Alphonse Maria Mucha Flower

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painted a bit, and messed about with mechanisms. Any old thing.'
Or a hammer and chisel even, thought Detritus.
'This,' said Silverfish, 'is a Silverfish handed the parchment to Detritus, who squinted at it as if he knew what it meant. Maybe he could write on this, he thought.
'The teeth followed you around the room. Amazing. In fact some people said they followed them out of the room and all the way down the street.'
'I think we should talk to Mr da Quirm,' said Cuddy.formula for . . . oh, well, I might as well tell you, it's hardly a big secret . . . it's a formula for what we called No. 1 Powder. Sulphur, saltpetre and charcoal. You use it in fireworks. Any fool could make it up. But it looks odd because it's written back to front.''This sounds important,' hissed Cuddy to the troll.'Oh, no. He always used to write back to front,' said Silverfish. 'He was odd like that. But very clever all the same. Haven't you seen his portrait of the Mona Ogg?''I don't think so.'

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good vendettas, didn't really need a reason any more. It was enough that it had always hated trolls because trolls hated dwarfs, and vice versa.
The Watch lurked in Three Lamps Alley, which was about halfway down Short Street. There was a distant crackle of fireworks. Dwarfs let A second thought struck him. Carrot was a simple lad.
'Corporal Carrot?'
'Sarge?'
'Sort this lot out, will you?'
Carrot peered around the corner at the advancing walls of trolls and dwarfs. They'd already seen each other.
'Right you are, sergeant,' he said. 'Lance-Constables Cuddy and Detritus – don't salute! – you come with me.'
'You can't let him go out there!' said Angua. 'It's certain death!'
'Got a real sense o'duty, that boy,' said Corporal Nobbs. He took a minute length of dog-end from behind his ear and struck a match on the sole of his boot.them off to drive away evil mine spirits. Trolls let them off because they tasted nice.'Don't see why we can't let 'em fight it out amongst themselves and then arrest the losers,' said Corporal Nobbs. 'That's what we always used to do.''The Patrician gets really shirty about ethnic trouble,' said Sergeant Colon moodily. 'He gets really sarcastic about it.'A thought struck him. He brightened up a little bit.'Got any ideas, Carrot?' he said.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti Venus Verticordia

Dante Gabriel Rossetti Venus VerticordiaClaude Monet Haystack at GivernyJean Auguste Dominique Ingres Ingres The SourcePeter Paul Rubens Samson and Delilah
You’ve always been a bit of a shy violet, I’ve always said,” said Nanny Ogg. “I’m always telling people, when it comes to humility you won’t find anyone more humile than Esme Weatherwax.”
“Always keep myself to myself and minded my own
business—“
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“Barely known you were there half the time,” said Nanny
Ogg.
“I was talking, Gytha.”
“Sorry.”
They walked along in silence for a while. It was a warm
dry evening. “You’re right, though,” said Granny Weatherwax, who was walking a little way ahead. “It was a good dinner. I never had this Vegetarian Option stuff before.Birds sang in the trees.Nanny said, “Funny to think of our Magrat being mar-ried and everything.”“What do you mean, everything?”“Well, you know—married,” said Nanny. “I gave her a few tips. Always wear something in bed. Keeps a man interested.”“You always wore your hat.”“Right.”Nanny waved a sausage on a stick. She always believedin stocking up on any free food that was available.“I thought the wedding feast was very good, didn’t you?And Magrat looked radiant, I thought.”“/ thought she looked hot and flustered.”“That is radiant, with brides.””

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Shawn suddenly felt frightened. He’d been scared before, but it had been immediate and physical. But Magrat, like this, frightened him more than the elves. It was like being charged by a sheep.
“No, miss?” he said.
“No one told me about her. You’d think it’s all tapestry and walking around in long dresses!”
“What, miss?”
Magrat waved an arm expressively.
“All this!”
“Miss!” said for
one of his fingers by Lady Jane, an ancient and evil-tempered
gyrfalcon. So he’d gone through his usual nightly routine,
229
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bathing his wounds and eating a meal of stale bread and ancient cheese and going to bed early to bleed gently by can-dlelight over a copy of Beaks and Talons.Shawn, from knee level.Magrat looked down.“What?”“Please put the axe down!”“Oh. Sorry.”Hodgesaargh spent his nights in a little shed adjoining themews. He too had received an invitation to the wedding, butit had been snatched from his hand and eaten in mistake

Jean Beraud Symphony in Red and Gold

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Terry Pratchett
garden, after being bounced off various trees, walls, and gar-den gnomes on the way.
Three large black kettles steamed by her fireside. Beside them were half a dozen towels, the loofah, the pumice stone, the soap, the soap for when the first soap got lost, the ladle for fishing spiders out, the waterlogged rubber duck with the prolapsed Skindle grabbed her husband’s arm.
“The goat’s still outside!”
“Are you mad? I ain’t going out there! Not now!”
“You know what happened last time! It was paralyzed all down one side for three days, man, and we couldn’t get it down off the roof!”
Mr. Skindle poked his head out of the door. It had all gone quiet. Too quiet.squeaker, the bunion chisel, the big scrubbing brush, the small scrubbing brush, the scrubbing brush on a stick for difficult crevices, the banjo, the thing with the pipes and spigots that no one ever really knew the purpose of, and a bottle of Klatchian Nights bath essence, one drop of which could crinkle paint.Bong clang slam ...Everyone in Lancre had learned to recognize Nanny’s pre-ablutive activities, out of self-defense.“But it ain’t April!” neighbors told themselves, as they drew the curtains.In the house just up the hill from Nanny Ogg’s cottage Mrs.

Edward Hopper Dawn In Pennsylvania

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myself. You can’t cheat for other people.”
Granny Weatherwax slumped again.
“I could have it stopped,” said Magrat.
“You’d make an enemy for life.”
“I thought , a small boy child upon a sudden ran across the square and stept within the magic circle, whereup he fell down with a terrible scream also a flash. The olde witche looked around, got out of her chair, picked him up, and carried him to his grand-mother, then went back to her seat, whilom the young witch never averted her eyes from the Sunne. But the other young witches stopped the duel averring, Look, Diamanda has wonne, the reason being, Granny was my enemy for life.”“If you think that, my girl, you’ve got no understanding,”79Terry Pratchettsaid Nanny. “One day you’ll find out Esme Weather-wax is the best friend you ever had.”“But we’ve got to do something! Can’t you think of any-thing”Nanny Ogg looked thoughtfully at the circle. Occasionally a little wisp of smoke curled up from her pipe.The magical duel was subsequently recorded in Birdwhistle’s book Legendes and Antiquities of the Ramptops and went as follows:“The duel beinge ninety minutes advanced

Sung Kim Paradise

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. The desert," he said. The black sand was absolutely still under the starlit sky. It looked cold.
He hadn't Vorbis tried to concentrate. He couldn't. He could feel certainty draining away. And he'd always been certain.
He hesitated, like a man opening a door to a familiar room and finding nothing there but a bottomless pit. The memories were still there. He could feel them. They had the right shape. It was just that he couldn't remember
Sung Kim Overlook Cafe II
planned on dying yet. In fact . . . he couldn't quite remember how he'd died . . ."The desert," he repeated, and this time there was a hint of uncertainty. He'd never been uncertain about anything in his . . . life. The feeling was unfamiliar and terrifying. Did ordinary people feel like this?He got a grip on himself.Death was impressed. Very few people managed this, managed to hold on to the shape of their old thinking after death.Death took no pleasure in his job. It was an emotion he found hard to grasp. But there was such a thing as satisfaction."So," said Vorbis. "The desert. And at the end of the desert­?"JUDGEMENT."Yes, yes, of course."

Camille Pissarro Boulevard Montmarte

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uncertainty of it, the feeling that it might work out all right after all. But it's different for gods. We do know. You know that story about the sparrow flying through a room?"
"No."
"Everyone knows it."
"Not me."
"About life being like a sparrow flying through a room? Nothing but darkness outside? And it flies through the room and there's just a moment of warmth and light?"
"There are "Is something wrong?"
Brutha shook his head. Then he stood up and walked over to Vorbis.
The deacon had drunk water from Brutha's cupped hands. But there was a switched-off quality about him. He walked, he drank, he breathed. Or something did. His body did. The dark eyeswindows open?" said Brutha."Can't you imagine what it's like to be that sparrow, and know about the darkness? To know that afterward there'll be nothing to remember, ever, except that one moment of the light?"No."No. Of course you can't. But that's what it's like, being a god. And this place . . . it's a morgue."Brutha looked around at the ancient, shadowy temple."Well . . . do you know what it's like, being human?"Om's head darted into his shell for a moment, the nearest he was capable of to a shrug."Compared to a god? Easy. Get born. Obey a few rules. Do what you're told. Die. Forget."Brutha stared at him.

Vincent van Gogh Souvenir de Mauve

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Brother Nhumrod said Ephebians eat human flesh," said Brutha. "He wouldn't tell lies."
A small boy regarded Brutha thoughtfully while excavating a nostril. If it was a demon in human form, it was an extremely good actor.
At intervals along the road from the docks were white stone statues. Brutha had never seen statues before. Apart from the statues of the SeptArchs, of course, but that wasn't the same thing.
"What arethey're not that good. There's one of 'em that sits around playing a flute most of the time and chasing milkmaids. I don't call that very divine. Call that very divine? I don't."
The road wound up steeply around the rocky hill. Most of the city seemed to be built on outcrops or was cut into the actual rock itself, so that one man's patio was another man's roof. The roads were really a series of shallow steps, accessible to a man or a donkey but sudden death they?""Well, the tubby one with the toga is Tuvelpit, the God of Wine. They call him Smimto in Tsort. And the broad with the hairdo is Astoria, Goddess of Love. A complete bubblehead. The ugly one is Offler the Crocodile God. Not a local boy. He's Klatchian originally, but the Ephebians heard about him and thought he was a good idea. Note the teeth. Good teeth. Good teeth. Then the one with the snakepit hairdo is-”"You talk about them as if they were real," said Brutha."They are.""There is no other god but you. You told Ossory that.""Well. You know. I exaggerated a bit. But

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Walked into rocks a lot."
"He wandered in the wilderness for three months," said Brutha.
"That explains it, then," said the tortoise. "There's not a lot to eat there that isn't mushrooms."
"Perhaps you are a demon," said Brutha. "The Septateuch forbids us to have discourse with demons. Yet in resisting demons, says the Prophet Fruni, we may grow strong in faith-”
"Your teeth to abscess with red-hot heat!"
"Pardon?"
"I swear to his worldly incarnations!" said Brutha proudly. "And you say you're him?"
"I haven't been well lately," said the tortoise.
Its scrawny neck stretched out further.me that I am the Great God Om, greatest of gods!"Brutha tapped the tortoise on the shell."Let me show you something, demon."He could feel his faith growing, if he listened hard. This wasn't the greatest statue of Om, but it was the closest. It was down in the pit level reserved for prisoners and heretics. And it was made of iron plates riveted together.The pits were deserted except for a couple of novices pushing a rough cart in the distance."It's a big bull," said the tortoise."The very likeness of the Great God Om in one of

Thomas Kinkade Graceland

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have thee legges of an mermade, the hair of an tortoise, the teeth of an fowel, and the winges of an snake. Of course, I have only my worde for it, the beast having the breathe of an furnace and the temperament of an rubber balloon in a way, weren't important. Some of its pages could only be read after midnight, or by strange and improbable illuminations. There were descriptions of underground constellations and wines as yet unfermented. For the really up-to-the-epoch occultist, who could afford the version bound in spider skin, there was even an insert showing the London Underground with the three stations they never dare show on the public maps.
[22] He always argued that he was.
[23] Very popular among gods, demi-gods, daemons and other supernatural creatureshurricane.'[19] Of course, wizards often killed one another by ordinary, non­magical means, but this was perfectly allowable and death by assassination was considered natural causes for a wizard.[20] All right. But you've got the general idea.[21] It was a Fullomyth, an invaluable aid for all whose business is with the arcane and hermetic. It contained lists of things that didn't exist and, in a very significant

Jean Beraud A Game of Billiards

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'Not much. I never really spent anything. I've often wondered what being poor was like.'
'You're going to get a huge opportunity to find out.'
'Will I need training?'
'It comes naturally,' said Rincewind. 'You pick it up as you go along.' There was a distant explosion and part of the ceiling turned to jelly.
'Erm, excuse me,' said Nijel, 'this carpet ...'
'Yes,' said Conina, 'the carpet.'
Creosote gave them a benevolent, slightly tipsy smile.
'Ah, yes. The carpet. Push the nose of the statue behind you, peach-buttocked jewel of the desert dawn.'
Conina, blushing, performed this act of minor sacrilege on a large green statue of Offler the Crocodile God.
Nothing the Crocodile God grated ponderously aside. There was a tunnel behind him.
'My grandfather had this built for our more interest­ing treasure,' said Creosote. 'He was very-’ he groped for a word-’ingenious.'happened. Secret compartments assiduously failed to open.'Um. Try the left hand.'She gave it an experimental twist. Creosote scratched his head.'Maybe it was the right hand...''I should try and remember, if I were you,' said Con­ina sharply, when that didn't work either. 'There aren't many bits left that I'd care to pull.''What's that thing there?' said Rincewind.'You're really going to hear about it if it isn't the tail,' said Conina, and gave it a kick.There was a distant metallic groaning noise, like a saucepan in pain. The statue shuddered. It was fol­lowed by a few heavy clonks somewhere inside the wall, and Offler
'If you think I'm setting foot in there-’ Rincewind began

Nicolas De Stael Jazz Musicians

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'There used to be fountains out here,' he said. 'You people - be off.'
The traders stared at one another. Wizards normally spoke imperiously, that was to be expected. But there was an edge to the voice that no-one had heard before. It had knuckles in it.
Ardrothy's eyes a determined bid for freedom. Muscles moved around the edges of his mouth like angry eels.
'Did you do that?' he demanded.
'Stand aside, oaf,' said the wizard, three words which in the opinion of Ardrothy gave him the ongoing life expectancy of a glass cymbal.
'I hates wizards,' said Koble. 'I really hates wizards. So I am going to hit you, all right?'
He brought his fist back and let fly.swivelled sideways. Arising out of the ruins of his jellied starfish and clam stall like an avenging angel, dislodging various molluscs from his beard and spitting vinegar, was Miskin Koble, who was said to be able to open oysters with one hand. Years of pulling limpets off rocks and wrestling the giant cockles in Ankh Bay had given him the kind of physical development normally associated with tectonic plates. He didn't so much stand up as unfold.Then he thudded his way towards the wizard and pointed a trembling finger at the ruins of his stall, from which half a dozen enterprising lobsters were making

Les Vins Blancs

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discouraged ...
Spelter thought: patronage. He'd heard the term used, though never within the University, and he knew it meant getting father's name is Ipslore.'
'I wonder how many brothers has he got?' said Spelter.
'I'm sorry?'
'There hasn't been magic like that in this university in centuries,' said Carding, 'maybe for thousands of years. I've only ever read about it.'
'We banished an Ipslore thirty years ago,' said Spelter. 'According to the records, he'd got married. I can see that if he had sons, um, they'd be wizards, but I don't understand how-’those above you to give you a leg up. Of course, no wizard would normally dream of giving a colleague a leg up unless it was in order to catch them on the hop. The mere thought of actually encouraging a competitor ... But on the other hand, this old fool might be of assistance for a while, and afterwards, well ...They looked at one another with mutual, grudging admiration and unlimited mistrust, but at least it was a mistrust each one felt he could rely on. Until afterwards.'His name is Coin,' said Spelter. 'He says his

Georges Seurat The Models

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Shoe. ‘Oook!’ That was the Librarian.
‘Don’t you worry, Windle. The Dean is going to do something military, apparently, ‘ said Ridcully.
‘Yo! Hut!’
‘Oh, good grief.’
Windle saw the Dean’s hand float past with something glittering in it. ‘What are you going to use?’ said Ridcully, as go on,
Archchancellor. What’s the good of having mastery over cosmic balance and
knowing the secrets of fate if you can’t blow something up? Please? I’ve got
them all ready. You know how it upsets thethe trolley rocketed through the steam.’The Seismic Reorganiser, the Attractive Point or the Incendiary Surprise?’‘Yo, ‘ said the Dean, with satisfaction.‘What, all three at once?’‘Yo!’‘That’s going a bit far, isn’t it? And incidentally, if you say “yo” one more time, Dean, I will personally have you thrown out of the University, pursued to the rim of the world by the finest demons that thaumaturgy can conjure up, torn into extremely small pieces, minced, turned into a mixture reminiscent of steak tartare, and turned out into a dog bowl.’‘Y -‘ The Dean caught Ridcully’s eye.’Yes. Yes? Oh,

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tightly.’ SHE STILL IS. BUT IT IS ALSO HERE. OR ANYWHERE. IT IS ONLY A METAPHOR. AFTER ALL. ‘What she’s holding looks real enough.’
JUST BECAUSE SOMETHING IS A METAPHOR DOESN’T MEAN IT CAN’T BE REAL.
Miss Flitworth was aware of a faint echo in the voice, as though the words were being spoken by two people almost, never asked themselves whether the newts got out to go to the lavatory.

She frowned. ‘I’m not saying young Simnel’s a bad lad, but are you sure he’ll do it? It’s asking a lot of a man like him to destroy something like that.’
I HAD NO CHOICE. THE LITTLE FURNACE HERE ISN’T GOOD ?TOUGH?.but not quite, in sync. ‘How long have you got?’A MATTER OF HOURS.‘And the scythe?’I GAVE THE BLACKSMITH STRICT INSTRUCTIONS. l People have believed for hundreds of years that newts in a well mean that the water’s fresh and drinkable, and in all that time

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BUT THEY ARE NOT THE REAL THINGS?
She stood, porridge pot in one hand and ladle in the other.
‘You mean dreaming?’ she said.
IS THAT WHAT DREAMING IS?
‘Don’t you dream? I thought everyone dreamed.’
ABOUT THINGS THAT ARE GOING TO HAPPEN?
‘That’s it, if I was you. The best thing to do is keep busy and act cheerful, I always say.’
BUT WE WILL COME TO AN END!
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ said Miss Flitworth.’It all depends on what kind of life you’ve led. I suppose.’
I’M SORRY?
‘Are you a religious man?’premonitions, that is. I’ve never believed in ‘em myself. You’re not telling me you don’t know what dreams are?’NO. NO. OF COURSE NOT.‘What’s worrying you, Bill?’I SUDDENLY KNOW THAT WE ARE GOING TO DIE. She watched him thoughtfully.‘Well, so does everyone,’ she said.’And that’s what you’ve been dreaming about, is it? Everyone feels like this sometimes. I wouldn’t worry about

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business. I’ve been watching you. That was your business, right enough.’
Bill Door thought deeply.
GENERAL TRANSPORTATION, he said.
‘That sounds like it, yes. Have you got any family, Bill?’
A DAUGHTER.
‘That’s nice.’
I’M of things from foreign parts, you know. Bits of jewelry and suchlike. And we used to go dancing. He had very good calves, I remember. I like to see good legs on a man.’
She stared at the fire for a while.
‘See . . . he never come back one day. Just before we were going to be wed. Dad said he never should have tried to run the mountains that close to winter, but I know he wanted to do itAFRAID WE’VE LOST TOUCH.‘That’s a shame,’ said Miss Flitworth, and sounded as though she meant it. ‘We used to have some good times here in the old days. That was when my young man was alive, of course.’YOU HAVE A SON? said Bill, who was losing track.She gave him a sharp look.‘I invite you to think hard about the word “Miss”,’ she said.’We takes things like that seriously in these parts.’MY APOLOGIES.‘No, Rufus was his name. He was a smuggler, like dad. Not as good. though. I got to admit that. He was more artistic. He used to give me all sorts

Thomas Kinkade elegant evening

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ained away under Windle Poons’ dread-
??? g,’ his old ?Qd? Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, the Discworld’s ?Buling?, talking argument in favour of the theory that mankind had descended from a species of rodent.
C.M.O.T. Dibbler ?liked? to describe himself as a merchant adventurer; everyone else liked to describe him as an itinerant pedlar whose money-making shemes were always let down by some small but vital ?w?, such as trying to sell things he didn’t own or which didn’t work or, sometimes, didn’t even exist.
Fairy gold is well known to evaporate by morning, but it was a reinforced concrete slab by comparison said Windle. He turned and started to??? into the mist.’Very, very boring. Very??? d.’??? Colon was left alone. He lit a fresh ?cigarette with a ? trembling hand, and started to walk hur- ~edly towards the Watch headquarters. ‘That face, ‘ he told himself.’And those eyes . . . just whatsisname . . . who’s that bloody dwarf who runs the delicatessen on Cable Street . . .’ ‘Sargeant!’Colon froze. Then he looked down. A face was starring up at him from ground level. When he’d got a grip ?on? himself, he made out the sharp features of