Jack Vettriano Cleo and the Boys II

Jack Vettriano Cleo and the Boys IIJack Vettriano Candy and Mr SmithJack Vettriano Cafe Days
'Dere's dat word again,' said Cliff. 'The Musicians' Guild'll be right on our necks.'
'Not this place,' said Dibbler. 'Guaranteed.'
'Where is it, then?' said Glod.
'Are you ready for this?'
They blinked at him. Dibbler beamed, and blew a cloud of greasy smoke.
'The Cavern!'
The beat went on . . .
Of course, there are bound to be a few mutations . . .
Gortlick and sat either side of an anvil and wrote popular songs to mine along to.
'Gort?'
'What?'
'What do you think of this one?'
Hammerjug cleared his throat.
'I'm mean and turf and I'm mean and turf andHammerjug were songwriters, and fully paid‑up members of the Guild. They wrote dwarf songs for all occasions.Some people say this is not hard to do so long as you can remember how to spell 'Gold', but this is a little bit cynical. Many dwarf on the lines of 'Gold, gold, gold' but it's all in the inflexion; dwarfs have thousands of words for 'gold' but will use any of them in an emergency, such as when they see some gold that doesn't belong to them.They had a small office in Tin Lid Alley, where they

Jack Vettriano The Road to Nowhere

Jack Vettriano The Road to NowhereJack Vettriano The Remains of LoveJack Vettriano The Red Room
crepe,' said the Dean. 'It's got a little pointy thingy over the–'
Ridcully breathed heavily. 'When your boots change by themselves–' he growled.
'There's magic.
'What's this?' he said.
'Four‑four time?' said the Dean.
'Music ain't magic,' said Ridcully. 'Don't be daft. Music's just twanging and banging and–’
He stopped.
'Has anyone got anything they should be telling me?' afoot?''Haha, good one, Senior Wrangler,' said the Dean.'I want to know what's going on,' said Ridcully, in a low and level voice, 'and if you don't all shut up there will be trouble.'He reached into the pockets of his robe and, after a few false starts, produced a pocket thaumometer. He held it up. There was always a high level of background magic in the University, but the little needle was on the 'Normal' mark. On average, anyway. It was ticking backwards and forwards across it like a metronome.Ridcully held it up so they could all see

Alphonse Maria Mucha Spring

Alphonse Maria Mucha SpringAlphonse Maria Mucha JOBAlphonse Maria Mucha GismondaPierre Auguste Renoir The Umbrellas
lot of knowledge is a dangerous thing ' said the skull. 'A lot more dangerous than just a little. I always used to say that, when I was the power of belief, or at least about the power of belief in a combination of high magical potential and low reality stability such as existed on the Discworld.
Belief makes a hollow place. Something has to roll in to fill it.
Which is not to say that belief denies logic. For example, it's fairly obvious that the Sandman needs only a small sack.
On the Discworld, he doesn't bother to take the sand out first.
It was almost midnight.
Susan crept into the stables. She was one of those people who will not leave alive.''When was that, exactly?''Can't remember. I think I was pretty knowledgeable. Probably a teacher or philosopher, something of that kidney. And now I'm on a bench with a bird crapping on my head.''Very allegorical,' said the raven.No‑one had taught Susan about

Edward Hopper Night Windows

Edward Hopper Night WindowsEdward Hopper Lighthouse HillEdward Hopper Hotel RoomEdward Hopper Hotel Lobby
more interest in these things, he'd realized the role people seemed to think that colour played in concepts like, for example, roses. But he'd made them black. He liked black. It went with anything. It went with everything, sooner or later.
The humans he'd SORRY. I WAS THINKING. WHAT WAS IT YOU SAID?
'Camomile tea?'
I THOUGHT THAT WAS A KIND OF SOAP.
'You can put it in soap or tea, sir,' said Albert. He was worried. He was known ‑ and there had been a few ‑ had responded to the impossible size of the rooms in a strange way, by simply ignoring them.Take Albert, now. The big door had opened, Albert had stepped through, carefully balancing a cup and saucer . . .. . . and a moment later had been well inside the room, on the edge of the relatively small square of carpet that surrounded Death's desk. Death gave up wondering how Albert covered the intervening space when it dawned on him that, to his servant, there was no intervening space . . .'I've brought you some camomile tea, sir,' said Albert.HMM?'Sir?'

Jean Beraud The Theatre des Varietes

Jean Beraud The Theatre des VarietesJean Beraud Symphony in Red and GoldJean Beraud Pont des artsJean Beraud Leaving La Madeleine Paris
they chase us if we sneak off now?' she said.
'Don't think so. Meeting's over, see?'
'Come on, then.'even have a word for wolves! It's not like that. Names are human things.'
'Dogs have got names. I've got a name. Gaspode. 'S'my name,' said Gaspode, a shade sullenly.
'Well . . . I can't explain why,' said Angua. 'But wolves don't have names.'They sauntered into an alley and, when they were sure they hadn't been noticed, ran like hell.'Good grief,' said Angua, when they had put several streets between them and the crowd of dogs. 'He's mad, isn't he?''No, mad's when you froth at the mouf,' said Gaspode. 'He's insane. That's when you froth at the brain.'All that stuff about wolves—''I suppose a dog's got a right to dream,' said Gaspode.'But wolves aren't like that! They don't even have names!''Everyone's got a name.''Wolves haven't. Why should they? They know who they are, and they know who the rest of the pack are. It's all . . . an image. Smell and feel and shape. Wolves don't

William Beard So You Wanna Get Married

William Beard So You Wanna Get MarriedWilliam Beard Phantom CraneWilliam Beard OwlsWilliam Beard Majestic Stag
was aware of a sudden drop in temperature.
'I shouldn't think so,' said Carrot, slowly. 'She's only nine years old.' .
One of his hands gripped her wrist tightly and the other prised the book out of her fingers.
'Hey, let go!'
'Sergeant!' 'Mrs Maroon?'
'That's Sergeant Maroon's widow, she sells coal in—'
'How about Annabel Curry?'
'She still goes to the Spiteful Sisters of Seven-Handed Sek Charity School, doesn't she?' Colon smiled nervously at Angua, still not sure of what was happening. 'She's the daughter of Corporal Curry, shouted Carrot, over his shoulder, 'can you come up here a moment?'Angua tried to pull away. Carrot's arm was as immovable as an iron bar.There was the creak of Colon's foot on the stair, and the door swung open.He was holding a very small cup in a pair of tongs.'Nobby got the coff—' he began, and stopped.'Sergeant,' said Carrot, staring into Angua's face, 'Lance-Constable Angua wants to know about Mrs Gaskin.''Old Leggy Gaskin's widow? She lives in Mincing Street.''And Mrs Scurrick?''In Treacle Street? Takes in laundry now.' Sergeant Colon looked from one to the other, trying to get a handle on the situation.

Camille Pissarro Still Life

Camille Pissarro Still LifeCamille Pissarro Morning Sunlight on the SnowCamille Pissarro Boulevard MontmarteClaude Lorrain The Rest on the Flight into Egypt
afraid so. Haul it out, find out who he was, make out a report for Sergeant Colon.'
The corpse was a clown. Once Carrot had climbed down the pile and moved the debris aside, he floated face up, a big sad grin painted on his face.
'He's dead!'
'Catching, isn't it?'
Vimes looked at the grinning corpse. Don't investigate. Keep out of it. Leave it to the Assassins and bloody Quirke. These are your orders.
'Corporal Carrot?'
'Sir?'
These are your orders . . .
Well, damn thatwho, we fished out of the river last night but, we don't know who he is except he is a member of the Fools' Guild called Beano. He has been seriously hit on the back of the head and has been stuck under the bridge for some time, he is not a Pretty sight. Captain Vimes says to find out things. He says he thinks it is mixed up with the Murder of Mr Hammerhock. He says talk to the Fools. He says Do It. Also please find attached Piece of Paper. Captain Vimes says, try it out on the Alchemists—'. What did Vetinari think he was? Some kind of clockwork soldier?'We're going to find out what's been going on here.''Yes, sir!''Whatever else happens. We're going to find out.' The river Ankh is probably the only river in the universe on which the investigators can chalk the outline of the corpse. 'Dear Sgt Colon,'I hope you are well. The weather is Fine. This is a corpse

Vincent van Gogh Houses at Auvers

Vincent van Gogh Houses at AuversVincent van Gogh Tree trunksVincent van Gogh Stairway at Auvers
Morecombe had been the Ramkins' family solicitor for a long time. Centuries, in fact. He was a vampire.
Vimes disliked vampires. Dwarfs were law-abiding little buggers when they were sober, and even trolls were all right if you kept them The pearly dead eyes had watched Vimes carefully.
'Lady Sybil,' he said, 'owns approximately one-tenth of Ankh, and extensive properties in Morpork, plus of course considerable farm lands in—'
'But . . . but . . . we'll own them together . . .'where you could see them. But all the undead made his neck itch. Live and let live was all very well, but there was a problem right there, when you thought about it logically . . .Mr Morecombe was scrawny, like a tortoise, and very pale. It had taken him ages to come to the point, and when it came the point nailed Vimes to his chair.'How much?''Er. I believe I am right in saying the estate, including the farms, the areas of urban development, and the small area of unreal estate near the University, are together worth approximately . . . seven million dollars a year. Yes. Seven million at current valuation, I would say.''It's all mine?''From the hour of your wedding to Lady Sybil. Although she instructs me in this letter that you are to have access to all her accounts as of the present moment.'

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)Gustav Klimt Goldfish (detail)
Mum!”
Magrat tried to keep up with Nanny as she scurried through the castle.
“The wizard was right. She was dead, you know. I don’t blame you for hoping, but I can tell when people are dead.”
“No, you can’t. I remember a few years ago you came running down to my house in tears and it turned out she was just off Borrowing. That’s when she started using the sign.”
“But—““Oh dear, oh dear,” said Nanny, gazing at the solemn
tableau.
“Candles and lilies. I bet you pinched ‘em yourself, out
of the garden. And then you all shut her away indoors like
this.”“She wasn’t sure what was going to happen,” said Nanny. “That’s good enough for me.”“Nanny—““You never know until you look,” said Nanny Ogg, expounding her own Uncertainty Principle.Nanny kicked open the doors to the Great Hall.“What’s all this?”294LQRQ6 ftttO t.fiQ/£6Ridcully got up from his chair, looking embarrassed.“Well, it didn’t seem right to leave her all alone—“

Mark Spain Flamenco II

Mark Spain Flamenco IIMark Spain Flamenco IMark Spain Eternal Flame
There was about an inch of crossbow bolt sticking out of its eye. The feathers had been sheared off by its passage through the keyhole.
“Wow,” he said.
The armory door swung open, revealing nothing but darkness.
One of the “Yes.”
The elves on either side of the doorway nodded at each other.
“Please?” Magrat pleaded.
“Yes.”
Shawn groaned. If it had been Mum or Mistress Weather-wax, they’d have fought to the death. Mum was right—
Magrat always was the nice soft one .. .
. .. who’d just fired a crossbow through a keyhole.
Some eighth sense made Shawn shift his weight. If the elf relaxed his grip for just one second, Shawn was ready to stagger.
Magrat appeared in the doorway. She was carrying an ancient wooden box with the word “Candles” on the side in peeling paint.

Talantbek Chekirov Close Encounter

Talantbek Chekirov Close EncounterCassius Marcellus Coolidge WaterlooPino Morning Breeze
And mostly it was about the wedding. It’s different, for
royalty. For one thing, you’ve already got everything. The
traditional wedding list with the complete set of
Tupperware and and
swear, brothers who get belligerent after one drink, and
various people who Aren’t Talking to other people because
of What They Said About Our Sharon. Royalty has to dealthe twelve-piece dining set looks a bit outof place when you’ve already got a castle with so many fur-nished rooms that have been closed up for so long that thespiders have evolved into distinct species in accordancewith strict evolutionary principles. And you can’t simplymultiply it all up and ask for An Army in a Red and WhiteMotif to match the kitchen wallpaper. Royalty, when theymarry, either get very small things, like exquisitelyconstructed clockwork eggs, or large bulky items, likeduchesses.And then there’s the guest list. It’s bad enough at anordinary wedding, what with old relatives who dribble

Thomas Kinkade St. Nicholas Circle

Thomas Kinkade St. Nicholas CircleThomas Kinkade Silent NightThomas Kinkade Julianne's cottage
square. Not much happened in Lancre anyway, and a duel between witches was a sight worth seeing.
Granny Weatherwax arrived at a quarter to noon. Nanny Ogg was waiting on a bench by the tavern. She had a towel around her neck, and was carrying a bucket of water in which floated a sponge.
“What’s that for?” said Granny.
“Half time. And I done you a plate of oranges.”
She held up the plate. Granny snorted.
“You look as if you could do with eating something, any-way,” said Nanny. “You don’t look as if you’ve had anything today...”
She glanced down at Granny’s boots, and the grubby hem of her long black dress. There were scraps of bracken and bits of heather “You’d have talked me out of it.”
Nanny Ogg leaned forward.
“You all right, Esme?”
“Fine! I’m fine! Nothing wrong with me, all right?”caught on it.“You daft old besom!” she hissed. “What’ve you beendoing”“I had to—““You’ve been up at the Stones, haven’t you! Trying to hold back the Gentry.”“Of course,” said Granny. Her voice wasn’t faint. She wasn’t swaying. But her voice wasn’t faint and she wasn’t swaying. Nanny Ogg could see, because Granny Weatherwax’s body was in the grip of Granny Weatherwax’s mind.“Someone’s got to,” she added.“You could have come and asked me!”
“Have you had any sleep at all?” she said.

Unknown Artist Wave Rider

Unknown Artist Wave RiderJohannes Vermeer Young Woman with a Water JugJohannes Vermeer The Procuress
complete ignorance, and whose small reed boat had been in the path of the fleet and had got swept along. Since his tribe believed that there were only fifty-one people in the world, worshiped a giant newt, spoke a very personal language which no one else understood, and had never seen metal or fire before, he was spending a lot of time wearing a puzzled grin."Fella's just standing there," he said.
"Could be a spy," said Borvorius.
"Don't see how he could be a spy in his own country," said Argavisti. "Anyway, if he was a spy he'd be creepin' around. That's how you can tell."
The figure had stopped at the foot of the dunes. There was something about it that drew the eye. Argavisti had faced many an opposing army, and this was normal. One patiently waiting figure was not. He found he kept turning to Clearly they had reached a shore, not of proper mud and reeds, but of very small gritty bits. He lugged his little reed boat up the sand, and sat down with interest to see what the men in the feathery hats and shiny fish-scale vests were going to do next.General Argavisti scanned the beach."They must have seen us coming," he said. "So why would they let us establish a beachhead?"Heat haze wavered over the dunes. A dot appeared, growing and contracting in the shimmering air.More troops poured ashore.General Argavisti shaded his eyes against the sun.

Gustave Courbet Plage de Normandie

Gustave Courbet Plage de NormandieThomas Kinkade Town SquareThomas Kinkade PARIS EIFFEL TOWER
Didactylos could feel the crowd. It filled the barn.
"How many are there?" he said.
"Hundreds!" said Urn. "They're even sitting on the rafters! And . . . master?"
"Yes?"
"There's even one or two priests! And dozens of soldiers!"
"Don't reason. Urn, come over here. There's a blacksmith I want you to meet-”
Didactylos turned his face to the crowd. He could feel the hot, hushed silence of their stares.


Each drop took minutes.
It was hypnotic. Brutha found himself staring at each developing drip. It was almost impossible to see it worry," said Simony, joining them on the makeshift platform made of fig barrels. "They are Turtle believers, just like you. We have friends in unexpected places!""But I don't-" Didactylos began, helplessly."There isn't anyone here who doesn't hate the Church with all their soul," said Simony."But that's not-”"They're just waiting for someone to lead them!""But I never-”"I know you won't let us down. You're a man of

Thomas Kinkade End of a Perfect Day

Thomas Kinkade End of a Perfect DayThomas Kinkade Beacon of hopeThomas Kinkade The Sea Of Tranquility
like a Number Nine pot and some string, please," said the old man.
"Yes sir, Mr. Legibus." The potter reached under his counter and pulled out a towel. The naked man took it in an absent-minded way. Brutha got the feeling that this had happened to both of them before.
"And a lever of infinite length and, um, an immovable place to stand," said Legibus, drying himself off.
"What you see , haven't we?" said the potter.
"I left my clothes in the bath?"
"I think you probably had an idea while you were in the bath?" prompted the potter.
"That's right! That's right! Got this splendid idea for moving the world around!" said Legibus. "Simple lever principle. Should work perfectly. It's just a matter of getting the technical details sorted out."
"That's nice. We can move somewhere warm for the winter," said the is what I got, sir. Pots and general household items, but a bit short on axiomatic mechanisms.""Well, have you got a piece of chalk?""Got some right here from last time," said the potter.The little naked man took the chalk and started to draw triangles on the nearest bit of wall. Then he looked down."Why haven't I got any clothes on?" he said."We've been having our bath again

Leonardo da Vinci The Madonna of the Carnation

Leonardo da Vinci The Madonna of the CarnationLeonardo da Vinci da Vinci Self PortraitRembrandt The Return of the Prodigal Son
The Great God Om was upside down in a basket in one of the kitchens, half-buried under a bunch of herbs and some carrots.
An upturned tortoise will try to right itself firstly by sticking out its neck to its fullest extent and trying to use its head as Off to one side of the huge hearth, among various other blackened cauldrons, a small pot of water was already beginning to seethe.
"The worms of revenge to eat your blackened nostrils!" screamed Om, twitching his legs violently. The basket rocked.
A hairy hand reached in and removed the herbs.a lever. If this doesn't work it will wave its legs frantically, in case this will rock it upright.An upturned tortoise is the ninth most pathetic thing in the entire multiverse.An upturned tortoise who knows what's going to happen to it next is, well, at least up there at number four.The quickest way to kill a tortoise for the pot is to plunge it into boiling water.Kitchens and storerooms and craftsmen's workshops belonging to the Church's civilian population honeycombed the Citadel.[4] This was only one of them, a smoky-ceilinged cellar whose focal point was an arched fireplace. Flames roared up the flue. Turnspit dogs trotted in their treadmills. Cleavers rose and fell on the chopping blocks.

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Monkeys

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with MonkeysFrida Kahlo Self Portrait 1940Frida Kahlo My Dress Hangs There
Brutha hesitated. Someone had definitely spoken to him from out of the air. Perhaps it was a demon. Novice master Brother Nhumrod was hot on the subject of demons. Impure thoughts and demons. One led to the other. Brutha was uncomfortably aware that he was probably overdue a demon.
The thing to do was to be resolute and repeat the Nine Fundamental Aphorisms.
Once more the Great God Om spake unto Brutha, the Chosen One:
"Are you deaf, boy?"
The hoe

Many stories start long before they begin, and Brutha's story had its origins thousands of years before his birth.
There are billions of gods in the world. They swarm as thick as herring roe. Most of them thudded on to the baking soil. Brutha spun around. There were the bees, the eagle and, at the far end of the garden, old Brother Lu-Tze dreamily forking over the dung heap. The prayer mills whirled reassuringly along the walls.He made the sign with which the Prophet Ishkible had cast out spirits."Get thee behind me, demon," he muttered."I am behind you."Brutha turned again, slowly. The garden was still empty.He fled.

Thomas Gainsborough Evening Landscape Peasants and Mounted Figures

Thomas Gainsborough Evening Landscape Peasants and Mounted FiguresThomas Gainsborough Conversation in a ParkSandro Botticelli Madonna with the Child
Creosote swayed at him. 'Abrim does all the ruling, you see. Terrible hard work.'
'He's not,' said Rincewind, 'making a very good job of it just at present.'
And we'd sort of like to get away,' said Conina, who was still turning over the phrase about the goats.
'And I've got this geas,' said Nijel, glaring at Rincewind.
Creosote 'No,' said Rincewind, raising his hands protectively. 'Absolutely not. Don't even-’
'It belonged to my grandfather-’
'A real magic carpet?' said Nijel.patted him on the arm.'That's nice,' he said. 'Everyone should have a pet.'So if you happen to know if you own any stables or anything...' prompted Rincewind.'Hundreds,' said Creosote. 'I own some of the finest, most ... finest horses in the world.' His brow wrinkled. 'So they tell me.''But you wouldn't happen to know where they are?''Not as such,' the Seriph admitted. A random spray of magic turned the nearby wall into arsenic meringue.'I think we might have been better off in the snake pit,' said Rincewind, turning away.Creosote took another sorrowful glance at his empty wine bottle.'I know where there's a magic carpet,' he said.

Pino THE DANCER

Pino THE DANCERPino SWEET DREAMSPino SENSUALITY
' He picked up the hatbox.
Carding , very unpleasantly, back into his old familiar shape and age. There was something elastic about the way you were. The harder you threw it, the faster it came back. The worse it was when it hit, too. Spiked iron balls, broadswords and large heavy sticks with nails in were generally considered pretty fearsome weapons, but they were nothing at all compared to twenty years suddenly applied with considerable force to the back of the head.
This was because sourcery didn't seem to work on things that were instrinsically magicalcoughed into his drink. 'Don't put it away just yet,' he said, and took it out of the bursar's hands. 'I've always wanted to try this-’He turned to the big mirror on the bursar's wall and reverently lowered the hat on his rather grubby locks.It was the ending of the first day of the sourcery, and the wizards had managed to change everything except themselves.They had all tried, on the quiet and when they thought no-one else was looking. Even Spelter had a go, in the privacy of his study. He had managed to become twenty years younger with a torso you could crack rocks on, but as soon as he stopped concentrating he sagged

William Bouguereau Cupid and Psyche as Children

William Bouguereau Cupid and Psyche as ChildrenWilliam Bouguereau Charity
Thomas Kinkade Pinocchio Wishes Upon a Star
raised his hands, stared at Billias, and vanished him.
Pandemonium broke out, as it tends to on these occasions. In the centre of it stood Coin, totally composed, in a spreading to face his fellow mages.
There were six of them, and they were very worried.
They were so worried, Spelter noted, that they were listening to him, a mere fifth level wizard.
'He's gone to bed,' he said, 'with a hot milk drink.'
'Milk?' said one of the wizards, with tired horror in his voice.cloud of greasy smoke.Ignoring the tumult, Spelter bent down slowly and, with extreme care, picked a peacock feather off the floor. He rubbed it thoughtfully back and forth across his lips as he looked from the doorway to the boy to the vacant Archchancellor's chair, and his thin mouth narrowed, and he began to smile. An hour later, as thunder began to roll in the clear skies above the city, and Rincewind was beginning to sing gently and forget all about cockroaches, and a lone mattress was wandering the streets, Spelter shut the door of the Archchancellor's study and turned