Vincent van Gogh Orchard in Blossom

Vincent van Gogh Orchard in BlossomVincent van Gogh Olive grove IVincent van Gogh Madhouse garden of St-RemyVincent van Gogh Landscape at Auvers in the RainVincent van Gogh The Plain at Auvers
There were screams from the outside.
‘It looks like it’s getting bigger,’ whispered Ginger.
‘Go outside,’ said Victor. ‘Get the wizards to stop it.’
‘What’re you going to do?’
Victor drew himself up to his full height. ‘There are some Things’, he said, ‘that a man has to do by himself.’
She Both dogs bounded away after it, propelled by instinct. On his way past, though, Gaspode had just enough selfcontrol to say, ‘You bastard!’
Victor pulled open the door of the picture‑throwing room and came out with handfuls of Blown Away.
The giant Victor was having trouble leaving the screen. The head and gave him a look of irritated incomprehension.‘What? What? Do you want to go to the lavatory or something?’‘Just get out!’He shoved her towards the doors, then turned and saw the two dogs looking at him expectantly.‘And you two, too,’ he said.Laddie barked.‘Dog’s gotta stay by ‘is master, style of fing,’ said Gaspode, shame‑facedly.Victor looked around in desperation, picked up a fragment of seat, opened the door, threw the wood as far as possible and shouted ‘Fetch!’

Cao Yong cao yong Red Umbrella

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wasn’t an uncommon legend. -He’d read it before at least, had read most of it - in books considerably less dangerous than this. You came across variants in all the cities of the Sto Plain. There had been a city once, in the mists of pre-of supernatural vengeance, although it was always possible that it had taken place and no-one had noticed.
Legend had always put the nameless city far away and long ago.
No-one knew where it was, or even if it had existed.
The Librarian glanced at the symbols again.
They were very familiar. They were on the old ruins all over Holy Wood. history - bigger than Ankh-Morpork, if that were possible. And the inhabitants had done something, some sort of unspeakable crime not just against Mankind or the gods but against the very nature of the universe itself, which had been so dreadful that it had sunk beneath the sea one stormy night. Only a few people had survived to carry to the barbarian peoples in the less-advanced parts of the Disc all the arts and crafts of civilization, such as usury and macrame. No-one had ever really taken it seriously. It was just one of those usual ‘If you don’t stop it you’ll go blind’ myths that civilizations tended to hand on to their descendants. After all, Ankh-Morpork itself was generally considered as wicked a city as you could hope to find in a year of shore leaves, and seemed to have avoided any kind

Rene Magritte Primevere

Rene Magritte PrimevereRene Magritte Personal ValuesRene Magritte Dangerous LiaisonsFranz Marc Turm der blauen PferdeFranz Marc Der Traum
No, we’d have to go around on the coast,’ said the dealer, drawing a long curving line in the sand. ‘The reason being, there’s the jungle just here,’ he tapped on the parched ground, ‘and here,’ he tapped again, slightly jungle, and grinned.
‘I know where there’s a lot of prime timber just been uprooted, boss,’ he said.
‘Yeah? OK, boy, but we’ve still got to get it into the mountains.’
‘It just so happen that a t’ousand real strong elephants’ll be goin’ that way, boss.’
M’Bu grinned again. His tribe went in for sharpening their teeth to points.[15] He handed back the stick.
Azhural’s mouth opened slowly.
‘By the seven moons of Nasreem,’ he breathed. ‘We could concussing an emerging locust that had optimistically mistaken the first tap for the onset of the rains. ‘No roads in the jungle.’ M’Bu took the stick and drew a straight line through the jungle. ‘Where a thousand elephants want to go, boss, they don’t need no roads.’ Azhural considered this. Then he took the stick and drew a jagged line by the jungle. ‘But here’s the Mountains of the Sun,’ he said. ‘Very high. Lots of deep ravines. And no bridges.’ M’Bu took the stick, indicated the

Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN EVENING

Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN EVENINGThomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYSThomas Kinkade Evening GlowCamille Pissarro Still LifeCamille Pissarro Morning Sunlight on the Snow
He didn’t turn around.
‘Just put it over there,’ he said absently.
‘It’s me, Mr Silverfish,’ said Victor.
Silverfish turned around and peered vaguely at him, as if it was Victor’s fault that his name meant nothing.
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve come because of that job,’ said Victor. ‘You know?’
‘What job? But he thought: he’s going to try and wriggle out of it. He’s regretting the offer. He’s going to send me back to the queue.
‘Well, of course,’ said Silverfish, ‘a lot of very talented people What should I know?’ said Silverfish. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’ ‘I broke into moving pictures,’ said Victor. ‘But it’s nothing that a hammer and a few nails won’t put right.’ Panic bloomed on Silverfish’s face. Victor pulled out the card and waved it in what he hoped was a reassuring way. ‘In Ankh-Morpork?’ he said. ‘A couple of nights ago? You were being menaced?’ Realization dawned. ‘Oh, yes,’ said Silverfish faintly. ‘And you were the lad who was of some help.’ ‘And you said to come and see you if I wanted to move pictures,’ said Victor. ‘I didn’t, then, but I do now.’ He gave Silverfish a bright smile.

Francisco de Zurbaran Still life

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then, in a rather louder voice, continued: 'If the king was here, he would intercede for us.'
He caught the eye of the priestess of Sarduk. He hadn't discussed things with her; indeed, what was there to discuss? But he the past,' said the priestess, on - cue. 'When a kingdom was threatened or the river did not rise, the king went to intercede with the gods. Was sent to intercede with the gods.'
The edge of satisfaction in her voice made it clear that it was a one-way trip.
Koomi shivered with delight and horror. Oh, yes. Those were the days. Some countries had experimented with the idea of the sacrificial king, long ago. A few years of feasting and ruling, then chop - and make way for a new administration.had an inkling that there was some fellow, sorry, feeling there. She didn't like Dios very much, but was less in awe of him than were the others. 'I told you that the king is dead,' said Dios. 'Yes, we heard you. Yet there seems to be no body, O Dios. Nevertheless, we believe what you tell us, for it is the great Dios that speaks, and we pay no heed to malicious gossip.' The priests were silent. Malicious gossip, too? And somebody had already mentioned rumours, hadn't they? Definitely something amiss here. 'It happened many times in

Unknown Artist Vanitas Still Life

Unknown Artist Vanitas Still LifeJohn Constable Wivenhoe ParkJohn Constable The White HorseJohn Constable The Hay WainJohn Constable Salisbury Cathedral
'Our mum said his heart was in the right place,' said Gern. The king, hovering dismally in the corner, gave a gloomy nod. Yes, he thought. Jar three, top shelf.
Dil wiped his hands on a rag, and sighed. Possibly thirty-five years in the funeral business, which had given him a steady hand, a It was beginning to annoy him. He watched Dil and his apprentice tidy up, burn some ceremonial resins, lift him - it - up, carry it respectfully across the room and slide it gently into the oily embrace of the preservative. Teppicymon XXVII gazed into the murky depths at his own body lying sadly on the bottom, like the last pickled gherkin in the jar.
He raised his eyes to the sacks in the corner. They were full of straw. He didn't need telling what was going to be done with it.philosophic manner and a keen interest in vegetarianism, had also granted him powers of hearing beyond the ordinary. Because he was almost persuaded that, right beside his ear, someone else sighed too. The king wandered sadly over to the other side of the room, and stared at the dull liquid of the preparation vat. Funny, that. When he was alive it had all seemed so sensible, so obvious. Now he was dead it looked a huge waste of effort.

Vincent van Gogh Peach Tree in Blossom

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everything it had. This was its big chance. It had spent years hanging around the provinces, putting in some useful work as a squall, building up experience, making contacts, occasionally leaping out on unsuspecting shepherds or Tuesday,' said the one with no hat but a thatch of white curls so thick she might have been wearing a helmet. 'For our Jason's youngest. I can manage Friday. Hurry up with the tea, luv. I'm that parched.'
The junior member of the trio gave was the most highly-regarded of the leaders they didn't have.
Magrat's hands shook slightly as they made the tea. Of course, it was all very gratifying, but it was a bit nerve-racking to start one's working life as village witch between Granny and, on the other side of the forest, Nanny Ogg. It'd been her idea to form a local against all the laws of balance, and rumbled on. But it was going slower now. The slope was dragging at it.
The coachman, standing

George Bellows The Picnic

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Gold, gold, gold, gold, gold",' said Hwel.
'You left out a "gold" there.'
'I think it's because I wasn't cut out to be a dwarf.'
'Cut down, . If they see four struggling figures their first instinct is not to rush to anyone's assistance, or at least not to rush to the assistance of the one who appears to be losing and on the wrong end of someone else's boot. Nor do they shout 'Oi!' Above all, they don't look surprised when the assailants, instead of guiltily running off. flourish a small piece of cardboard in front of them.lawn ornament,' said Tomjon.There was a little hiss of indrawn breath.'Sorry,' said Tomjon hurriedly. 'It's just that father—''I've known your father for a long time,' said Hwel 'Through thick and thin, and there was a damn sight more thin than thick. Since before you were bor—' He hesitated 'Times were hard in those days,' he mumbled. 'So what I'm saying is . . . well, some things you earn.''Yes. I'm sorry.''You see, just—' Hwel paused at the mouth of a dark alley 'Did you hear something?' he said.They squinted into the alley, once again revealing themselves as newcomers to the city. Morporkians don't look down dark alleys when they hear strange noises

Sandro Botticelli Madonna in Glory with Seraphim

Sandro Botticelli Madonna in Glory with SeraphimJean Beraud La Rue de la Paix 1907Unknown Artist tango dancersUnknown Artist sweet breathUnknown Artist red background
was quite a big baby, I recall,' said the bush. 'His mother had a terrible time.'
'It's never happened to me before, ever,' said Granny, still twanging like a bowstring. 'I'll teach him to run us down as though, as though, as though we was ordinary people!'
'He already knows,' said Magrat. 'Just help me get Nanny out of this bush, will you?'
'I'll turn his-'
'People haven't got any respect any more, that's what it is,' said Nanny, as Magrat helped her with the thorns. 'It's all due to the king being one, I expect.'
'We're at the trees.
Nanny struggled to her feet.
'We'd better grab her,' she whispered to Magrat. The two of them leapt at Granny and forced her arms down to her sides.witches!' screamed Granny, turning her face towards the sky and shaking her fists.'Yes, yes,' said Magrat. 'The harmonious balance of the universe and everything. I think Nanny's a bit tired.''What've I been doing all this time?' said Granny, with a rhetorical flourish that would have made even Vitoller gasp.'Not a lot,' said Magrat.'Laughed at! Laughed at! On my own roads! In my own country!' screamed Granny. 'That just about does it! I'm not taking ten more years of this! I'm not taking another day of it!'The trees around her began to sway and the dust from the road sprang up into, writhing shapes that tried to swirl out of her way. Granny Weatherwax extended one long arm and at the end of it unfolded one long finger and from the rip of its curving nail there was a brief flare of octarine fire.Half a mile down the track all four wheels fell off the cart at once.'Lock up a witch, would he?' Granny shouted

Claude Monet Haystack at Giverny

Claude Monet Haystack at Giverny Claude Monet Cliffs near Dieppe 2Claude Monet ZaandamClaude Monet Woman Seated under the WillowsClaude Monet Water-Lilies 1917
complexities of the marital relationship were known to Granny only from a distance, in the same way that an astronomer can view the surface of a remote and alien world, but it had already occurred to her that a wife to Vitoller would have to be a very special woman with bottomless reserves of patience and organisational ability 'It is no life for a child,' he said. 'Always moving. Always a new town. And no room for schooling. They say that's very important these days.' But his eyes didn't look away.
Mrs Vitoller said, 'Why does he need a home?'
'He hasn't got one,' said Granny. 'At least, not one where he would be welcome.'and nimble fingers.'Mrs Vitoller,' she said eventually, 'may I make so bold as to ask if your union has been blessed with fruit?'The couple looked blank.'She means—' Nanny Ogg began.'No, I see,' said Mrs Vitoller, quietly. 'No. We had a little girl once.'A small cloud hung over the table. For a second or two Vitoller looked merely human-sized, and much older. He stared at the small pile of cash in front of him.'Only, you see, there is this child,' said Granny, indicating the baby in Nanny Ogg's arms. 'And he needs a home.'The Vitollers stared. Then the man sighed.

John William Waterhouse Apollo and Daphne

John William Waterhouse Apollo and DaphneVincent van Gogh On the Outskirts of ParisVincent van Gogh Ladies of Arles
Keli had stepped out of the dressing room.
Now, women's clothes were not a subject that preoccupied Cutwell much – in fact, usually when he thought about women 'What do you think?' she said, turning slowly. 'This was worn by my mother, and my grandmother, and her mother.'
'What, all together?' said Cutwell, quite prepared to believe it. How can she get into it? he wondered. There must be a door round the back. . . .
'It's a family heirloom. It's got real diamonds on the bodicehis mental pictures seldom included any clothes at all – but the vision in front of him really did take his breath away. Whoever had designed the dress didn't know when to stop. They'd put lace over the silk, and trimmed it with black vermine, and strung pearls anywhere that looked bare, and puffed and starched the sleeves and then added silver filigree and then started again with the silk.In fact it really was amazing what could be done with several ounces of heavy metal, some irritated molluscs, a few dead rodents and a lot of thread wound out of insects' bottoms. The dress wasn't so much worn as occupied; if the outlying flounces weren't supported on wheels, then Keli was stronger than he'd given her credit for.

Rene Magritte The Voice of the Winds

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muttered something under his breath, and stared down at the flagstones.
She leaned the other way and shouted into the ear of the Yeoman of the Pantry: 'Can you see me, man? Why are we have sent the duty maid running in from the sitting room at the end of the corridor. Nothing happened for some time, and then the door was pushed open slowly and a face peered in at her.
She recognised the look this time, and was ready for it. She grabbed the maid by the reduced to eating cold pork and ham?'He turned aside from his hushed conversation with the Lady of the Small Hexagonal Room in the North Turret, gave her a long look in which shock made way for a sort of unfocused puzzlement, and said, 'Why, yes . . . I can . . . er. . . .''Your Royal Highness,' prompted Keli.'But . . . yes . . . Highness,' he muttered. There was a heavy pause.Then, as if switched back on, he turned his back on her and resumed his conversation.Keli sat for a while, white with shock and anger, then pushed the chair back and stormed away to her chambers. A couple of servants sharing a quick rollup in the passage outside were knocked sideways by something they couldn't quite see.Keli ran into her room and hauled on the rope that should

Pino Early Morning

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they were walking along a wide corridor hung with tapestries. Death reached into his robe and pulled out an hourglass, peering closely at it in the dim light.
It was a particularly fine one, its glass cut into intricate facets and imprisoned in an ornate framework of wood and brass. of something else. A few courtiers glanced in their direction, their eyes instantly unfocusing as common sense overruled the other five.
WE'VE GOT A FEW MINUTES, said Death, taking a drink from a passing tray, LET'S MINGLE.
'They can't see me either!' said Mort. 'But I'm real!'The words 'King Olerve the Bastard' were engraved deeply into it.The sand inside sparkled oddly. There wasn't a lot left.Death hummed to himself and stowed the glass away in whatever mysterious recess it had occupied.They turned a corner and hit a wall of sound. There was a hall full of people there, under a cloud of smoke and chatter that rose all the way up into the banner-haunted shadows in the roof. Up in a gallery a trio of minstrels were doing their best to be heard and not succeeding.The appearance of Death didn't cause much of a stir. A footman by the door turned to him, opened his mouth and then frowned in a distracted way and thought

Salvador Dali The Sacrament of the Last Supper

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one had disposed of one's enemies.
Although K'tumi speakers say that this does not convey the cold sweating, heart-stopping, gut-freezing sense of the original.
It was that kind of laugh.
Esk turned around slowly. Simon drifted towards her across the sand, with his hands cupped in front of him. His eyes were tight shut.
"Did you really think it would be as easy as that? " he said. Or something said; it didn't sound like Simon's voice, but "We could say that if you gave it to us we would be merciful. We could say we would let you go from here in your own shape. But there wouldn't really be much point in us saying that, would there?"
"I wouldn't believe you," said Esk.
"Well, then."
The Simon-thing grinned.like dozens of voices speaking'at once. "Simon?" she said, uncertainly. "He is of no further use to us," said the Thing with Simon's shape. "He has shown us the way, child. Now give us our property." Esk backed away. "I don't think it belongs to you," she said, "whoever you are." The face in front of her opened its eyes. There was nothing there but blackness - not a colour, just holes into some other space.

Pino remember when

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You mean tobacco threadworm?" He looked wild-eyed at the stack of bales being unloaded by, now he came to think about it, a vendor with the nervous look of a midnight sprite who wants to get away before you find out what fairy gold turns into in the morning. "But he told me these had been well stored and - how do you know, anyway? " He was talking to a wizard.
Seasoned travellers know that a party setting out to cross possibly hostile country should have a fair number of swords in it but should definitely have a wizard in case there is any need for magic The child had disappeared among the crowds. The merchant looked hard at the spot where she had been. He looked hard at the vendor, who was grinning nervously. He looked hard at the sky. Then took his sampling knife out of his pocket, stared at it for a moment, appeared to reach a decision, and sidled towards the nearest bale. Esk, meanwhile, had by random eavesdropping found the caravan being assembled for Ankh-Morpork. The trail boss was sitting at a table made up of a plank across two barrels. He was busy.

Joseph Mallord William Turner Portsmouth

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looked at her over his porridge spoon.
"I'm not complaining," he said. "She -"
"She's got a long nose," said Esk.
Her of his belt whenever they deserved it. The trouble with his daughter, though, was not ordinary naughtiness but the infuriating way she had of relentlessly pursuing the thread of an argument long after she should have put it down. It always flustered him.
She burst into tears. Smith stood up, angry and embarrassed at himself, and stumped off to the forge.
There was a loud crack, and a thud.
They found him out cold on the floor. Afterwards he always maintained that he'd hit his parents glared at her. "There's no call to make that kind of remark," said her mother sternly. "But father said she's always poking her -" "Eskarina!" "But he said -" "I said -" "Yes, but, he did say that she had -" Smith reached down and slapped her. It wasn't very hard, and he regretted it instantly. The boys got the flat of his hand and occasionally the length

Jules Joseph Lefebvre Mary Magdalene In The Cave

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But this street was deathly quiet, that particularly unpleasant quiet that comes when hundreds of frightened and angry The crowd was facing a crude platform that had been built in the centre of the wide street. A big banner had been draped across the front of it.
'I always heard that Blind Io can see everything that happens everywhere,' said Bethan quietly. 'Why hasn't —'
'Quiet!' said the man beside them. 'Dahoney speaks!'
A figure had stepped up on the platform, a tall thin man with hair like a dandelion. There was no cheer from the crowd, just a collective sigh. He began to speak.
Rincewind listened in mounting horror. Where were the gods? said the man. They had gone. Perhaps they had never been. Who, actually, could remember seeing them? And nowpeople are standing very still.A man at the edge of the crowd turned around and scowled at the newcomers. He had a red star painted on his forehead.'What's—' Rincewind began, and stopped as his voice seemed far too loud, 'what's this?''You're strangers?' said the man.'Actually we know one another quite—' Twoflower egan, and fell silent. Bethan pointed up the street.Every temple had a star painted on it. There was a particularly big one daubed across the stone eye outside the temple of Blind Io, leader of the gods.'Urgh,' said Rincewind. 'Io is going to be really pissed when he sees that. I don't think we ought to hang around here, friends.'

George Bellows Anne in White

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The rock swooped across the high plains, whipping snow from the drifts a mere few feet below. Belafon scuttled about urgently, smearing a little mistletoe ointment here, chalking a rune there, while Rincewind cowered in terror and exhaustion and Twoflower worried about his Luggage.
'Up ahead!' screamed the druid above the noise of the slipstream. 'Behold skies!'
Rincewind peered between his fingers. On the distant skyline was an immense construction of grey and black slabs, arranged in concentric circles and mystic avenues, aunt and forbidding against the snow. Surely men couldn't Belafon turned around, only slightly mollified. He raised his arms wide and shouted a series of untranslatable words, ending with 'nice!' in a hurt whisper.
The rock slowed, drifted sideways in a billow of snow, and hovered over the circlehave moved those nascent mountains – surely a troop of giants had been turned to stone by some . . .'It looks like a lot of rocks,' said Twoflower.Belafon hesitated in mid-gesture.'What?' he said.'It's very nice,' added the tourist hurriedly. He sought for a word. 'Ethnic,' he decided.The druid stiffened. 'Nice?' he said. 'A triumph of the silicon chunk, a miracle of modern masonic technology – nice?''Oh, yes,' said Twoflower, to whom sarcasm was merely a seven letter word beginning with S.'What does ethnic mean?' said the druid.'It means terribly impressive,' said Rincewind hurriedly, 'and we seem to be in danger of landing, if you don't mind—'

Paul Gauguin The Loss of Virginity

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one goddess who comes only when not invoked?"
"Uh. Yes, I suppose I do," croaked the wizard, trying not to look at the eyes. "You're the one they call the Lady?"
"Yes."
"Are you a goddess then?" said Twoflower excitedly. "I’ve always wanted to meet one."
Rincewind tensed, waiting for the explosion of rage. Instead, the Lady merely smiled.
"Your course, an atheist; on the Disc the gods dealt severely with atheists. On the few occasions when he had some spare change he had always made a point of dropping a few coppers into a temple coffer somewhere, on the principle that a complicated enough.
There were two gods, however, who were really terrifying. The rest of the gods were usually only sort of large-scale humans, fond of wine and war and whoring. But Fate friend the wizard should introduce us," she said.Rincewind coughed. "Uh, yar," he said. "This is Twoflower, Lady, he's a tourist-""-I have attended him on a number of occasions-""And, Twoflower, this is the Lady. Just the Lady, right? Nothing else. Don't try and give her any other name, okay?" he went on desperately, his eyes darting meaningful glances that were totally lost on the little man.Rincewind shivered. He was not, of

Nicolas De Stael Jazz Musicians

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fervently hoped was a head, in conversational tones. "I expect you can tell."
"Um," said Twoflower. "Yes." He began to back away.
"Obvious, isn't it?" agreed the voice. "You'd be Twoflower, wouldn't you? Or is that later?"
"Later?" said ," said Twoflower.
"You don't think so? Imagine every moment being at one and the same time a distant memory and a nasty surprise and you'll see what I mean. Anyway, I now recall what it was I am about to tell you. Or have I already done so? That's a fine looking dragon, by the way. Or don't I say that, yet?"
"It is rather good. It just turned up," said TwoflowerTwoflower. "Later than what?" He stopped."Well," said the voice. "You see, one of the disadvantages of being dead is that one is released as it were from the bonds of time and therefore I can see everything that has happened or will happen, all at the same time except that of course I now know that Time does not, for all practical purposes, exist.""That doesn't sound like a disadvantage