the curtained blackness of Miss Flitworth’s parlour a darker shape moved through the darkness, heading towards thestare and laid it aside. There were some white shoes. Quite impractical for farm wear, he felt. No wonder they’d been packed away. There was more paper; a bundle of letters tied together. He put them on top of the veil. There was never anything to be gained from observing what humans said to one another - language was just there to hide their thoughts.
And then there was, right at the bottom, a smaller box.
He pulled it out and turned it over and over in his hands. three chests on the dresser.Death opened one of the smaller ones. It was full of gold coins. They had an untouched look about them. He tried the other small chest. It was also full of gold.He’d expected something more from Miss Flitworth, although probably not even Bill Door would have known what.He tried the large chest.There was a layer of tissue paper. Under the paper, some white silky thing, some sort of a veil, now yellowed and brittle with age. He gave it an uncomprehending

Edward Hopper City Sunlight

Edward Hopper City SunlightEdward Hopper Chair CarEdward Hopper A Woman in the Sun
going to pour with rain in a minute.’ screamed Miss Flitworth, above the noise. ‘We’ll never get it down to the barn! Go and fetch a tarpaulin or something! That’ll do for tonight!’
Bill Door Then Death vanished as the lightning glow faded, reappeared as a ?fres~~~rc? was struck on the next hill.
Then the quiet, internal voice added: BUT WHY DOESN’T IT MOVE? Bill Door let himself inch forward slightly. There was no response from the hunched thing.nodded, and ran through the squelching darkness towards the farm buildings. Lightning was striking so many times around the fields that the air itself was sizzling, and a corona danced along the top of the hedge. And there was Death.He saw it looming ahead of him, a crouched skeletal shape poised to spring, its robe flapping and rattling behind it in the wind. Tightness gripped him, trying to force him to run while at the same time rooting him to the spot. It invaded his mind and froze there, blocking all thought save for the innermost, tiny voice which said, quite calmly: SO THlS IS TERROR.

Salvador Dali Melting Watch

Salvador Dali Melting WatchSalvador Dali Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a PomegranateSalvador Dali Bacchanale
Who exactly is One-Man-Bucket?’ said Windle.
She lit a couple of candles and sat down.
‘ ‘e belonged to one of them heathen Howondaland tribes,’ she said shortly.
‘Very strange name, One-Man-Bucket,’ said Windle.
‘It’s not ‘is full name.’ said Mrs Cake darkly. ‘Now, we’ve got to ‘old ‘ands.’
She looked at him speculatively.’We need someone else.’
‘I could call ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ said Windle. Ludmilla gave him the bright, crystalline smile perfected by people who had long ago learned not to let their feelings show.
‘We have already met,’ said Windle. It must be at least a day since full moon, he thought. All the signs are nearly gone. Nearly. Well, well, well . . .Schleppel,’ said Windle.‘I ain’t ‘aving no bogey under my table trying to look up me drawers,’ said Mrs Cake. ‘Ludmilla!’ she shouted. After a moment or two the bead curtain leading into the kitchen was swept aside and the young woman who had originally opened the door to Windle came in.‘Yes mother?’‘Sit down, girl. We need another one for the seancing.’‘Yes, mother.’The girl smiled at Windle.‘This is Ludmilla,’ said Mrs Cake shortly.

Paul Gauguin Spirit of the Dead Watching

Paul Gauguin Spirit of the Dead WatchingPaul Gauguin Hail MaryHenri Matisse Woman with a Hat
FINISHED, MISS FLITWORTH.
She squinted at him. Then, slowly and deliberately, she wiped her hands on a cloth, stepped out into the yard and headed for the pigsty. Nancy was eyeball-deep in the swill trough.
Miss Flitworthold smithy, located a piece of board among the debris, and wrote very carefully for some time. Then he wedged the board in front of the henhouse and pointed Cyril towards it. THIS YOU WILL READ he said.
Cyril peered myopically at the ‘Cock-A-Doodle-Doo’ in heavy gothic script. Somewhere in his tiny mad chicken mind a very distinct and chilly understanding formed that he’d better learn to read very, very quickly. wondered exactly what comment she should make. Finally she said, ‘Very good. Very good. You, you, you certainly work . . . fast.’MISS FLITWORTH, WHY DOES NOT THE COCKEREL CROW PROPERLY?‘Oh, that’s just Cyril. He hasn’t got a very good memory. Ridiculous, isn’t it? I wish he’d get it right.’Bill Door found a piece of chalk in the farm’s

John William Waterhouse Gather Ye Rosebuds while ye may

John William Waterhouse Gather Ye Rosebuds while ye mayLeonardo da Vinci Head of ChristJohn Singer Sargent A Dinner Table at NightLord Frederick Leighton Leighton Winding the SkeinWilliam Bouguereau Love Takes Flight
he just waved to me,’ said the sergeant, desperately.
‘So?’
‘Well, it’s not normal for -‘
‘It’s all right, sergeant, ‘ said Windle.
Sergeant Colon sidled closer to the coffin.
‘Didn’t I see you throw yourself into the river last night?’ he said, out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Yes. You were very helpful, ‘ said Windle.
‘And then you threw yourself sort of out again,’ said the sergeant.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But you were down there for ages.’
‘Well, it ,’ he volunteered.’It’s all down to involuntary muscular spasms.’ ‘Actually, Senior Wrangler is right,’ said WindlePoons.’I read that somewhere.’
‘Oh.’ Sergeant Colon looked around.’Right, ‘ he said, uncertainly.’Well . . . fair enough, I suppose . . .’
‘OK, we’re done,’ said the Archchancellor, scrambling out of the hole, ‘it’s deep enough. Come on, Windle, down you go.’
‘I really am very touched, you know,’ said Windle, lying back was very dark, you see. I couldn’t find the steps.’Sergeant Colon had to concede the logic of this.‘Well, I suppose you must be dead, then,’ he said. ‘No-one could stay down there who wasn’t dead.’‘This is it,’ Windle agreed. ‘Only why are you waving and talking?’ said Colon.The Senior Wrangler poked his head out of the hole. ‘It’s not unknown for a dead body to move and make noises after death, Sergeant