Pierre-Auguste Cot La TempeteRaphael Saint George and the DragonGeorge Frederick Watts Sir GalahadGeorge Frederick Watts Love And Life
gate slammed shut.
Sergeant Colon turned to Nobby.
'Did exhibit A have a nose, Nobby?'
'Yes, Fred.'to you?' said Colon.
'No. It had a couple of holes in it.'
'Well, I don't know about noses,' said Colon, 'but either Brother Boffo is dead wrong or there's something fishy going on.'
'Like what?'
'Well, Nobby, you're what I might call a career soldier, right?'
' 'S'right, Fred.'
'How many dishonourable discharges have you had?'
'Lots,' said Nobby, proudly. 'But I always puts a poultice on 'em.'
'You've been on a lot of battlefields, ain't you?'
'Dozens.''Then what was that about?''Search me.' Nobby scratched a promising boil. 'P'raps he meant a false nose. You know. Those red ones on elastic? The ones,' said Nobby, grimacing, 'they think are funny. He didn't have one.'Colon rapped on the door, taking care to stand out of the way of any jolly amusing booby traps.The hatch slid aside.'Yes?' hissed Boffo.'Did you mean his false nose?' said Colon.'His real one! Now bugger off!'The hatch snapped back.'Mental,' said Nobby, firmly.'Beano had a real nose. Did it look wrong
Sergeant Colon nodded.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Caravaggio The Lute Player
Caravaggio The Lute PlayerCaravaggio The Inspiration of Saint MatthewCaravaggio The Fortune Teller
man who said "No More Kings".'
People were staring. Vimes' face went from the red of anger to the red of embarrassment. There was little difference in the shading, however.
'Oh . . . he was Commander of the City Guard in those days,' he mumbled. 'They called him Old Stoneface.'
'Never heard of him,Carrot. A fat old man. Surrounded by lots of children.'
'Oh yes,' said Vimes, carefully. 'He was very fond of children.'
Carrot waved at a couple of dwarfs.
'I didn't know this,' he said. 'I thought there was just some wicked rebellion or something.'
Vimes shrugged. 'It's in the history books, if you know where to look.'
And that was the end of the kings of Ankh-Morpork.'
'Oh, there was a surviving son, I think. And a few mad relatives. They we' said Carrot.'He, er, doesn't appear much in the history books,' said Vimes. 'Sometimes there has to be a civil war, and sometimes, afterwards, it's best to pretend something didn't happen. Sometimes people have to do a job, and then they have to be forgotten. He wielded the axe, you know. No-one else'd do it. It was a king's neck, after all. Kings are,' he spat the word, 'special. Even after they'd seen the . . . private rooms, and cleaned up the . . . bits. Even then. No-one'd clean up the world. But he took the axe and cursed them all and did it.''What king was it?' said Carrot.'Lorenzo the Kind,' said Vimes, distantly.'I've seen his picture in the palace museum,' said
man who said "No More Kings".'
People were staring. Vimes' face went from the red of anger to the red of embarrassment. There was little difference in the shading, however.
'Oh . . . he was Commander of the City Guard in those days,' he mumbled. 'They called him Old Stoneface.'
'Never heard of him,Carrot. A fat old man. Surrounded by lots of children.'
'Oh yes,' said Vimes, carefully. 'He was very fond of children.'
Carrot waved at a couple of dwarfs.
'I didn't know this,' he said. 'I thought there was just some wicked rebellion or something.'
Vimes shrugged. 'It's in the history books, if you know where to look.'
And that was the end of the kings of Ankh-Morpork.'
'Oh, there was a surviving son, I think. And a few mad relatives. They we' said Carrot.'He, er, doesn't appear much in the history books,' said Vimes. 'Sometimes there has to be a civil war, and sometimes, afterwards, it's best to pretend something didn't happen. Sometimes people have to do a job, and then they have to be forgotten. He wielded the axe, you know. No-one else'd do it. It was a king's neck, after all. Kings are,' he spat the word, 'special. Even after they'd seen the . . . private rooms, and cleaned up the . . . bits. Even then. No-one'd clean up the world. But he took the axe and cursed them all and did it.''What king was it?' said Carrot.'Lorenzo the Kind,' said Vimes, distantly.'I've seen his picture in the palace museum,' said
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Cao Yong MY BALCONY
Cao Yong MY BALCONYCao Yong LILY PONDCao Yong KOI PONDCao Yong GIRL WITH MUSICIANCao Yong GARDEN SPLENDOR
She never told me about it,” said Granny, with her usual ability to read Nanny’s expression through the back of her own head.
She leaned closer to Jason, almost hanging from the
plunging beast. “The price for being able to shoe anything,
anything that anyone brings you ... is having to shoe any-
thing anyone brings you. The price for being the best is
always . . . having to be the best. And you pays it, same as
me.”
The unicorn kicked several inches of timber out of the
door just get that forge hot.”
“But if I nail iron to it I’ll—“
“Did I say anything about iron?”
The hom took a stone out of the wall a foot from Jason’s head. He gave in.frame.“But iron—“ said Jason. “And nails—““Yes?”“Iron’11 kill it,” said Jason. “If I nail iron to ‘n, I’ll kill ‘n. Killing’s not part of it. I’ve never killed anything. I was up all night with that ant, it never felt a thing. I won’t hurt a liv-ing thing that never done me no harm.”509Terry Pratchett“Did you get that stuff from my dresser, Gytha?”“Yes, Esme.”“Bring it in here, then. And you, Jason, you
She never told me about it,” said Granny, with her usual ability to read Nanny’s expression through the back of her own head.
She leaned closer to Jason, almost hanging from the
plunging beast. “The price for being able to shoe anything,
anything that anyone brings you ... is having to shoe any-
thing anyone brings you. The price for being the best is
always . . . having to be the best. And you pays it, same as
me.”
The unicorn kicked several inches of timber out of the
door just get that forge hot.”
“But if I nail iron to it I’ll—“
“Did I say anything about iron?”
The hom took a stone out of the wall a foot from Jason’s head. He gave in.frame.“But iron—“ said Jason. “And nails—““Yes?”“Iron’11 kill it,” said Jason. “If I nail iron to ‘n, I’ll kill ‘n. Killing’s not part of it. I’ve never killed anything. I was up all night with that ant, it never felt a thing. I won’t hurt a liv-ing thing that never done me no harm.”509Terry Pratchett“Did you get that stuff from my dresser, Gytha?”“Yes, Esme.”“Bring it in here, then. And you, Jason, you
Friday, April 24, 2009
Paul Cezanne Card Players
Paul Cezanne Card PlayersLaurie Maitland fireWilliam Bouguereau InnocenceBill Brauer The Gold Dress
that opened it up. There must have been a very deli-
cate area of instability very close. It’s hard to describe, but if
you had a rubber sheet and some lead weights I could
demonstrate—“
“You’re trying to tell me those . . . things exist because people believe in them?”
“Oh, no. I Magrat didn’t know much about jungles, but she thought about apes in trees, smelling the rank of the tiger.
Apes never admired the sleek of the fur and the bum of the
eye, because they were too well aware of the teeth of the
mouth.imagine they exist anyway. They’re here because people believe in them here.”“Ook.”“He ran off with us. They shot an arrow at him.”“Eeek.”“But it just made him itch.”“Ook.”“Normally he’s as gentle as a lamb. Really he is.”“Ook.”264LORDS fiNQ Lft0f£6“But he can’t abide elves. They smell wrong to him.”The Librarian flared his nostrils.
that opened it up. There must have been a very deli-
cate area of instability very close. It’s hard to describe, but if
you had a rubber sheet and some lead weights I could
demonstrate—“
“You’re trying to tell me those . . . things exist because people believe in them?”
“Oh, no. I Magrat didn’t know much about jungles, but she thought about apes in trees, smelling the rank of the tiger.
Apes never admired the sleek of the fur and the bum of the
eye, because they were too well aware of the teeth of the
mouth.imagine they exist anyway. They’re here because people believe in them here.”“Ook.”“He ran off with us. They shot an arrow at him.”“Eeek.”“But it just made him itch.”“Ook.”“Normally he’s as gentle as a lamb. Really he is.”“Ook.”264LORDS fiNQ Lft0f£6“But he can’t abide elves. They smell wrong to him.”The Librarian flared his nostrils.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Leonardo da Vinci Head of Christ
Leonardo da Vinci Head of ChristJohn Singer Sargent A Dinner Table at NightLord Frederick Leighton Leighton Winding the Skein
some boxes and cases piled by the bed. So ... a guest room.
The thoughts trickled through the silence of her brain, one after another.
She lady.”
The window was no escape this time. There was the bed to hide under, and that’d work for all of two seconds, wouldn’t it?
Her eye was drawn by some kind of horrible magic back to the room’s garderobe, lurking behind its curtain.
Magrat lifted the lid. The shaft was definitely wide enough to admit a body. Garderobes were notorious in that respect. Several unpopular kings had met their end, as it were, in the garderobe, at the hands of an assassin with good climbing ability, a spear, and a fundamental approach to politics.wondered if they’d sing to her, and if she could stand it again. Maybe if you knew what to expect. ..There was a gentle tap at the door.“We have your friends downstairs, lady. Come dance with me.”LQR06 ftffD LftQ/£6Magrat stared desperately around the room.It was as featureless as guest bedrooms everywhere. Jug and basin on a stand, the horrible garderobe alcove inade-quately concealed behind a curtain, the bed which had a few bags and bundles tossed on it, a battered chair with all the varnish gone and a small square of carpet made gray with age and ground-in dust.The door rattled. “Let me in, sweet
some boxes and cases piled by the bed. So ... a guest room.
The thoughts trickled through the silence of her brain, one after another.
She lady.”
The window was no escape this time. There was the bed to hide under, and that’d work for all of two seconds, wouldn’t it?
Her eye was drawn by some kind of horrible magic back to the room’s garderobe, lurking behind its curtain.
Magrat lifted the lid. The shaft was definitely wide enough to admit a body. Garderobes were notorious in that respect. Several unpopular kings had met their end, as it were, in the garderobe, at the hands of an assassin with good climbing ability, a spear, and a fundamental approach to politics.wondered if they’d sing to her, and if she could stand it again. Maybe if you knew what to expect. ..There was a gentle tap at the door.“We have your friends downstairs, lady. Come dance with me.”LQR06 ftffD LftQ/£6Magrat stared desperately around the room.It was as featureless as guest bedrooms everywhere. Jug and basin on a stand, the horrible garderobe alcove inade-quately concealed behind a curtain, the bed which had a few bags and bundles tossed on it, a battered chair with all the varnish gone and a small square of carpet made gray with age and ground-in dust.The door rattled. “Let me in, sweet
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Claude Monet Monet's Garden at argenteuil
Claude Monet Monet's Garden at argenteuilPaul Gauguin Woman with a FlowerPaul Gauguin The Seed of AreoiPaul Gauguin The Moon and the Earth
, sir.”
“No?”
“My mum says none of us can help how we’re made,”
said Shawn.
“What a singular lady. And what is her name?” said
Ridcully.
“Mrs. Ogg, sir.”
“Ogg? Ogg? Name rings a bell. Any relation to Sobriety
Ogg?”do wonderful breakfasts.” He sniffed again, and beamed.
“Now that” he said, “is what / call fresh air.”“He was my dad, sir.”“Good grief. Old Sobriety’s son? How is the old devil?”“Dunno, sir, what with him being dead.”“Oh dear. How long ago?”“These past thirty years,” said Shawn.“But you don’t look any older than twen—“ Ponder began. Ridcully elbowed him sharply in the ribcage.“This is the countryside,” he hissed. “People do things differently here. And more often.” He turned back to Shawn’s pink and helpful face.“Things seem to be waking up a bit,” he said, and indeed shutters were coming down around the square. “We’ll get some breakfast in the tavern. They used to
Shawn looked around carefully.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “That’s what we call it, too.” ‘ There was the sound of someone frantically running, and then a pause, and King Verence II appeared around the comer, walking slowly and calmly
, sir.”
“No?”
“My mum says none of us can help how we’re made,”
said Shawn.
“What a singular lady. And what is her name?” said
Ridcully.
“Mrs. Ogg, sir.”
“Ogg? Ogg? Name rings a bell. Any relation to Sobriety
Ogg?”do wonderful breakfasts.” He sniffed again, and beamed.
“Now that” he said, “is what / call fresh air.”“He was my dad, sir.”“Good grief. Old Sobriety’s son? How is the old devil?”“Dunno, sir, what with him being dead.”“Oh dear. How long ago?”“These past thirty years,” said Shawn.“But you don’t look any older than twen—“ Ponder began. Ridcully elbowed him sharply in the ribcage.“This is the countryside,” he hissed. “People do things differently here. And more often.” He turned back to Shawn’s pink and helpful face.“Things seem to be waking up a bit,” he said, and indeed shutters were coming down around the square. “We’ll get some breakfast in the tavern. They used to
Shawn looked around carefully.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “That’s what we call it, too.” ‘ There was the sound of someone frantically running, and then a pause, and King Verence II appeared around the comer, walking slowly and calmly
Monday, April 20, 2009
Leroy Neiman Amphitheatre at Rivera
Leroy Neiman Amphitheatre at RiveraLeroy Neiman American Stock ExchangeLeroy Neiman 18th at Harbourtown
devil for excusing themselves on the carpet.”
Nanny unearthed the shyest article of Granny Weatherwax’s bedroom crockery and moved it across the rug with her foot.
“I brought you a cup of tea,” she said.
“Good job, too. Mouth tastes of moths,” said Granny.
“Thought you did owls at night?” said Nanny.
“Yeah, but you ends up for days trying to twist your head right round,” said Granny. “At least bats always faces the same way. Tried rabbits first off, but you know what they are for remembering things. Anyway, you know what they thinks about the whole time. They’re famous for it.”
“Grass.”
“Right.”
“Find out anything?” said Nanny
“Half a dozen people have been going up there. Every full moon!” said Granny. “Gels, by the shape of them. You only see said, after a while.
“No, no,” said Nanny. “Borrowing’s a real skill. You’re really good at it.”
“Prideful, that’s what I am. Once upon a time I’d of thought of asking people, too, instead of fooling around being a bat.”
56silhouettes, with bats.”“You done well there,” said Nanny, carefully. “Girls from round here, you reckon?”“Got to be. They ain’t using broomsticks.”Nanny Ogg sighed.“There’s Agnes Nitt, old Threepenny’s daughter,” she said. “And the Tockley girl. And some others.”Granny Weatherwax looked at her with her mouth open.“I asked our Jason,” she said. “Sorry.”The bat burped. Granny genteelly covered her hand with her mouth.“I’m a silly old fool, ain’t I?” she
LOR06 ft/VD Lfi0f£6
“Our Jason wouldn’t have told you
devil for excusing themselves on the carpet.”
Nanny unearthed the shyest article of Granny Weatherwax’s bedroom crockery and moved it across the rug with her foot.
“I brought you a cup of tea,” she said.
“Good job, too. Mouth tastes of moths,” said Granny.
“Thought you did owls at night?” said Nanny.
“Yeah, but you ends up for days trying to twist your head right round,” said Granny. “At least bats always faces the same way. Tried rabbits first off, but you know what they are for remembering things. Anyway, you know what they thinks about the whole time. They’re famous for it.”
“Grass.”
“Right.”
“Find out anything?” said Nanny
“Half a dozen people have been going up there. Every full moon!” said Granny. “Gels, by the shape of them. You only see said, after a while.
“No, no,” said Nanny. “Borrowing’s a real skill. You’re really good at it.”
“Prideful, that’s what I am. Once upon a time I’d of thought of asking people, too, instead of fooling around being a bat.”
56silhouettes, with bats.”“You done well there,” said Nanny, carefully. “Girls from round here, you reckon?”“Got to be. They ain’t using broomsticks.”Nanny Ogg sighed.“There’s Agnes Nitt, old Threepenny’s daughter,” she said. “And the Tockley girl. And some others.”Granny Weatherwax looked at her with her mouth open.“I asked our Jason,” she said. “Sorry.”The bat burped. Granny genteelly covered her hand with her mouth.“I’m a silly old fool, ain’t I?” she
LOR06 ft/VD Lfi0f£6
“Our Jason wouldn’t have told you
Friday, April 17, 2009
Mark Spain Only You
Mark Spain Only YouMark Spain Night LightMark Spain Forever You
horse as it was led into the forge, hooves clattering on the stones.
“There’s tea brewing on the forge and our Dreen done us some biscuits in the tin with A Present from Ankh-Morpork on it.”He heard the glug of the teapot and then the gling-glong sound of a spoon being stirred and then the clink as the spoon was laid down.
Never any sound, his dad had said. Except when he walks and talks, you’ll never hear him make THANK YOU. I TRUST YOU ARE WELL.8LORQ6 ftWD Lft0f£6“Yes, m’lord. I done the shoes already. Won’t hold you up long. I know you’re ... very busy, like.”He heard the click-click of footsteps cross the floor to the old kitchen chair reserved for customers, or at least for the owners of customers.Jason had laid the tools and the horseshoes and the nails ready to hand on the bench beside the anvil. He wiped his hands on his apron, picked up a file, and set to work. He didn’t like cold shoeing, but he’d shod horses ever since he was ten. He could do it by feel. He picked up a rasp and set to work.And he had to admit it. It was the most obedient horse he’d ever encountered. Pity he’d never actually seen it. It’d be a pretty good horse, a horse like that. ..His dad had said: don’t try to sneak a look at it.
horse as it was led into the forge, hooves clattering on the stones.
“There’s tea brewing on the forge and our Dreen done us some biscuits in the tin with A Present from Ankh-Morpork on it.”He heard the glug of the teapot and then the gling-glong sound of a spoon being stirred and then the clink as the spoon was laid down.
Never any sound, his dad had said. Except when he walks and talks, you’ll never hear him make THANK YOU. I TRUST YOU ARE WELL.8LORQ6 ftWD Lft0f£6“Yes, m’lord. I done the shoes already. Won’t hold you up long. I know you’re ... very busy, like.”He heard the click-click of footsteps cross the floor to the old kitchen chair reserved for customers, or at least for the owners of customers.Jason had laid the tools and the horseshoes and the nails ready to hand on the bench beside the anvil. He wiped his hands on his apron, picked up a file, and set to work. He didn’t like cold shoeing, but he’d shod horses ever since he was ten. He could do it by feel. He picked up a rasp and set to work.And he had to admit it. It was the most obedient horse he’d ever encountered. Pity he’d never actually seen it. It’d be a pretty good horse, a horse like that. ..His dad had said: don’t try to sneak a look at it.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Thomas Kinkade Christmas Moonlight
Thomas Kinkade Christmas MoonlightThomas Kinkade Christmas EveningThomas Kinkade Abundant Harvest
bumping along in Brutha's pack, began to feel the acute depression that steals over every realist in the presence of an optimist.
The strained strains of Claws of Iron shall Rend the Ungodly faded away. There was a small rockslide, some way off.
"We're alive," said Brutha.
"For now."
"And we're close to home."
"Yes?"
"I saw a wild goat on the rocks back there."
"There's still a lot
"What? They wouldn't last five minutes. It's a god-eat-god world."
"Perhaps that explains something about the nature of gods. Strength is hereditary. Like sin."
His face clouded.
"Except that . . . it isn't. Sin, I mean. I think, perhaps, whenof 'em about.""Goats?""Gods. And the ones we had back there were the puny ones, mind you.""What do you mean?"Om sighed. "It's reasonable, isn't it? Think about it. The stronger ones hang around the edge, where there's prey . . . I mean, people. The weak ones get pushed out to the sandy places, where people hardly ever go-”"The strong gods," said Brutha, thoughtfully. "Gods that know about being strong.""That's right.""Not gods that know what it feels like to be weak . . ." we get back, I shall talk to some people."
"Oh, and they'll listen, will they?"
bumping along in Brutha's pack, began to feel the acute depression that steals over every realist in the presence of an optimist.
The strained strains of Claws of Iron shall Rend the Ungodly faded away. There was a small rockslide, some way off.
"We're alive," said Brutha.
"For now."
"And we're close to home."
"Yes?"
"I saw a wild goat on the rocks back there."
"There's still a lot
"What? They wouldn't last five minutes. It's a god-eat-god world."
"Perhaps that explains something about the nature of gods. Strength is hereditary. Like sin."
His face clouded.
"Except that . . . it isn't. Sin, I mean. I think, perhaps, whenof 'em about.""Goats?""Gods. And the ones we had back there were the puny ones, mind you.""What do you mean?"Om sighed. "It's reasonable, isn't it? Think about it. The stronger ones hang around the edge, where there's prey . . . I mean, people. The weak ones get pushed out to the sandy places, where people hardly ever go-”"The strong gods," said Brutha, thoughtfully. "Gods that know about being strong.""That's right.""Not gods that know what it feels like to be weak . . ." we get back, I shall talk to some people."
"Oh, and they'll listen, will they?"
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Camille Pissarro Place du Theatre Francais
Camille Pissarro Place du Theatre FrancaisCamille Pissarro Landscape at ChaponvalSir Henry Raeburn Boy And RabbitJean Fragonard Young Girl Reading
sat back.
"What is it you fear?" he said. "Here in your desert, with your . . . gods? Is it not that, deep in your souls, you knowDidactylos.
Although one of the most quoted and popular philosophers of all time, Didactylos the Ephebian never achieved the respect of his fellow philosophers. They felt he wasn't philosopher material. He didn't bathe often enough or, to put it another way, at all. And he philosophized about the wrong sorts of things. And he was interested in the wrong sorts of things. Dangerous things. Other philosophers asked questions like: Is Truth Beauty, and is Beauty Truth? and: is Reality Created by the Observer? But Didactylos posed the famous philosophical conundrum: "Yes, But What's It Really All About, Then, When You Get Right Down To It, I Mean Really!"
His philosophy was a mixture of three famous schools-the Cynics, the Stoics, and the Epicureansand summed up all three of them in his famous phrase, "You can't trust any bugger further than that your gods are as shifting as your sand?""Oh, yes," said the Tyrant. "We know that. That's always been a point in their favor. We know about sand. And your God is a rock-and we know about rock." Om stumped along a cobbled alley, keeping to the shade as much as possible.There seemed to be a lot of courtyards. He paused at the point where the alley opened into yet another of them.There were voices. Mainly there was one voice, petulant and reedy.This was the philosopher
sat back.
"What is it you fear?" he said. "Here in your desert, with your . . . gods? Is it not that, deep in your souls, you knowDidactylos.
Although one of the most quoted and popular philosophers of all time, Didactylos the Ephebian never achieved the respect of his fellow philosophers. They felt he wasn't philosopher material. He didn't bathe often enough or, to put it another way, at all. And he philosophized about the wrong sorts of things. And he was interested in the wrong sorts of things. Dangerous things. Other philosophers asked questions like: Is Truth Beauty, and is Beauty Truth? and: is Reality Created by the Observer? But Didactylos posed the famous philosophical conundrum: "Yes, But What's It Really All About, Then, When You Get Right Down To It, I Mean Really!"
His philosophy was a mixture of three famous schools-the Cynics, the Stoics, and the Epicureansand summed up all three of them in his famous phrase, "You can't trust any bugger further than that your gods are as shifting as your sand?""Oh, yes," said the Tyrant. "We know that. That's always been a point in their favor. We know about sand. And your God is a rock-and we know about rock." Om stumped along a cobbled alley, keeping to the shade as much as possible.There seemed to be a lot of courtyards. He paused at the point where the alley opened into yet another of them.There were voices. Mainly there was one voice, petulant and reedy.This was the philosopher
Monday, April 13, 2009
George Bellows Dempsey and Firpo
George Bellows Dempsey and FirpoCaravaggio The Sacrifice of IsaacCaravaggio The MusiciansCaravaggio St Jerome
tortoise paused. Om searched his fading memory. Then he scratched in the dust with a claw.
"I . . . remember a day . . . summer day . . . you were . . . thirteen . . ."
The dry little voice droned on. Brutha's mouth formed a slowly widening O.
Finally he said, "How did you know that?"
"You believe themade a point of taking a daily walk through some of the lower levels, although of course always at a different time, and via a different route. Insofar as Vorbis got any pleasure in life, at least in any way that could be recognized by a normal human being, it was in seeing the faces of humble members of the clergy as they rounded a corner and found themselves face-to-chin with Deacon Vorbis of the Quisition. There was always that little intake of breath th Great God Om watches everything you do, don't you?""You're a tortoise, you couldn't have-”"When you were almost fourteen, and your grandmother had beaten you for stealing cream from the stillroom, which in fact you had not done, she locked you in your room and you said, 'I wish you were-' " There will be a sign, thought Vorbis. There was always a sign, for the man who watched for them. A wise man always put himself in the path of the God.He strolled through the Citadel. He always at indicated a guilty conscience. Vorbis
tortoise paused. Om searched his fading memory. Then he scratched in the dust with a claw.
"I . . . remember a day . . . summer day . . . you were . . . thirteen . . ."
The dry little voice droned on. Brutha's mouth formed a slowly widening O.
Finally he said, "How did you know that?"
"You believe themade a point of taking a daily walk through some of the lower levels, although of course always at a different time, and via a different route. Insofar as Vorbis got any pleasure in life, at least in any way that could be recognized by a normal human being, it was in seeing the faces of humble members of the clergy as they rounded a corner and found themselves face-to-chin with Deacon Vorbis of the Quisition. There was always that little intake of breath th Great God Om watches everything you do, don't you?""You're a tortoise, you couldn't have-”"When you were almost fourteen, and your grandmother had beaten you for stealing cream from the stillroom, which in fact you had not done, she locked you in your room and you said, 'I wish you were-' " There will be a sign, thought Vorbis. There was always a sign, for the man who watched for them. A wise man always put himself in the path of the God.He strolled through the Citadel. He always at indicated a guilty conscience. Vorbis
Salvador Dali The Great Masturbator
Salvador Dali The Great MasturbatorSalvador Dali Leda AtomicaJoseph Mallord William Turner The Grand Canal Venice
horse.[25] It was Conina who insisted that they look for Rincewind at the University, and who, therefore, first saw the books.
They were flyingboth by the hand and, walking between them like a sack between two poles, led them across the cobbles to the tower.
There were a few candles alight inside, and they saw Coin seated on a stool. The Librarian bowed them into his presence like an ancient retainer in the oldest family of all, and withdrew.
Coin nodded at them. 'He knows when people don't understand him,' he said. 'Remarkable out of the Tower of Art, spiralling around the University buildings and swooping through the door of the reincarnated Library. One or two of the more impudent grimoires were chasing sparrows, or hovering hawk-like over the quad.The Librarian was leaning against the doorway, watching his charges with a benevolent eye. He waggled his eyebrows at Conina, the nearest he ever got to a conventional greeting.'Is Rincewind here?' she said.'Oook.''Sorry?'The ape didn't answer but took them
horse.[25] It was Conina who insisted that they look for Rincewind at the University, and who, therefore, first saw the books.
They were flyingboth by the hand and, walking between them like a sack between two poles, led them across the cobbles to the tower.
There were a few candles alight inside, and they saw Coin seated on a stool. The Librarian bowed them into his presence like an ancient retainer in the oldest family of all, and withdrew.
Coin nodded at them. 'He knows when people don't understand him,' he said. 'Remarkable out of the Tower of Art, spiralling around the University buildings and swooping through the door of the reincarnated Library. One or two of the more impudent grimoires were chasing sparrows, or hovering hawk-like over the quad.The Librarian was leaning against the doorway, watching his charges with a benevolent eye. He waggled his eyebrows at Conina, the nearest he ever got to a conventional greeting.'Is Rincewind here?' she said.'Oook.''Sorry?'The ape didn't answer but took them
Friday, April 10, 2009
Mark Rothko Untitled 1962
Mark Rothko Untitled 1962Mark Rothko Untitled 1960Mark Rothko Untitled 1949
blossoming at the top into a complexity of turrets and battlements. A swarm of tiles was hovering over it, individual things to his companions. They didn't seem to grasp ideas properly; more particularly, they didn't seem able to get the hang of doom. They suffered from the terrible delusion that something could be done. They seemed prepared to make the world the way they wanted it or die in the attempt, and the trouble with dying in the attempt was that you died in the attempt.
The whole point about the old University organisation was that it kept a sort of peace tiles swooping down and clinking into place like ceramic bees on a bombing run. It was impossibly high - the stones at the bottom would have been crushed if it wasn't for the magic that crackled through them.Well, that was just about it as far as organised wizardry was concerned. Two thousand years of peaceful magic had gone down the drain, the towers were going up again, and with all this new raw magic floating around something was going to get very seriously hurt. Probably the universe. Too much magic could wrap time and space around itself, and that wasn't good news for the kind of person who had grown used to things like effects following things like causes.And, of course, it would be impossible to explain
blossoming at the top into a complexity of turrets and battlements. A swarm of tiles was hovering over it, individual things to his companions. They didn't seem to grasp ideas properly; more particularly, they didn't seem able to get the hang of doom. They suffered from the terrible delusion that something could be done. They seemed prepared to make the world the way they wanted it or die in the attempt, and the trouble with dying in the attempt was that you died in the attempt.
The whole point about the old University organisation was that it kept a sort of peace tiles swooping down and clinking into place like ceramic bees on a bombing run. It was impossibly high - the stones at the bottom would have been crushed if it wasn't for the magic that crackled through them.Well, that was just about it as far as organised wizardry was concerned. Two thousand years of peaceful magic had gone down the drain, the towers were going up again, and with all this new raw magic floating around something was going to get very seriously hurt. Probably the universe. Too much magic could wrap time and space around itself, and that wasn't good news for the kind of person who had grown used to things like effects following things like causes.And, of course, it would be impossible to explain
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Johannes Vermeer Lady Standing at a Virginal
Johannes Vermeer Lady Standing at a VirginalJohannes Vermeer A Lady Writing a LetterUnknown Artist Wooded Landscape
'But you agreed that we should get the hat!'
'But not die a particularly stubborn member of the junior Chamber of Commerce, 'I've had a lot of practice. For the last time, I don't want to buy anyone, you wretched child!'
He looked gloomily at the walls around them. At least there weren't any of those disturbing pictures here, but the hot breeze still blew the dust around him and he was sick and tired of looking at sand. What he wanted was a couple of cool beers, a cold bath and a change of clothing; it probably wouldn't make him feel better, but it would at least make feeling awful more enjoyablein the process,' said Rincewind, wretchedly. 'That won't do anyone any good. Not me, anyway.''My father always said that death is but a sleep,' said Conina.'Yes, the hat told me that,' said Rincewind, as they turned down a narrow, crowded street between white adobe walls. 'But the way I see it, it's a lot harder to get up in the morning.''Look,' said Conina, 'there's not much risk. You're with me.''Yes, and you're looking forward to it, aren't you,' said Rincewind accusingly, as Conina piloted them along a shady alley, with their retinue of pubescent entrepreneurs at their heels. 'It's the old herrydeterry at work.''Just shut up and try to look like a victim, will you?''I can do that all right,' said Rincewind, beating off
'But you agreed that we should get the hat!'
'But not die a particularly stubborn member of the junior Chamber of Commerce, 'I've had a lot of practice. For the last time, I don't want to buy anyone, you wretched child!'
He looked gloomily at the walls around them. At least there weren't any of those disturbing pictures here, but the hot breeze still blew the dust around him and he was sick and tired of looking at sand. What he wanted was a couple of cool beers, a cold bath and a change of clothing; it probably wouldn't make him feel better, but it would at least make feeling awful more enjoyablein the process,' said Rincewind, wretchedly. 'That won't do anyone any good. Not me, anyway.''My father always said that death is but a sleep,' said Conina.'Yes, the hat told me that,' said Rincewind, as they turned down a narrow, crowded street between white adobe walls. 'But the way I see it, it's a lot harder to get up in the morning.''Look,' said Conina, 'there's not much risk. You're with me.''Yes, and you're looking forward to it, aren't you,' said Rincewind accusingly, as Conina piloted them along a shady alley, with their retinue of pubescent entrepreneurs at their heels. 'It's the old herrydeterry at work.''Just shut up and try to look like a victim, will you?''I can do that all right,' said Rincewind, beating off
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Titian Emperor Charles
Titian Emperor CharlesBartolome Esteban Murillo The Little Fruit SellerFilippino Lippi The Marriage of St Catherine
Luggage, of course, followed them with a noise like someone tapdancing over a bag of crisps.
And so, forcing the Luggage to go all the way around to the gates anyway, because otherwise it'd only batter a hole in the dropped lightly into the University grounds and ran soundlessly towards the Great Hall, where it was soon lost in the shadows.
No-one would have noticed it anyway. On the other side of the campus the Sourcerer was walking towards the gates of the University. Where his feet touched the cobbles blue sparks crackled and evaporated the early evening dew.
wall, Rincewind quit the University with all the other insects and small frightened rodents and decided that if a few quiet beers wouldn't allow him to see things in a different light, then a few more probably would. It was certainly worth a try.That was why he wasn't present in the Great Hall for dinner. It would turn out to be the most important missed meal of his life. Further along the University wall there was a faint clink as a grapnel caught the spikes that lined its top. A moment later a slim, black-clad figure
Luggage, of course, followed them with a noise like someone tapdancing over a bag of crisps.
And so, forcing the Luggage to go all the way around to the gates anyway, because otherwise it'd only batter a hole in the dropped lightly into the University grounds and ran soundlessly towards the Great Hall, where it was soon lost in the shadows.
No-one would have noticed it anyway. On the other side of the campus the Sourcerer was walking towards the gates of the University. Where his feet touched the cobbles blue sparks crackled and evaporated the early evening dew.
wall, Rincewind quit the University with all the other insects and small frightened rodents and decided that if a few quiet beers wouldn't allow him to see things in a different light, then a few more probably would. It was certainly worth a try.That was why he wasn't present in the Great Hall for dinner. It would turn out to be the most important missed meal of his life. Further along the University wall there was a faint clink as a grapnel caught the spikes that lined its top. A moment later a slim, black-clad figure
Monday, April 6, 2009
Cassius Marcellus Coolidge A Bold Bluff
Cassius Marcellus Coolidge A Bold BluffEdvard Munch NudeEdvard Munch Moonlight
standing so still among the potted plants and fountains that Windle passed them at first, assuming that they were some sort of statue or piece of esoteric furniture.
The mystery. The wizards certainly didn’t look very secure.
Windle snapped his fingers in front of the Dean’s pale eyes. There was no response.
‘He’s not dead,’ said Reg.
‘Just resting,’ said Windle. ‘Switched off.’
Reg gave the Dean a push. The wizard tottered forward, and then staggered Archchancellor had a false red nose and was holding some balloons. Beside him, the Bursar was juggling coloured balls, but like a machine, his eyes staring blankly at nothing.The Senior Wrangler was standing a little way off, wearing a pair of sandwich boards. The writing on them hadn’t fully ripened yet, but Windle would have bet his afterlife that it would eventually say something like SALE ! ! ! !The other wizards were clustered together like dolls whose clockwork hadn’t been wound up. Each one had a large oblong badge on his robe. The familiar organic-looking writing was growing into a word that looked like: I K Yalthough why it was doing so was a complete
standing so still among the potted plants and fountains that Windle passed them at first, assuming that they were some sort of statue or piece of esoteric furniture.
The mystery. The wizards certainly didn’t look very secure.
Windle snapped his fingers in front of the Dean’s pale eyes. There was no response.
‘He’s not dead,’ said Reg.
‘Just resting,’ said Windle. ‘Switched off.’
Reg gave the Dean a push. The wizard tottered forward, and then staggered Archchancellor had a false red nose and was holding some balloons. Beside him, the Bursar was juggling coloured balls, but like a machine, his eyes staring blankly at nothing.The Senior Wrangler was standing a little way off, wearing a pair of sandwich boards. The writing on them hadn’t fully ripened yet, but Windle would have bet his afterlife that it would eventually say something like SALE ! ! ! !The other wizards were clustered together like dolls whose clockwork hadn’t been wound up. Each one had a large oblong badge on his robe. The familiar organic-looking writing was growing into a word that looked like: I K Yalthough why it was doing so was a complete
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Henri Rousseau The Snake Charmer
Henri Rousseau The Snake CharmerHenri Rousseau The DreamPaul Cezanne Mount Sainte Victoire
Door paused at the top of the stairs.
SHE IS LIVING ON BORROWED TIME, he said.
There was an old forge behind the barn. It hadn’t been used for years. But now red and yellow light spilled out into the yard, pulsing like a heart. And like a heart, there was a regular thumping. With every crash the light flared blue.
Miss Flitworth He looked at it blankly.
IT’S JUST AS BLUNT AT NIGHT, MISS FLITWORTH.
Then he slammed it down on the anvil.
AND I CAN’T SHARPEN IT ENOUGH!
‘I think perhaps the heat has got to you,’ she said, and reached out and took his armsidled through the open doorway. If she was the kind of person who would swear, she would have sworn that she made no noise that could possibly be heard above the crackle of the fire and the hammering, but Bill Door spun around in a halfcrouch, holding a curved blade in front of him. ‘It’s me!’He relaxed, or at least moved into a different level of tension.‘What the hell’re you doing?’He looked at the blade in his hands as if he was seeing it for the first time.I THOUGHT I WOULD SHARPEN THIS SCYTHE, MISS FLITWORTH.‘At one o’clock in the morning?’
Door paused at the top of the stairs.
SHE IS LIVING ON BORROWED TIME, he said.
There was an old forge behind the barn. It hadn’t been used for years. But now red and yellow light spilled out into the yard, pulsing like a heart. And like a heart, there was a regular thumping. With every crash the light flared blue.
Miss Flitworth He looked at it blankly.
IT’S JUST AS BLUNT AT NIGHT, MISS FLITWORTH.
Then he slammed it down on the anvil.
AND I CAN’T SHARPEN IT ENOUGH!
‘I think perhaps the heat has got to you,’ she said, and reached out and took his armsidled through the open doorway. If she was the kind of person who would swear, she would have sworn that she made no noise that could possibly be heard above the crackle of the fire and the hammering, but Bill Door spun around in a halfcrouch, holding a curved blade in front of him. ‘It’s me!’He relaxed, or at least moved into a different level of tension.‘What the hell’re you doing?’He looked at the blade in his hands as if he was seeing it for the first time.I THOUGHT I WOULD SHARPEN THIS SCYTHE, MISS FLITWORTH.‘At one o’clock in the morning?’
Frida Kahlo My Dress Hangs There
Frida Kahlo My Dress Hangs ThereFrida Kahlo Diego and IDouglas Hofmann Model
No, ‘ said Arthur, ‘by a lawyer. I got this letter, see? With a posh blob of wax on it and everything. Blahblah-blah . . . great-great-uncle . . . blahblahblah . . . only surviving relative . . . blahblahblah . . . may we be the first to offer our , dropping a portcullis into that
avenue of conversation.’I should have known even before we went to look at
it. So I turned the carriage around, right? I thought, well, that’s four days
wasted, right in the middle of our busy season. I don’t think any more about heartiest . . . blahblahblah. One minute I’m Arthur Winkings, a coming man in the wholesale fruit and vegetable business, next minute I find I’m Arthur, Count Notfaroutoe, owner of fifty acres of cliff face a goat’d fall off of and a castle that even the cockroaches have abandoned and an invitation from the burgomaster to drop in down at the village one day and discuss three hundred years of back taxes.’‘I hate lawyers, ‘ said the voice from under the chair. It had a sad, hollow sound. Windle tried to move his legs a little closer to his own chair. ‘It voss quite a good castle, ‘ said Doreen.‘A bloody heap of mouldering stone is what it was,’ said Arthur.‘It had nice views.’‘Yeah, through every wall, ‘ said Arthur
No, ‘ said Arthur, ‘by a lawyer. I got this letter, see? With a posh blob of wax on it and everything. Blahblah-blah . . . great-great-uncle . . . blahblahblah . . . only surviving relative . . . blahblahblah . . . may we be the first to offer our , dropping a portcullis into that
avenue of conversation.’I should have known even before we went to look at
it. So I turned the carriage around, right? I thought, well, that’s four days
wasted, right in the middle of our busy season. I don’t think any more about heartiest . . . blahblahblah. One minute I’m Arthur Winkings, a coming man in the wholesale fruit and vegetable business, next minute I find I’m Arthur, Count Notfaroutoe, owner of fifty acres of cliff face a goat’d fall off of and a castle that even the cockroaches have abandoned and an invitation from the burgomaster to drop in down at the village one day and discuss three hundred years of back taxes.’‘I hate lawyers, ‘ said the voice from under the chair. It had a sad, hollow sound. Windle tried to move his legs a little closer to his own chair. ‘It voss quite a good castle, ‘ said Doreen.‘A bloody heap of mouldering stone is what it was,’ said Arthur.‘It had nice views.’‘Yeah, through every wall, ‘ said Arthur
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Franz Marc Affenfries
Franz Marc AffenfriesGarmash Sleeping BeautyMarc Chagall The Wedding CandlesMarc Chagall The Cattle DealerMarc Chagall Lovers in the Moonlight
clapped his spiritual hands and rubbed them together with forced enthusiasm.
‘Get a move on. Some of us have got new lives to go to,’ he said. The darkness remained inert. There was no shape, no sound. It was void, without form. The spirit of Windle Poons moved on the face of the darkness. It shook its head.’Blow this for a lark,’ it muttered.’This isn’t right at all.’ It hung around for a while and then, see the point of believing, of going around saying, ‘O great table, without whom we are as naught’.
Anyway, either the gods are there whether you believe or not, or exist only as
a function of the belief, so either way you might as well ignore thebecause there didn’t seem anything else for it, headed for the only home it had ever known. It was a home he’d occupied for one hundred and thirty years. It wasn’t expecting him back and put up a lot of resistance. You either had to be very determined or very powerful to overcome that sort of thing, but Windle Poons had been a wizard for more than a century. Besides, it was like breaking into your own house, the old familiar property that you’d lived in for years. You knew where the metaphorical window was that didn’t shut properly.In short, Windle Poons went back to Windle Poons.Wizards don’t believe in gods in the same way that most people don’t find it necessary to believe in, say, tables. They know they’re there, they know they’re there for a purpose, they’d probably agree that they have a place in a well-organised universe, but they wouldn’t
clapped his spiritual hands and rubbed them together with forced enthusiasm.
‘Get a move on. Some of us have got new lives to go to,’ he said. The darkness remained inert. There was no shape, no sound. It was void, without form. The spirit of Windle Poons moved on the face of the darkness. It shook its head.’Blow this for a lark,’ it muttered.’This isn’t right at all.’ It hung around for a while and then, see the point of believing, of going around saying, ‘O great table, without whom we are as naught’.
Anyway, either the gods are there whether you believe or not, or exist only as
a function of the belief, so either way you might as well ignore thebecause there didn’t seem anything else for it, headed for the only home it had ever known. It was a home he’d occupied for one hundred and thirty years. It wasn’t expecting him back and put up a lot of resistance. You either had to be very determined or very powerful to overcome that sort of thing, but Windle Poons had been a wizard for more than a century. Besides, it was like breaking into your own house, the old familiar property that you’d lived in for years. You knew where the metaphorical window was that didn’t shut properly.In short, Windle Poons went back to Windle Poons.Wizards don’t believe in gods in the same way that most people don’t find it necessary to believe in, say, tables. They know they’re there, they know they’re there for a purpose, they’d probably agree that they have a place in a well-organised universe, but they wouldn’t
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)