Mark Rothko Green Red on OrangeMark Rothko Blue Green and Brown 1951Mark Rothko Blue Green and Brown
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
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Claude Monet Bridge over a Pool of Water Lilies
Claude Monet Bridge over a Pool of Water LiliesPiet Mondrian Composition with Red Blue Yellow 2Vincent van Gogh Field with PoppiesHenri Matisse Blue Nude II
'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
'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
Sunday, 26 April 2009
Paul Cezanne Mount Sainte Victoire
Paul Cezanne Mount Sainte VictoirePaul Cezanne Card PlayersLaurie Maitland fireWilliam Bouguereau Innocence
'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
'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
Friday, 24 April 2009
Georges Seurat Le Chahut
Georges Seurat Le ChahutWilliam Blake NebuchadnezzarWilliam Blake Jacob's LadderVincent van Gogh The Olive Trees
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
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
Wednesday, 22 April 2009
Johannes Vermeer girl with the pearl earring
Johannes Vermeer girl with the pearl earringDiane Romanello Autumn RoadGustav Klimt Apple Tree II
bubbling like a hot spring, she’d create a new pro-fession. One that with any luck didn’t involve men and med-dling old women.
And she’d bottle. “What did you say it’s called?” She peered at the label. “Chateau Maison? Chat-eau . . . that’s foreign for cat’s water, you know, but that’s only their way, I know it ain’t real cat’s water. Real cat’s water is sharper.” She hammered the cork into the bottle with the end of her knife, then stuck her finger over the neck and gave it a vigorous shaking “to mix the goodness in.”
“But I don’t hold with drinking it out of ladies’ boots,” she said. “I know it’s supposed to be the thing to dokeep that damn letter, just to remind her. All the time she’d wondered how Verence was able to have things arranged weeks before she got back, and it was as simple as this. How they must have laughed ...It occurred briefly to Nanny Ogg that she really should be somewhere else, but at her time of life invitations to inti-mate candlelit suppers were not a daily occurrence. There had to be a time when you stopped worrying about the rest of the world and cared a little for yourself. There had to be a time for a quiet, inner moment.“This is damn good wine,” she said, picking up another
bubbling like a hot spring, she’d create a new pro-fession. One that with any luck didn’t involve men and med-dling old women.
And she’d bottle. “What did you say it’s called?” She peered at the label. “Chateau Maison? Chat-eau . . . that’s foreign for cat’s water, you know, but that’s only their way, I know it ain’t real cat’s water. Real cat’s water is sharper.” She hammered the cork into the bottle with the end of her knife, then stuck her finger over the neck and gave it a vigorous shaking “to mix the goodness in.”
“But I don’t hold with drinking it out of ladies’ boots,” she said. “I know it’s supposed to be the thing to dokeep that damn letter, just to remind her. All the time she’d wondered how Verence was able to have things arranged weeks before she got back, and it was as simple as this. How they must have laughed ...It occurred briefly to Nanny Ogg that she really should be somewhere else, but at her time of life invitations to inti-mate candlelit suppers were not a daily occurrence. There had to be a time when you stopped worrying about the rest of the world and cared a little for yourself. There had to be a time for a quiet, inner moment.“This is damn good wine,” she said, picking up another
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Pop art nina on yellow
Pop art nina on yellowPop art miles on yellowPop art miles on orange
I’ll let you get on with it, then,” said Granny, turning away. “Can I have a word with you, your majesty? There’s something downstairs you ought to see.”
“I shall need some help,” said Magrat.
“Nanny’11 do it.”
“That’s me,” The chimney twists like a corkscrew. The roof is thatch so
old that small but flourishing trees are growing in it, the
floors are switchbacks, it creaks at night like a tea clipper in
a gale. If at least two walls aren’t shored up with balks of
timber then it’s not a true witch’s cottage at all, but merelysaid Nanny indistinctly, spraying crumbs.“What are you eating?”“Fried egg and ketchup sandwich,” said Nanny happily.“You better get the cook to boil you, too,” said Magrat, rolling up her sleeves. “Go and see her.” She looked at the wound. “And see if she’s got any mouldy bread ...”The basic unit of wizardry is the Order or the College or, of course, the University.The basic unit of witchcraft is the witch, but the basic continuous unit, as has already been indicated, is the cottage.A witch’s cottage is a very specific architectural item. It is not exactly built, but put together over the years as the areas of repair join up, like a sock made entirely of dams.
I’ll let you get on with it, then,” said Granny, turning away. “Can I have a word with you, your majesty? There’s something downstairs you ought to see.”
“I shall need some help,” said Magrat.
“Nanny’11 do it.”
“That’s me,” The chimney twists like a corkscrew. The roof is thatch so
old that small but flourishing trees are growing in it, the
floors are switchbacks, it creaks at night like a tea clipper in
a gale. If at least two walls aren’t shored up with balks of
timber then it’s not a true witch’s cottage at all, but merelysaid Nanny indistinctly, spraying crumbs.“What are you eating?”“Fried egg and ketchup sandwich,” said Nanny happily.“You better get the cook to boil you, too,” said Magrat, rolling up her sleeves. “Go and see her.” She looked at the wound. “And see if she’s got any mouldy bread ...”The basic unit of wizardry is the Order or the College or, of course, the University.The basic unit of witchcraft is the witch, but the basic continuous unit, as has already been indicated, is the cottage.A witch’s cottage is a very specific architectural item. It is not exactly built, but put together over the years as the areas of repair join up, like a sock made entirely of dams.
Monday, 20 April 2009
Camille Pissarro Pissarro Hyde Park
Camille Pissarro Pissarro Hyde ParkCamille Pissarro Jardin Mirbeau aux DampsJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida UNA INVESTIGACIoN
theyaaaagh—“
“I’ll just leave you to get on with it then, shall I?” said Magrat, as feathers filled the air.
Magrat had been gloomily unsurprised to learn that there was a precise class and gender distinction in falconry—
Verence, being king, was allowed a gyrfalcon, whatever the hell that was, any earls in the vicinity could fly a peregrineat the sight of
blood. And about twenty wowhawks could kill a pigeon, if it
was a sick pigeon. She’d spent an hour with one on her
LORQ6 fiNQ LftQf£6
wrist. It had wheezed at her, and eventually it had dozed off upside down.
But at least Hodgesaargh had a job to do. The castle was full of people doing jobs. Everyone had something useful to do except Magrat. She just had to exist. Of course, everyone would talk to her, provided , and priests were allowed sparrowhawks. Commoners were just about allowed a stick to throw. Magrat found herself wondering what Nanny Ogg would be allowed—a small chicken on a spring, probably.There was no specific falcon for a witch but, as a queen,the Lancre rules of falconry allowed her to fly the wowhawkor Lappet-faced Worrier. It was small and shortsighted andpreferred to walk everywhere. It fainted
theyaaaagh—“
“I’ll just leave you to get on with it then, shall I?” said Magrat, as feathers filled the air.
Magrat had been gloomily unsurprised to learn that there was a precise class and gender distinction in falconry—
Verence, being king, was allowed a gyrfalcon, whatever the hell that was, any earls in the vicinity could fly a peregrineat the sight of
blood. And about twenty wowhawks could kill a pigeon, if it
was a sick pigeon. She’d spent an hour with one on her
LORQ6 fiNQ LftQf£6
wrist. It had wheezed at her, and eventually it had dozed off upside down.
But at least Hodgesaargh had a job to do. The castle was full of people doing jobs. Everyone had something useful to do except Magrat. She just had to exist. Of course, everyone would talk to her, provided , and priests were allowed sparrowhawks. Commoners were just about allowed a stick to throw. Magrat found herself wondering what Nanny Ogg would be allowed—a small chicken on a spring, probably.There was no specific falcon for a witch but, as a queen,the Lancre rules of falconry allowed her to fly the wowhawkor Lappet-faced Worrier. It was small and shortsighted andpreferred to walk everywhere. It fainted
Friday, 17 April 2009
Cao Yong TWILIGHT BY THE FOUNTAIN
Cao Yong TWILIGHT BY THE FOUNTAINCao Yong TRANSAMERICA PYRAMIDCao Yong THE VISION BEYOND
you want to bet the rest of your life? Isn’t this what you wanted anyway? Isn’t it what you came here hoping for? Really?
Verence was looking at her with some concern.
“Is it the witching?” he said. “You don’t have to give that up entirely, of course. I’ve got a great respect for witches.
And you can be a witch queen, although I think that means
you have to wear rather revealing clothes and keep cats and
20“Good. That’s all sorted out, then. I think that just about covers everything, don’t you?”
“Um—“
Verence rubbed his hands together.
“We’re doing some marvellous things with legumes,” he said, as if he hadn’t just completely rearranged Magrat’s life without consulting her. “Beans, peas . . . you know. Nitrogen fixers. And marl and lime, LOR08 ft^O LfiDIEQgive people poisoned apples. I read that somewhere. The witching’s a problem, is it?”“No,” Magrat mumbled, “it’s not that... um ... did you mention a crown?”“You’ve got to have a crown,” said Verence. “Queens do.I looked it up.”Her brain cut in again. Queen Magrat, it suggested. It held up the mirror of the imagination . . .“You’re not upset, are you?” said Verence.“What? Oh. No. Me? No.”
you want to bet the rest of your life? Isn’t this what you wanted anyway? Isn’t it what you came here hoping for? Really?
Verence was looking at her with some concern.
“Is it the witching?” he said. “You don’t have to give that up entirely, of course. I’ve got a great respect for witches.
And you can be a witch queen, although I think that means
you have to wear rather revealing clothes and keep cats and
20“Good. That’s all sorted out, then. I think that just about covers everything, don’t you?”
“Um—“
Verence rubbed his hands together.
“We’re doing some marvellous things with legumes,” he said, as if he hadn’t just completely rearranged Magrat’s life without consulting her. “Beans, peas . . . you know. Nitrogen fixers. And marl and lime, LOR08 ft^O LfiDIEQgive people poisoned apples. I read that somewhere. The witching’s a problem, is it?”“No,” Magrat mumbled, “it’s not that... um ... did you mention a crown?”“You’ve got to have a crown,” said Verence. “Queens do.I looked it up.”Her brain cut in again. Queen Magrat, it suggested. It held up the mirror of the imagination . . .“You’re not upset, are you?” said Verence.“What? Oh. No. Me? No.”
Thursday, 16 April 2009
Francisco de Zurbaran The Immaculate Conception
Francisco de Zurbaran The Immaculate ConceptionArthur Hughes La Belle Dame Sans MerciArthur Hughes Ophelia
small hill . . .
. . . a tiny moving dome, ridiculously exposed . . .
No sound but the rush of wind through feathers as the eagle pulls in its wings and drops like an arrow, the world spinning around the little moving shape that is the focus of all the eagle's attention.
Closer and . . .
. . . talons down . . .
. . . grip . . .
. . . and rise . . .
"Not this one, friend," he said.
The world spun under Om as the eagle sought for shellcracking height, and his mind was besieged by the tortoise's existential dread of being off the ground. And Brutha's thoughts, bright and clear this close to death . . .
I'm on my back and getting hotter and I'm going to die . . .Brutha opened his eyes.His back was merely agonizing. He'd long ago got used to switching off pain.But he was spread-eagled on a surface, his arms and legs chained to something he couldn't see. Sky above. The towering frontage of the temple to one side.By turning his head a little he could see the silent crowd. And the brown metal of the iron turtle. He could smell smoke.Someone was just tightening the shackles on his hand. Brutha looked over at the inquisitor. Now, what was it he had to say? Oh, yes."The Turtle Moves?" he mumbled.The man sighed.
small hill . . .
. . . a tiny moving dome, ridiculously exposed . . .
No sound but the rush of wind through feathers as the eagle pulls in its wings and drops like an arrow, the world spinning around the little moving shape that is the focus of all the eagle's attention.
Closer and . . .
. . . talons down . . .
. . . grip . . .
. . . and rise . . .
"Not this one, friend," he said.
The world spun under Om as the eagle sought for shellcracking height, and his mind was besieged by the tortoise's existential dread of being off the ground. And Brutha's thoughts, bright and clear this close to death . . .
I'm on my back and getting hotter and I'm going to die . . .Brutha opened his eyes.His back was merely agonizing. He'd long ago got used to switching off pain.But he was spread-eagled on a surface, his arms and legs chained to something he couldn't see. Sky above. The towering frontage of the temple to one side.By turning his head a little he could see the silent crowd. And the brown metal of the iron turtle. He could smell smoke.Someone was just tightening the shackles on his hand. Brutha looked over at the inquisitor. Now, what was it he had to say? Oh, yes."The Turtle Moves?" he mumbled.The man sighed.
Wednesday, 15 April 2009
Marc Chagall The Birthday
Marc Chagall The BirthdayMarc Chagall RainMarc Chagall Blue LoversMarc Chagall The Concert
Then his jaw moved a fraction, as if he was rehearsing some words under his breath.
"You deny it?" he said.
"Let it be a sphere," said Didactylos. "No problem with a sphere. No doubt special arrangements are made for everything to "This is how an Ephebian philosopher behaves?" he said.
Didactylos shrugged again. "It is how any true philosopher behaves," he said. "One must always be ready to embrace new ideas, take account of new proofs. Don't you agree? And you have brought us many new points"-a gesture seemed to take in, quite by accident, the Omnian bowmen around the room-"for me to ponder. I can always be swayed by powerful stay on. And the Sun can be another larger sphere, a long way off. Would you like the Moon to orbit the world or the Sun? I advise the world. More hierarchical, and a splendid example to us all."Brutha was seeing something he'd never seen before. Vorbis was looking bewildered."But you wrote . . . you said the world is on the back of a giant turtle! You gave the turtle a name!"Didactylos shrugged. "Now I know better," he said. "Who ever heard of a turtle ten thousand miles long? Swimming through the emptiness of space? Hah. For stupidity! I am embarrassed to think of it now."Vorbis shut his mouth. Then he opened it again.
Then his jaw moved a fraction, as if he was rehearsing some words under his breath.
"You deny it?" he said.
"Let it be a sphere," said Didactylos. "No problem with a sphere. No doubt special arrangements are made for everything to "This is how an Ephebian philosopher behaves?" he said.
Didactylos shrugged again. "It is how any true philosopher behaves," he said. "One must always be ready to embrace new ideas, take account of new proofs. Don't you agree? And you have brought us many new points"-a gesture seemed to take in, quite by accident, the Omnian bowmen around the room-"for me to ponder. I can always be swayed by powerful stay on. And the Sun can be another larger sphere, a long way off. Would you like the Moon to orbit the world or the Sun? I advise the world. More hierarchical, and a splendid example to us all."Brutha was seeing something he'd never seen before. Vorbis was looking bewildered."But you wrote . . . you said the world is on the back of a giant turtle! You gave the turtle a name!"Didactylos shrugged. "Now I know better," he said. "Who ever heard of a turtle ten thousand miles long? Swimming through the emptiness of space? Hah. For stupidity! I am embarrassed to think of it now."Vorbis shut his mouth. Then he opened it again.
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
Salvador Dali Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a Pomegranate
Salvador Dali Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a PomegranateSalvador Dali BacchanaleSalvador Dali AscensionPhilip Craig Boboli Gardens - Florence
halfway to the midden, but Om didn't say so. Not now.
"Right," he mumbled.
There a god. How far away from Brutha would he still remember? A mile? Ten miles? How would it be . . . feeling the knowledge drain away, dwindling back to nothing but a lowly reptile? Maybe there would be a part of him that would always remember, helplessly . . .
He shuddered.
Currently Om was in a wickerwork box slung from Brutha's shoulder. It wouldn't have been comfortable at the best of times, but now it shook occasionally as Brutha stamped his feet in the pre-dawn chill.must be others, he told himself. Sure. Out in the country. This place is too sophisticated. But . . . there had been all those pilgrims in front of the Temple. They weren't just country people, they were the devoutest ones. Whole villages clubbed together to send one person carrying the petitions of many. But there hadn't been the flame. There had been fear, and dread, and yearning, and hope. All those emotions had their flavor. But there hadn't been the flame.The eagle had dropped him near Brutha. He'd . . . woken up. He could dimly remember all that time as a tortoise. And now he remembered being
halfway to the midden, but Om didn't say so. Not now.
"Right," he mumbled.
There a god. How far away from Brutha would he still remember? A mile? Ten miles? How would it be . . . feeling the knowledge drain away, dwindling back to nothing but a lowly reptile? Maybe there would be a part of him that would always remember, helplessly . . .
He shuddered.
Currently Om was in a wickerwork box slung from Brutha's shoulder. It wouldn't have been comfortable at the best of times, but now it shook occasionally as Brutha stamped his feet in the pre-dawn chill.must be others, he told himself. Sure. Out in the country. This place is too sophisticated. But . . . there had been all those pilgrims in front of the Temple. They weren't just country people, they were the devoutest ones. Whole villages clubbed together to send one person carrying the petitions of many. But there hadn't been the flame. There had been fear, and dread, and yearning, and hope. All those emotions had their flavor. But there hadn't been the flame.The eagle had dropped him near Brutha. He'd . . . woken up. He could dimly remember all that time as a tortoise. And now he remembered being
Monday, 13 April 2009
Tamara de Lempicka Andromeda
Tamara de Lempicka AndromedaTamara de Lempicka Adam and EveWassily Kandinsky Squares with ConcentricPierre-Auguste Cot Springtime
They say Fri'it's going," said Dhblah. "And-that other one. The éminence grease."
"Deacon Vorbis is a very nice person," said Brutha. "He has been very kind to me. He gave me a drink."
"What of? Never mind," said Dhblah. "Of course, I wouldn't say a word against him, myself," he added quickly.
"Why are you talking to this stupid person?" Om demanded.
"He's a . . . But that was because a moment's reflection was the biggest sin of all. People allowed to be by themselves overmuch might indulge in solitary cogitation. It was well known that this stunted your growth. For one thing, it could lead to your feet being chopped off.
So Brutha had to retire to the garden, with his God screaming at him from the pocket of his robe, where it was being jostled by a ball of garden twine, a pair of shears, and some loose seeds.
Finally he was fished out.friend of mine," said Brutha."I wish he was a friend of mine," said Dhblah. "Friends like that, you never have enemies. Can I press you to a candied sultana? Onna stick?" There were twenty-three other novices in Brutha's dormitory, on the principle that sleeping alone promoted sin. This always puzzled the novices themselves, since a moment's reflection would suggest that there were whole ranges of sins only available in company.
"Look, I didn't have a chance to tell you," said Brutha. "I've been chosen to go on a very important
They say Fri'it's going," said Dhblah. "And-that other one. The éminence grease."
"Deacon Vorbis is a very nice person," said Brutha. "He has been very kind to me. He gave me a drink."
"What of? Never mind," said Dhblah. "Of course, I wouldn't say a word against him, myself," he added quickly.
"Why are you talking to this stupid person?" Om demanded.
"He's a . . . But that was because a moment's reflection was the biggest sin of all. People allowed to be by themselves overmuch might indulge in solitary cogitation. It was well known that this stunted your growth. For one thing, it could lead to your feet being chopped off.
So Brutha had to retire to the garden, with his God screaming at him from the pocket of his robe, where it was being jostled by a ball of garden twine, a pair of shears, and some loose seeds.
Finally he was fished out.friend of mine," said Brutha."I wish he was a friend of mine," said Dhblah. "Friends like that, you never have enemies. Can I press you to a candied sultana? Onna stick?" There were twenty-three other novices in Brutha's dormitory, on the principle that sleeping alone promoted sin. This always puzzled the novices themselves, since a moment's reflection would suggest that there were whole ranges of sins only available in company.
"Look, I didn't have a chance to tell you," said Brutha. "I've been chosen to go on a very important
Wassily Kandinsky Squares with Concentric
Wassily Kandinsky Squares with ConcentricPierre-Auguste Cot SpringtimeThomas Cole Kaaterskill Falls
wheedling and persuasive voices, yes? Voices that are always waiting to catch us off our guard?"
Brutha relaxed. This was more familiar ground.
All theknow everything.
The Citadel occupied the whole of the heart of the city of Kom, in the lands between the deserts of Klatch and the plains and jungles of Howondaland. It extended for miles, its temples, churches, schools, dormitories, gardens, and towers growing into and around one another in a way that suggested a million termites all trying to build their mounds at the same time. novices knew about those kinds of voices. Except that usually they talked about fairly straightforward things, like the pleasures of night-time manipulation and the general desirability of girls. Which showed that they were novices when it came to voices. Brother Nhumrod got the kind of voices that were, by comparison, a full oratorio. Some of the bolder novices liked to get Brother Nhumrod talking on the subject of voices. He was an education, they said. Especially when little bits of white spit appeared at the corners of his mouth.Brutha listened. Brother Nhumrod was the novice master, but he wasn't the novice master. He was only master of the group that included Brutha. There were others. Possibly someone in the Citadel knew how many there were. There was someone somewhere whose job it was to
wheedling and persuasive voices, yes? Voices that are always waiting to catch us off our guard?"
Brutha relaxed. This was more familiar ground.
All theknow everything.
The Citadel occupied the whole of the heart of the city of Kom, in the lands between the deserts of Klatch and the plains and jungles of Howondaland. It extended for miles, its temples, churches, schools, dormitories, gardens, and towers growing into and around one another in a way that suggested a million termites all trying to build their mounds at the same time. novices knew about those kinds of voices. Except that usually they talked about fairly straightforward things, like the pleasures of night-time manipulation and the general desirability of girls. Which showed that they were novices when it came to voices. Brother Nhumrod got the kind of voices that were, by comparison, a full oratorio. Some of the bolder novices liked to get Brother Nhumrod talking on the subject of voices. He was an education, they said. Especially when little bits of white spit appeared at the corners of his mouth.Brutha listened. Brother Nhumrod was the novice master, but he wasn't the novice master. He was only master of the group that included Brutha. There were others. Possibly someone in the Citadel knew how many there were. There was someone somewhere whose job it was to
Friday, 10 April 2009
Salvador Dali Portrait of the Cellist Ricard Pichot
Salvador Dali Portrait of the Cellist Ricard PichotSalvador Dali Figure on the RocksSalvador Dali Dali Nude in Contemplation Before the Five Regular Bodies
creature took the lamp out of Nijel's unresisting grasp.
'Oh, this old thing,' he said. 'I'm on time share. Two weeks every August but, of course, usually one can never get away.'
'Got a lot of lamps, have you?' said Nijel.
'I am of one second.
'We want you to take us across the sea to Ankh-Morpork,' said Conina firmly.
The genie looked blank. Then he pulled a very thick book[21] from the empty air and consulted it.
'It sounds a really neat concept,' he said eventually. 'Let's do lunch next Tuesday, okay?'
'Do what?'
'I'm a little energetic right now.'
'You're a little-?' Conina began.somewhat over-committed on lamps,' the genie agreed. 'In fact I am thinking of diversifying into rings. Rings are looking big at the moment. There's a lot of movement in rings. Sorry, people; what can I do you for?’ The last phrase was turned in that special voice which people use for humorous self-parody, in the mistaken hope that it will make them sound less like a prat.'We-’ Conina began.'I want a drink,' snapped Creosote. 'And you are supposed to say that my wish is your command.''Oh, absolutely no-one says that sort of thing any more,' said the genie, and produced a glass out of nowhere. He treated Creosote to a brilliant smile lasting a small percentage
creature took the lamp out of Nijel's unresisting grasp.
'Oh, this old thing,' he said. 'I'm on time share. Two weeks every August but, of course, usually one can never get away.'
'Got a lot of lamps, have you?' said Nijel.
'I am of one second.
'We want you to take us across the sea to Ankh-Morpork,' said Conina firmly.
The genie looked blank. Then he pulled a very thick book[21] from the empty air and consulted it.
'It sounds a really neat concept,' he said eventually. 'Let's do lunch next Tuesday, okay?'
'Do what?'
'I'm a little energetic right now.'
'You're a little-?' Conina began.somewhat over-committed on lamps,' the genie agreed. 'In fact I am thinking of diversifying into rings. Rings are looking big at the moment. There's a lot of movement in rings. Sorry, people; what can I do you for?’ The last phrase was turned in that special voice which people use for humorous self-parody, in the mistaken hope that it will make them sound less like a prat.'We-’ Conina began.'I want a drink,' snapped Creosote. 'And you are supposed to say that my wish is your command.''Oh, absolutely no-one says that sort of thing any more,' said the genie, and produced a glass out of nowhere. He treated Creosote to a brilliant smile lasting a small percentage
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
Edward Hopper Railroad Train
Edward Hopper Railroad TrainEdward Hopper New York OfficeEdward Hopper Morning in a City
look,' said Rincewind, scrambling along after her as she swept down the alleys, crossed a narrow street and entered another alley between a couple of houses that leaned together so drunkenly that their upper storeys actually touched. She stopped.
'Well?' she snapped.
'You're the, thieves, assassins, pickpockets, cutpurses, reevers, snigsmen, rapists and robbers,' he said. 'That's the Shades you're going into!'[8]
'Yes, but people won't come looking for us in here,' she said.
'Oh, they'll come in all right, they just won't come out,' said Rincewind. 'Nor will we. I mean, a beautiful young woman like you ... it doesn't bear thinking about ... I mean, some of the people in there ...' mystery thief, aren't you?' he said, 'Everyone's been talking about you, how you've taken things even from locked rooms and everything. You're different than I imagined...''Oh?' she said coldly. 'How?''Well, you're ... shorter.''Oh, come on.'The street cressets, not particularly common in this part of the city in any case, gave out altogether here. There was nothing but watchful darkness ahead.'I said come on,' she repeated. 'What are you afraid of?'Rincewind took a deep breath. 'Murderers, muggers
look,' said Rincewind, scrambling along after her as she swept down the alleys, crossed a narrow street and entered another alley between a couple of houses that leaned together so drunkenly that their upper storeys actually touched. She stopped.
'Well?' she snapped.
'You're the, thieves, assassins, pickpockets, cutpurses, reevers, snigsmen, rapists and robbers,' he said. 'That's the Shades you're going into!'[8]
'Yes, but people won't come looking for us in here,' she said.
'Oh, they'll come in all right, they just won't come out,' said Rincewind. 'Nor will we. I mean, a beautiful young woman like you ... it doesn't bear thinking about ... I mean, some of the people in there ...' mystery thief, aren't you?' he said, 'Everyone's been talking about you, how you've taken things even from locked rooms and everything. You're different than I imagined...''Oh?' she said coldly. 'How?''Well, you're ... shorter.''Oh, come on.'The street cressets, not particularly common in this part of the city in any case, gave out altogether here. There was nothing but watchful darkness ahead.'I said come on,' she repeated. 'What are you afraid of?'Rincewind took a deep breath. 'Murderers, muggers
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
Edward Hopper Queensborough Bridge
Edward Hopper Queensborough BridgeEdward Hopper House by the RailroadAmedeo Modigliani the Seated Nude
shopkeeper was left a little adrift by this sudden turning of the tide of conversation. She swam towards a reliable cliche. ‘Well, they do say, don’t they, that diamonds are a girl’s best friend?’ she said brightly.
DIAMONDS? mine. May I draw your attention to the exquisite -‘ He felt the penetrating stare drill through the back of his head. ‘But not, I must admit, noted for its friendliness,’ he said lamely. The dark customer looked disapprovingly around the shop. In the gloom, behind troll-proof bars, gems glowed like the eyes of dragons in the back of a cave.
OH. DIAMONDS. IS THAT SO?They glittered like bits of starlight on a black velvet sky. ‘This one.’ said the merchant, ‘is a particularly excellent stone, don’t you think? Note the fire, the exceptional -‘ HOW FRIENDLY IS IT?The merchant hesitated. He knew about carats, about adamantine lustre, about “water” and “make” and “fire”, but he’d never before been called upon to judge gems in terms of general affability.‘Quite well-disposed?’ he hazarded.NO.The merchant’s fingers seized on another splinter of frozen light. ‘Now this,’ he said, confidence flowing back into his voice, ‘is from the famous Shortshanks
shopkeeper was left a little adrift by this sudden turning of the tide of conversation. She swam towards a reliable cliche. ‘Well, they do say, don’t they, that diamonds are a girl’s best friend?’ she said brightly.
DIAMONDS? mine. May I draw your attention to the exquisite -‘ He felt the penetrating stare drill through the back of his head. ‘But not, I must admit, noted for its friendliness,’ he said lamely. The dark customer looked disapprovingly around the shop. In the gloom, behind troll-proof bars, gems glowed like the eyes of dragons in the back of a cave.
OH. DIAMONDS. IS THAT SO?They glittered like bits of starlight on a black velvet sky. ‘This one.’ said the merchant, ‘is a particularly excellent stone, don’t you think? Note the fire, the exceptional -‘ HOW FRIENDLY IS IT?The merchant hesitated. He knew about carats, about adamantine lustre, about “water” and “make” and “fire”, but he’d never before been called upon to judge gems in terms of general affability.‘Quite well-disposed?’ he hazarded.NO.The merchant’s fingers seized on another splinter of frozen light. ‘Now this,’ he said, confidence flowing back into his voice, ‘is from the famous Shortshanks
Monday, 6 April 2009
Juan Gris Man in the Cafe
Juan Gris Man in the CafeJuan Gris Landscape with Houses at CeretGeorge Bellows Club Night
Never known a night like it,’ Miss Flitworth said. There was another crack of thunder. Sheet lightning fluttered around the horizon.
Miss Flitworth clutched Bill Door’s arm.
‘Isn’t that . . . a . POSING. I NEVER DID ANYTHING LIKE THAT. WHY DO ANYTHING LIKE THAT? WHAT PURPOSE DOES IT SERVE?
He opened his palm. The gold timer appeared.
‘How much longer have you got?’
PERHAPS AN HOUR. PERHAPS MINUTES.
‘Come on, then!’
Bill Door remained where he was, looking at the timer.figure on the hill?’ she said. ‘Thought I saw a...shape.’NO, IT’S MERELY A MECHANICAL CONTRIVANCE.There was another flash.‘On a horse?’ said Miss Flitworth.A third sheet seared across the sky. And this time there was no doubt about it. There was a mounted figure on the nearest hilltop. Hooded. Holding a scythe as proudly as a lance.POSING. Bill Door turned towards Miss Flitworth
Never known a night like it,’ Miss Flitworth said. There was another crack of thunder. Sheet lightning fluttered around the horizon.
Miss Flitworth clutched Bill Door’s arm.
‘Isn’t that . . . a . POSING. I NEVER DID ANYTHING LIKE THAT. WHY DO ANYTHING LIKE THAT? WHAT PURPOSE DOES IT SERVE?
He opened his palm. The gold timer appeared.
‘How much longer have you got?’
PERHAPS AN HOUR. PERHAPS MINUTES.
‘Come on, then!’
Bill Door remained where he was, looking at the timer.figure on the hill?’ she said. ‘Thought I saw a...shape.’NO, IT’S MERELY A MECHANICAL CONTRIVANCE.There was another flash.‘On a horse?’ said Miss Flitworth.A third sheet seared across the sky. And this time there was no doubt about it. There was a mounted figure on the nearest hilltop. Hooded. Holding a scythe as proudly as a lance.POSING. Bill Door turned towards Miss Flitworth
Friday, 3 April 2009
Gustav Klimt Portrait of Adele Bloch (gold foil)
Gustav Klimt Portrait of Adele Bloch (gold foil)Gustav Klimt Judith II (gold foil)Gustav Klimt Hygieia (II)
You sure you know what you want?’ he said.
Bill Door solemnly repeated his request. down ??? Simnel shrugged.’Well, I suppose I could melt it and burn the handle,’ he said.
YES.
‘Well, OK. It’s your scythe. And you’re basically right, of course. This is old technology now. Redundant.’
I FEAR YOU MAY BE RIGHT.
Simnel jerked foolhardy thing Simnel would ever do.
‘I’m sure you know your own mind best,’ he mumbled.
YES.
‘Then it’ll just be, oh, call it a farthing for the scythe,’ Simnel gabbled. ‘Sorry about that. but it’a grimy thumb towards the Combination Harvester. Bill Door knew it was made only of metal and canvas, and therefore couldn’t possibly lurk. But it was lurking. Moreover, it was doing so with a chilling, metallic smugness.‘You could get Miss Flitworth to buy you one of these, Mr Door. It’d be just the job for a one-man farm like that. I can see you now, up there, up in the breeze, with the belts clacking away and the sparge arms oscillating -‘ NO.‘Go on. She could afford it. They say she’s got boxes full of treasure from the old days.’ NO!‘Er -‘ Simnel hesitated. The last ‘No’ contained a threat more certain than the creak of thin ice on a deep river. It said that going any further could be the most ll use a lot of coals, you see, and those dwarfs keep winding up the price of -‘ HERE. IT MUST BE DONE
You sure you know what you want?’ he said.
Bill Door solemnly repeated his request. down ??? Simnel shrugged.’Well, I suppose I could melt it and burn the handle,’ he said.
YES.
‘Well, OK. It’s your scythe. And you’re basically right, of course. This is old technology now. Redundant.’
I FEAR YOU MAY BE RIGHT.
Simnel jerked foolhardy thing Simnel would ever do.
‘I’m sure you know your own mind best,’ he mumbled.
YES.
‘Then it’ll just be, oh, call it a farthing for the scythe,’ Simnel gabbled. ‘Sorry about that. but it’a grimy thumb towards the Combination Harvester. Bill Door knew it was made only of metal and canvas, and therefore couldn’t possibly lurk. But it was lurking. Moreover, it was doing so with a chilling, metallic smugness.‘You could get Miss Flitworth to buy you one of these, Mr Door. It’d be just the job for a one-man farm like that. I can see you now, up there, up in the breeze, with the belts clacking away and the sparge arms oscillating -‘ NO.‘Go on. She could afford it. They say she’s got boxes full of treasure from the old days.’ NO!‘Er -‘ Simnel hesitated. The last ‘No’ contained a threat more certain than the creak of thin ice on a deep river. It said that going any further could be the most ll use a lot of coals, you see, and those dwarfs keep winding up the price of -‘ HERE. IT MUST BE DONE
Thursday, 2 April 2009
Marc Chagall Adam and Eve
Marc Chagall Adam and EveMarc Chagall La MarieePaul Gauguin Yellow Christ
hay meadow was high on the hill behind the farm, overlooking the cornfield. She watched him for a while.
It was the most interesting technique she had ever witnessed. She wouldn’t even have thought that it was technically possible. Eventually she said: ‘It’s good. You’ve got the swing and everything.’
THANK YOU, MISS FLITWORTH.
‘But why one blade of grass at a time?’
Bill Door regarded the neat row of stalks for some while.
Miss Flitworth left him to it and went back to the farm-house. She stood at the kitchen window and watched the distant dark figure for a while, as it moved over the hillside.
I wonder what he did? she thought. He’s got a Past. He’s one of them Men THERE IS ANOTHER WAY?‘You can do lots in one go, you know.’NO. NO. ONE BLADE AT A TIME. ONE TIME, ONE BLADE.‘You won’t cut many that way,’ said Miss Flitworth.EVERY LAST ONE, MISS FLITWORTH.‘Yes?’TRUST ME ON THIS
hay meadow was high on the hill behind the farm, overlooking the cornfield. She watched him for a while.
It was the most interesting technique she had ever witnessed. She wouldn’t even have thought that it was technically possible. Eventually she said: ‘It’s good. You’ve got the swing and everything.’
THANK YOU, MISS FLITWORTH.
‘But why one blade of grass at a time?’
Bill Door regarded the neat row of stalks for some while.
Miss Flitworth left him to it and went back to the farm-house. She stood at the kitchen window and watched the distant dark figure for a while, as it moved over the hillside.
I wonder what he did? she thought. He’s got a Past. He’s one of them Men THERE IS ANOTHER WAY?‘You can do lots in one go, you know.’NO. NO. ONE BLADE AT A TIME. ONE TIME, ONE BLADE.‘You won’t cut many that way,’ said Miss Flitworth.EVERY LAST ONE, MISS FLITWORTH.‘Yes?’TRUST ME ON THIS
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
Cao Yong Freedom
Cao Yong FreedomCao Yong Day of LoveCao Yong cao yong Red UmbrellaDiego Rivera View of ToledoDiego Rivera Motherhood Angelina and the Child Diego
It’s quite all right, ‘ said Windle.
‘I’m not actually sure I can hammer -‘
‘I don’t mind, I assure you, ‘ said Windle.
‘You don’t?’
‘The principle is sound,’ said Windle.’If you just hand me the celery but think hammering a stake, that’s probably sufficient.’ ‘That’s very decent of you,’ said Ridcully.’That shows a very proper spirit.’
‘Esprit de corpse,’ said the Senior Wrangler.
Ridcully being resumed. He could even hear muffled voices. He banged on the coffin lid.
‘Can you beep it down?’ he demanded.’There’s people down here trying to be dead!’
He heard the voices stop. There was the sound of feet hurrying away. Windle lay there for some time. He didn’t know how long. He tried stopping all functions, but that just made things uncomfortable. Why glared at him, and thrust the celery dramatically towards Windle.‘Take that!’ he said.‘Thank you,’ said Windle.‘And now let’s put the lid on and go and have some lunch,’ said Ridcully.’Don’t worry, Windle. It’s bound to work. Today is the last day of the rest of your life.’Windle lay in the darkness, listening to the hammering. There was a thump and a muffled imprecation against the Dean for not holding the end properly.And then the patter of soil on the lid, getting fainter and more distant. After a while a distant rumbling suggested that the commerce of the city was
It’s quite all right, ‘ said Windle.
‘I’m not actually sure I can hammer -‘
‘I don’t mind, I assure you, ‘ said Windle.
‘You don’t?’
‘The principle is sound,’ said Windle.’If you just hand me the celery but think hammering a stake, that’s probably sufficient.’ ‘That’s very decent of you,’ said Ridcully.’That shows a very proper spirit.’
‘Esprit de corpse,’ said the Senior Wrangler.
Ridcully being resumed. He could even hear muffled voices. He banged on the coffin lid.
‘Can you beep it down?’ he demanded.’There’s people down here trying to be dead!’
He heard the voices stop. There was the sound of feet hurrying away. Windle lay there for some time. He didn’t know how long. He tried stopping all functions, but that just made things uncomfortable. Why glared at him, and thrust the celery dramatically towards Windle.‘Take that!’ he said.‘Thank you,’ said Windle.‘And now let’s put the lid on and go and have some lunch,’ said Ridcully.’Don’t worry, Windle. It’s bound to work. Today is the last day of the rest of your life.’Windle lay in the darkness, listening to the hammering. There was a thump and a muffled imprecation against the Dean for not holding the end properly.And then the patter of soil on the lid, getting fainter and more distant. After a while a distant rumbling suggested that the commerce of the city was
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