Jack Vettriano Mr Cool

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the state of his own bedding, 'white as some sheets–’
The Patrician glanced at his reports while the beggar talked. It had certainly been a strange evening. A riot at the Drum . . . well, that was normal, although it didn't sound exactly like a typical riot and he'd never heard of wizards dancing. He rather felt he recognized the signs . . . There was only one thing that could make it worse.
'Tell me,' he said. . Feel free to leave.'
The beggar hesitated.
'Foul Ole Ron said as yerronner sometimes pays for information,' he said.
'Did he? Really? He said that, did he? Well, that is interesting.' Vetinari scribbled a note in the margin of a report. 'Thank you.''What was Mr Dibbler's reaction to all this?''What, yerronner?''A simple enough question, I should have thought.'Cumbling Michael found the words 'But how did you know ole Dibbler was there? I never said' arranging themselves for the attention of his larynx, and then had second, third and fourth thoughts about saying them.'He just sat and stared, yerronner. With his mouth open. And then he rushed right out.''I see. Oh, dear. Thank you, Cumbling Michael

Thomas Kinkade Seaside Village

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managed to hit instantly became your foe, so it probably all came out right in the long run. The point was that people were dying and acts of incredibly stupid heroism were being performed.
SQUEAK.
The Death of Rats pointed urgently downward.
'Gee . . . down.'
Binky settled on a small hillock.
'Er . . . right,'She didn't have to . . . do . . . all of them. Albert had tried to explain, but a memory had unfolded anyway. She just had to do some, determined by timing or historical importance, and that meant all the others happened; all she had to do was keep the momentum going.
'You got to be more assertive,' said the raven, who had alighted on a rock. 'That's the trouble with women in the professions. Not assertive enough.'
'Why'd you want to come here?' she said. said Susan. She pulled the scythe out of its holster. The blade sprang into life.It wasn't hard to spot the souls of the dead. They were coming off the battlefield arm in arm, friend and hitherto foe alike, laughing and stumbling, straight towards her.Susan dismounted. And concentrated.'Er,' she said, 'ANYONE HERE BEEN KILLED AND CALLED VOLF?'Behind her, the Death of Rats put its head in its paws.'Er. HELLO?'No‑one took any notice. The warriors trooped past. They were forming a line on the edge of the battlefield, and appeared to be waiting for something.

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Pseudopolis, sir.'
'But Pseudopolis always lost its wars!'
'Ah . . . well . . .'
'Who did you sell the weapons to?'
'That's a 'You sure, Nobby?' said Carrot. 'There's nothing you want to leave?'
'It's so hard to choose, sir.'
Detritus was hanging on to his huge bowslander, that is! They just used to spend a lot of time away for polishing and sharpening.''Nobby, this is Carrot talking to you. How much time, approximately?''Approximately? Oh. About a hundred per cent, if we're talking approximately, sir.''Nobby?''Sir?''You don't have to call me sir.''Yessir.'In the end, Cuddy remained faithful to his axe, but added a couple more as an afterthought; Sergeant Colon chose a pike because the thing about a pike, the important thing, was that everything happened at the other end of it, i.e., a long way off; Lance-Constable Angua selected, without much enthusiasm, a short sword, and Corporal Nobbs——Corporal Nobbs was a kind of mechanical porcu- pine of blades, bows, points and knobbly things on the end of chains.

Mark Rothko Green Red on Orange

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Carrot hammered the nail into the frame under the smashed pane to hold one end of the string. He stuck his knife in the groove and affixed the other end of the string to it. Then he lay down and sighted up the string.
'Good grief.' 'What is it?'
'It must have come a mass of sores. There were warts, and they had warts, and they had hair on. It was possibly female, but it was hard to tell under the layers and layers of rags. The aforementioned hair looked as though it had been permed by a hurricane. With treacle on its fingers.
Then it straightened up.
'Oh. Corporal Carrot. Didn't know it was you.'from the roof of the opera house.' 'Yes? So?''That's more than two hundred yards away.' 'Yes?''The . . . thing went an inch into an oak floor.''Did you know the girl . . . at all?' said Angua, and felt embarrassed at asking.'Not really.''I thought you knew everyone.''She was just someone I'd see around. The city's full of people who you just see around.''Why do beggars need servants?''You don't think my hair gets like this by itself, dear, do you?'There was an apparition in the doorway. Its face was

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'Shouldn't we be finding out who did it?' said Angua.
'Why?' said Nobby.
She opened and shut her mouth once or twice, and finally came out with: 'In case they do it again?'
'It wasn't an assassination, was it?' said Cuddy.
'No,' said Carrot. 'They always leave a note. By law.'
They looked at the drinks. They drank the drinks.
'What a city,' said Angua.
'It all works, that's the funny thing,' said Carrot. 'D'you know, when I first joined the Watch I was so simple I arrested the head of the Thieves' Guild for thieving?'
'Sounds good to me,' : it works. The whole thing. Guilds and organized crimes and everything. It all seems to work.'
'Didn't work for Mr Hammerhock,' said Sergeant Colon.
They looked at their drinks. Very slowly, like a mightsaid Angua.'Got into a bit of trouble for that,' said Carrot.'You see,' said Colon, 'thieves are organized here. I mean, it's official. They're allowed a certain amount of thieving. Not that they do much these days, mind you. If you pay them a little premium every year they give you a card and leave you alone. Saves time and effort all round.''And all thieves are members?' said Angua.'Oh, yes,' said Carrot. 'Can't go thieving in Ankh-Morpork without a Guild permit. Not unless you've got a special talent.''Why? What happens? What talent?' she said.'Well, like being able to survive being hung upside down from one of the gates with your ears nailed to your knees,' said Carrot.Then Angua said: 'That's terrible.''Yes, I know. But the thing is,' said Carrot, 'the thing is

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'Don't forget my twenty-five dollars,' he shouted.
'Aren't you going to chase the man?' said Angua, running to keep up.
'No point,' said Carrot, stepping sideways into an alley that was so narrow as to be barely visible. He strolled between the damp, moss-grown walls, in deep shadow.
'Interesting thing, and stuck out one arm into Zephire Street. There was a thud. Carrot's arm didn't move an inch. It must have been like running into a girder.
They looked down at the unconscious figure. Silver dollars rolled across the cobbles.
'Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,' said Carrot. 'Poor old Here'n'now. He promised me he was going to give it up, too. Oh well He picked up a leg.
'How much money?' he said.
'Looks like three dollars,' said Angua.,' he said. 'I bet there's not many people know that you can get to Zephire Street from Broad Way. You ask anyone. They'll say you can't get out of the other end of Shirt Alley. But you can because, all you do, you go up Mormius Street, and then you can squeeze between these bollards here into Borborygmic Lane – good, aren't they, very good iron – and here we are in Whilom Alley—'He wandered to the end of the alley and stood listening for a while.'What are we waiting for?' said Angua.There was the sound of running feet. Carrot leaned against the wall

Georges Seurat Le Chahut

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She looked like Magrat. Or, at least, like Magrat wished she looked and maybe as Verence always thought of her. Granny nodded. As one expert to another, she recognized accomplished nastiness when she saw it.
“And you’re going to face her like that,” she said.
“Certainly. Eventually. At the finish. But don’t feel sorry for her. She’s only going to die. Would you like me to show you what you might have been?”
“No.”
“I could do it .
Woods pressed in on either side. The elves would have to come this way There looked like hundreds of them and there was only one Magrat Garlick.
She knew there was such a thing as heroic odds. Songs and ballads and stories and poems were easily. There are other times than this. I could show you grandmother Weatherwax.”“No.”“It must be terrible, knowing that you have no friends. That no one will care when you die. That you never touched a heart.”“Yes.”“And I’m sure you think about it... in those long eveningswhen there’s no company but the ticking of the clock and thecoldness of the room and you open the box and look at—“The Queen waved a hand vaguely as Granny tried to break free.“Don’t kill her,” she said. “She is much more fun alive.”Magrat stuck the sword in the mud and hefted the battleaxe