Winslow Homer Kissing the Moon

Winslow Homer Kissing the MoonWinslow Homer Gloucester HarborEdward Hopper Second Story SunlightEdward Hopper Route 6 Eastham
You loony bastard, what you make of this?' he said.
Sendivoge stared from Detritus to the paper. Cuddy was struggling to get around the troll, who was almost completely blocking the doorway.
'What'd you go and call him that for?'
'Sergeant Colon, he saidsideways.
'Suicide squad, is he?' said the alchemist.
'He'll come round in a minute,' said Cuddy. 'It's the saluting. It's too much for him. You know trolls.'
Sendivoge shrugged and stared at the writing.
'Looks . . . familiar,' he said. 'Seen it somewhere before. Here . . . you're a dwarf, aren't you?'
'It's the nose, isn't it?' said Cuddy. 'It always gives—''I could make a hat out of it,' said Sendivoge, 'or a string of dollies, if I could get some scissors—''What my . . . colleague means, sir, is can you help us in our inquiries in re the writing on this alleged piece of paper here?' said Cuddy. 'That bloody hurt!'Sendivoge peered at him.'Are you Watchmen?' he said.'I'm Lance-Constable Cuddy and this,' said Cuddy, gesturing upwards, 'is Lance-trying-to-be-Constable Detritus – don't salu-oh . . .'There was a thump, and Detritus slumped

Johannes Vermeer Young Woman with a Water Jug

Johannes Vermeer Young Woman with a Water JugJohannes Vermeer The ProcuressJohannes Vermeer Diana and her Companions
dwarfs in the front row took a step backwards. There was a desultory tinkle of metallic objects hitting the ground.
'All of them,' said Carrot menacingly. 'That includes you with the black beard trying to hide behind Mr Hamslinger! I can see you, Mr Stronginthearm! Put it down. No-one's amused!'
'He's going to die, a general muttering.
Carrot cupped his hand to his ear.
Johannes Vermeer Christ in the House of Mary and Martha
'I couldn't quite hear,' he said.
There was a louder mutter, a sort of toccata scored for one hundred reluctant voices on the theme of 'Yes, Corporal Carrot.'
'Right. Now off you go. And let's have no more of this nonsenseisn't he,' said Angua, quietly.'Funny, that,' said Nobby. 'If we was to try it, we'd be little bits of mince. But it seems to work for him.''Krisma,' said Sergeant Colon, who was having to lean on the wall.'Do you mean charisma?' said Angua.'Yeah. One of them things. Yeah.''How does he manage it?''Dunno,' said Nobby. 'S'pose he's an easy lad to like?'Carrot had turned on the trolls, who were smirking at the dwarfs' discomfiture.'And as for you,' he said, 'I shall definitely be patrolling around Quarry Lane tonight, and I won't be seeing any trouble. Will I?'There was a shuffling of huge oversized feet, and

Salvador Dali Ascension

Salvador Dali AscensionPhilip Craig Boboli Gardens - FlorenceWassily Kandinsky Dominant CurveWassily Kandinsky Several Circles
I knew she’d do that. Had the wedding, have you?”
“Wedding?” The rest of them exchanged glances.
“Of course not!” said Magrat. “Brother Perdore of the
Nine Day Wonderers was going to do it and he was knocked
out cold by an elf, and anyway people are all—“
296
LQRQ8 ftttD LftD/£6
“Don’t let’s have any excuses,” said Granny briskly. “Anyway, a senior wizard can conduct a service at a pinch, ain’t “I haven’t got a dress!”
“What’s that you’ve got on?”
Magrat looked down at the stained chain-mail, the mud-encrusted breastplate, and the few damp remnants of white silk that hung over them like a ragged tabard.
“Looks good to me,” said Granny “Nanny’11 do your hair.”that right?”“I, I, I think so,” said Ridcully, who was falling behind a bit in world events.“Right. A wizard’s only a priest without a god and adamp handshake,” said Granny“But half the guests have run away!” said Magrat.“We’ll round up some more,” said Granny“Mrs. Scorbic will never get the wedding feast done in time!”“You’ll have to tell her to,” said Granny.“The bridesmaids aren’t here!”“We’ll make do.”

Mark Spain Sevilla

Mark Spain SevillaMark Spain ReflectionMark Spain Pure Elegance
he’d make it through the knight.
Elves prowled . There was old tobacco in it, and boiled-up roots, and bark scrapings, and herbs that even Magrat had never heard of. It shot a glistening stream over the hedge which hit the middle elf between the eyes, and sprayed over the other two.
Mr. Brooks watched dispassionately until their struggles stopped.
“Wasps,” he said.
Then he went and found a box, lit a lantern and, with great care and delicacy, oblivious to the stings, began to repair the damaged combs.the castle gardens. They’d killed the fish in the ornamental pond, eventually.Mr. Brooks was perched on a kitchen chair, working at a crevice in the stable wall.He’d been aware of some sort of excitement, but it was involving humans and therefore of secondary importance. But he did notice the change in the sound from the hives, and the splintering of wood.A hive had already been tipped over. Angry bees clouded around three figures as feet ripped through comb and honey and brood.The laughter stopped as a white-coated, veiled figure appeared over the hedge. It raised a long metal tube.No one ever knew what Mr. Brooks put in his squirter

Unknown Artist Audrey Hepburn pop art

Unknown Artist Audrey Hepburn pop artPiet Mondrian Tableau IPiet Mondrian Mill in SunlightPiet Mondrian Avond Evening Red Tree
Smells like snow,” said Carter.
“Oh, yeah,” said Baker. “That’s right. Snow at midsum-mer. That’s what they get where the sun don’t shine.”
“Shutup, shutup, shutup,” said Jason.
“What’s up with you?”
“It’s wrong! We shouldn’t be up here! Can’t you feel it?”
“Oh, sit down, man,” said Weaver. “It’s fine. Can’t feel nothing but the air. And there’s still more scumble in the jug.”gloomily.
Baker sniffed.
“You know, it does smell a bit like snow. You know?
That kind of sharp smell.”
Thatcher leaned back, cradling his head on his arm.Baker leaned back.“I remember an old story about this place,” he said. “Some man went to sleep up here once, when he was out hunting.”The bottle glugged in the dusk.“So what? I can do that,” said Carter. “I go to sleep every night, reg’lar.”“Ah, but this man, when he woke up and went home, his wife was carrying on with someone else and all his chil-dren had grown up and didn’t know who he was.”“Happens to me just about every day,” said Weaver
“Tell you what,” he said, “if I thought my old woman’d marry someone

Edward Hopper Les Pont des Arts

Edward Hopper Les Pont des ArtsEdward Hopper Jo in WyomingEdward Hopper Hills South Truro
Where’s everyone gone?”
Shawn leapt up, banging his head on the stove. „ “Ow! Sorry, miss! Um! Everyone’s . . . everyone’s down in the square, miss. I’m only here because Mrs. Scorbic said she’d have my hide if I didn’t get all the yuk off.”
77
Terry Pratchett
“What’s , shud-dering. “One’s seen it.”
“Doesn’t bother me, miss, it’ll give me Wednesday after-noons free,” said Shawn, “but what I meant was, you’ll have to wait till I’ve gone down to the armory to fetch my horn for the fanfare.”
“One won’t need a fanfare, thank you very much.”
“But you got to have a fanfare, miss.”
“One can blow my own trumpet, thank you.”
“Yes, miss.”happening in the square, then?”“They say there’s a couple of witches having a real set-to, miss.”“What? Not your mother and Granny Weatherwax!”“Oh no, miss. Some new witch.”“In Lancre? A new witch?”“I think that’s what Mum said.”“I’m going to have a look.”“Oh, I don’t think that’d be a good idea, miss,” said Shawn.Magrat drew herself up regally.“We happen to be Queen,” she said. “Nearly. So you don’t tell one one can’t do things, or one’ll have you cleaning the privies!”“But I does clean the privies,” said Shawn, in a reason-able voice. “Even the garderobe—““And that’s going to go, for a start,” said Magrat
“Miss what?”
“Miss Queen.”

Tom Thomson Woodland Waterfall

Tom Thomson Woodland WaterfallTom Thomson The PoolTom Thomson the jack pine
Brutha. That's why all gods needed people like Brutha.
"Excuse me?"
The god looked down.
V. Yes?
"Um. I can't sell you anything, can I?"
VI. What Is Your Name?
"Dhblah, god.". But the truth is too precious to die for."Simony's mouth opened and shut soundlessly as he sought for words. Finally, he found some from the dawn of his education."I was told it was the finest thing to die for a god," he mumbled."Vorbis said that. And he was . . . stupid. You can die for your country or your people or your family,but for a god you should live fully and busilywatched them go, too. And then he was alone, except for the thousands watching him, crammed around the edges of the great square. He wished he knew what to say to them. That's why he needed people like
VII. Ah, Yes. And What Is It You Wish?
The merchant hopped anxiously from one foot to the other.
"You couldn't manage just a small commandment? Something about eating yoghurt on Wednesdays, say? It's always very difficult to shift, midweek."
VIII. You Stand Before Your God And Look For Business Opportunities?
"We-ell," said Dhblah, "we could come to an arrangement. Strike while

Winslow Homer The Fog Warning

Winslow Homer The Fog WarningWinslow Homer Rowing HomeWinslow Homer Kissing the Moon
Brutha glared at the tortoise, and then stamped off toward the pile of rubble that dominated one end of the ruined temple. He rummaged around in it.
"What are you looking for?"
"We'll need to carry water," said Brutha.
"There won't the bowl was a larger figure, obviously important, some kind of god they were doing it for . . .
"What?" he said.
"I said, in a hundred years' time we'll all be dead."
Brutha stared at the figures round the bowl. No one knew who their god was, and they were gone. Lions slept in the holy places and-be anything," said Om. "People just left. The land ran out and so did the people. They took everything with them. Why bother to look?"Brutha ignored him. There was something under the rocks and sand."Why worry about Vorbis?" Om whined. "In a hundred years' time, he'll be dead anyway. We'll all be dead."Brutha tugged at the piece of curved pottery. It came away, and turned out to be about two-thirds of a wide bowl, broken right across. It had been almost as wide as Brutha's outstretched arms, but had been too broken for anyone to loot.It was useful for nothing. But it had once been useful for something. There were embossed figures round its rim. Brutha peered at them, for want of something to distract himself, while Om's voice droned on in his head.The figures looked more or less human. And they were engaged in religion. You could tell by the knives (it's not murder if you do it for a god). In the center of

John Constable Wivenhoe Park Essex

John Constable Wivenhoe Park EssexJohn Constable Weymouth BayJohn William Waterhouse Destiny 1900
only serves to prove the foresight of the Great God."
"That's what my grandmother used to say," said Brutha automatically.
"Indeed? I a pause of about five heartbeats. And then eight flashes. And another pause. And two flashes."
Vorbis nodded thoughtfully.
"Three-quarters," he said. "All praise to the Great God. He is my staff and guide through the hard places. And you may go."
Brutha hadn't expected to be told what the flashes meant, and wasn't going to enquire. The Quisition asked the questions. They were known for it.would like to know more about this formidable lady.""She used to give me a thrashing every morning because I would certainly do something to deserve it during the day," said Brutha."A most complete understanding of the nature of mankind," said Vorbis, with his chin on one hand. "Were it not for the deficiency of her sex, it sounds as though she would have made an excellent inquisitor."Brutha nodded. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed."And now," said Vorbis, with no change in his tone, "you will tell me what you saw in the desert.""Uh. There were six flashes. And then

Andy Warhol Oxidation

Andy Warhol OxidationAndy Warhol NeuschwansteinAndy Warhol Knives black and white
There's a door on its back," it said. "Why's there a door on its back?"
"So that the sinful can be put in," said Brutha.
"Why's there another one in its belly?"
"So the "It is for the destruction of heretical materials and other such rubbish," said Brutha.
"Very sensible," said the tortoise.
"Sinners and criminals are purified by fire in the Quisition's pits or sometimes in front of the Great Temple," said Brutha. "The Great God would know that."
"I think I must have forgotten," said the tortoise quietly.
"The Great God Om"-holy horns-"would know that He Himself said unto the Prophet purified ashes can be let out," said Brutha. "And the smoke issues forth from the nostrils, as a sign to the ungodly."The tortoise craned its neck round at the rows of barred doors. It looked up at the soot-encrusted walls. It looked down at the now empty fire trench under the iron bull. It reached a conclusion. It blinked its one eye."People?" it said eventually. "You roast people in it?""There!" said Brutha triumphantly. "And thus you prove you are not the Great God! He would know that of course we do not burn people in there. Burn people in there? That would be unheard of!""Ah," said the tortoise. "Then what-?"

Thomas Kinkade Clearing Storms

Thomas Kinkade Clearing StormsThomas Kinkade Bridge of FaithThomas Kinkade Autumn Lane
NOW CONSIDER THE TORTOISE AND the eagle.
The tortoise is a ground-living creature. It is impossible to live nearer the ground without being under it. Its horizons are a few inches away. It has about as good a turn of speed as you need to hunt down a lettuce. It has survived while the rest of evolution flowed past it by being, on the whole, no threat to anyone and too much trouble to eat.
And then there is the eagle. A creature of the air and high places, whose horizons go all the way to the edge of the world. Eyesight keen enough to spot the rustle of some small and squeaky creature half a mile away. All power, all control. Lightning death on wings. Talons and claws enough to make a meal of anything smaller than it is and at least take a hurried snack out of anything bigger.
And yet the eagle will sit for hours on the crag and survey the kingdoms of the world until it spots a distant movement and then it will focus, focus, focus on the small shell wobbling among the bushes down there on the desert. And it will leap . . .

Paul Cezanne Trees in Park

Paul Cezanne Trees in ParkPaul Cezanne The Railway CuttingPaul Cezanne The Hanged Man's House
'Stand aside,' said Nijel, loftily. 'I will go first.'
'There could be traps-’ said Conina doubtfully. She shot the Seriph a glance.
'Oh, probably, O gazelle of Heaven,' he said. 'I haven't been in there since I was six. There were some slabs you shouldn't tread on, I think.'
'Don't worrybeen a horrified hush if it wasn't for the muffled grunts and occasional thumping noises from the tunnel. Eventu­ally Nijel's voice echoed back down to them from a dis­tance.
'There's absolutely nothing,' he said. 'I've tried every­thing. It's as steady as a rock. Everything must have seized up, or something.'
Rincewind and Conina exchanged glances.
'He doesn't know the first thing about traps,' she said. 'When I was five, my father made me walk all the way down a passage that he'd rigged up, just to teach me-’ about that,' said Nijel, peering into the gloom of the tunnel. 'I shouldn't think there's a booby trap that I couldn't spot.''Had a lot of experience at this sort of thing, have you?' said Rincewind sourly.'Well, I know Chapter Fourteen off by heart. It had illustrations,' said Nijel, and ducked into the shadows.They waited for several minutes in what would have

Nicolas De Stael Agrigente

Nicolas De Stael AgrigenteNicolas De Stael Agrigente 1953Rodney White Small Change
The wizard raised an eyebrow, yellow fire sprang up around the shellfish salesman, there was a noise like tearing silk, and Koble had vanished. All that was left was his boots, standing forlornly on the cobbles with little wisps of smoke coming out of them.
No-one one of these finest pies,' he said hurriedly. 'Full of nourish-’
'Watch closely, pie-selling person,' said the wizard. He stretched out his hand, made a strange gesture with his fingers, and produced a pie out of the air.
It was fat, golden-brown and beautifully glazed. just by looking at it Ardrothy knew knows why smoking boots always remain, no matter how big the explosion. It seems to be just one of those things.It seemed to the watchful eyes of Ardrothy that the wizard himself was nearly as socked as the crowd, but he rallied magnificently and gave his staff a flourish.'You people had better jolly well learn from this,' he said. 'No-one raises their hand to a wizard, do you understand? There are going to be a lot of changes around here. Yes, what do you want?'This last comment was to Ardrothy, who was trying to sneak past unnoticed. He scrabbled quickly in his pie tray.'I was just wondering if your honourship would care to purchase

Sung Kim Overlook Cafe I

Sung Kim Overlook Cafe ISung Kim EscapeUnknown Artist Tango Rouge by Hamish Blakely
Bluntly, Carding was surprised. He shouldn't have been. Eighth-level wizards are seldom faced with challenging , all around are his fellow fives, ready for any opportunity to reduce the competition a little. And there's no standing still. Wizards of the fifth level are mean and tough and have reflexes of steel and their eyes are thin and narrow from staring down the length of that metaphorical last furlong at the end of which rests the prize of prizes, the Archchancellor's hat.
The novelty of co-operation began to appeal to tests of magical skill. In theory there are only seven other wizards of equal power and every lesser wizard is, by definition - well, lesser. This makes them complacent. But Spelter, on the other hand, was at the fifth level.It may be quite tough at the top, and it is probably even tougher at the bottom, but halfway up it's so tough you could use it for horseshoes. By then all the no-hopers, the lazy, the silly and the downright unlucky have been weeded out, the field's cleared, and every wizard stands alone and surrounded by mortal enemies on every side. There's the pushy fours below, waiting to trip him up. There's the arrogant sixes above, anxious to stamp out all ambition. And, of course

Henri Matisse Still Life with Oranges

Henri Matisse Still Life with OrangesHenri Matisse Open Window CollioureHenri Matisse Blue Nude
counted under his breath and scampered forward. Steam washed over him.
He slipped again, and thrust out his hands.
He could feel himself losing control. There were too many things to operate. Never mind the spleen, just keeping heart and lungs going was taking too much effort...
‘Topiary !’
‘What the heck do you mean?’
‘Topiary! Get it? Yo!’
‘Oook!’on the floor, the trolley bounced off the wall, and then it righted itself and rattled away.
Windle was only vaguely aware of voices.
‘Off you go, Dean. I know you’ve been looking forward to it.’ That was the Archchancellor.
‘Yo!’
‘You’ll kill it totally? I don’t think we want it ending up Windle looked up through foggy eyes.Ah. Obviously he was losing control of his brain, too.A trolley came sideways out of the steam with shadowy figures clinging one arm that was barely an arm any more reached down, picked him up bodily and dumped him into the basket. Four tiny wheels skidded

Vincent van Gogh The Red Vineyard

Vincent van Gogh The Red VineyardVincent van Gogh The potato eatersVincent van Gogh The Bedroom at Arles
THE SKY? said Bill Door, surprised at the sudden excitement. ‘Come on!’ She whirled back into the kitchen and scrabbled on the dresser for a candle lantern and some matches.
BUT YOU of the smithy.
Ned Simnel pumped the furnace bellows until the heart of the coals was white with the merest hint of yellow.
It had been a good day. The Combination Harvester had worked better than he’d dared to hope; old Peedbury had insisted on keeping it to do another field tomorrow, so it had been left out with a tarpaulin over it, securely tied down. Tomorrow he could teach one of the men to use it, and start work on a new improved SAID IT WOULD DRY.‘In a normal storm, yes. In this lot? It’s going to be ruined! We’ll find it spread all over the hill in the morning!’She fumbled the candle alight and ran back again. Bill Door looked out into the storm. Straws whirred past, tumbling on the gale.RUINED? MY HARVEST? He straightened up. BUGGER THAT.The hail rumbled on the roof

Andy Warhol Shadows I

Andy Warhol Shadows IAndy Warhol OxidationAndy Warhol Neuschwanstein
Don’t touch it! You don’t want that stuff! It’s for the rats.’
DO RATS NOT FEED THEMSELVES?
‘You bet they do. That’s why we’re going to give them a little extra something before the harvest. A few dollops of this around the holes and - no more rats.’
It took a little rather elderly hens, who had been scratching up the dust, bounded unsteadily towards Miss Flitworth in the broken-knicker-elastic run of hens everywhere. She reached down quickly and picked one up. It regarded Bill Door with bright, stupid eyes.
‘Do you know how to pluck a chicken?’ said Miss Flitworth.
Bill looked from her to the hen.while for Bill Door to put two and two together, but when this took place it was like megaliths mating.THAT IS POISON?‘Essence of spikkle, mixed with oatmeal. Never fails.’AND THEY DIE?‘Instantly. Straight over and legs in the air. We’re having bread and cheese,’ she added. ‘I ain’t doing big cooking twice in one day, and we’re having chicken tonight. Talking of chicken, in fact . . . come on . . .’ She took a cleaver off the rack and went out into the yard. Cyril the cockerel eyed her suspiciously from the top of the midden. His harem of fat and

Joseph Mallord William Turner Mortlake Terrace

Joseph Mallord William Turner Mortlake TerraceJoseph Mallord William Turner Rain, Steam and Speed - The Great Western RailwayGustave Courbet Marine
the bottoms of rivers, halfway down sharks, any amount of bedrooms, yes - tombs, no.
His business was the separation of the wheatgerm of the soul from the chaff of the mortal body, and that was usually concluded long before any of the rites associated with, when you got right down to it, a reverential form of garbage in its mouth and an expression of culpable idiocy.
Pictures hid the walls. Most of them were painted in shades of mud and showed depressed cattle standing on wet moorland in a fog. In fact the ornaments almost concealed the furniture, but this was no loss. Apart from two chairs groaning under the weight of accumulated antimacassars, the rest of the furniture seemed to have no use whatsoever apart from supporting ornaments. There were spindly tables everywhere. The floor was layered disposal.But this room looked like the tombs of those kings who wanted to take it all with them.Bill Door sat with his hands on his knees, looking around. First, there were the ornaments. More teapots than one might think possible. China dogs with staring eyes. Strange cake stands. Miscellaneous statues and painted plates with cheery little messages on them: A Present from Quirm, Long Life and Happiness. They covered every flat surface in a state of total democracy, so that a rather valuable antique silver candlestick was next to a bright coloured china dog with a bone

Tamara de Lempicka Kizette on the Balcony

Tamara de Lempicka Kizette on the BalconyGustav Klimt Portrait of Adele Bloch BauerBerthe Morisot At the BallClaude Monet Woman In A Green DressClaude Monet Terrace at St Adresse
Morpork the Shades would be represented by a shaft. In fact the Shades was remarkably like the aforesaid well-known astronomical phenomenon: it had a certain strong attraction, no light escaped from it, and it could indeed seen trolls only in the more select parts of the city, where they moved with exaggerated caution in case they accidentally clubbed someone to death and ate them. In the Shades they strode, unafraid, heads held so high they very nearly rose above their shoulder-blades. Windle Poons wandered through the crowds like random shot on a pinball table. Here a blast of smoky sound from a bar spun him back into the street, there a discreet doorway promising unusual and forbidden delights attracted him like a magnet. Windle Poons’ life hadn’t become a gateway to another world. The next one. The Shades was a city within a city.The streets were thronged. Muffled figures slunk past on errands of their from sunken stairwells. So did sharp and exciting smells. Poons passed goblin delicatessens and dwarf bars from which came the sounds of singing and fighting which dwarfs traditionally did at the same time. And there were trolls, moving through the crowds like . . . like big people moving among little people. They weren’t shambling, either. Windle had hitherto