Pablo Picasso Three Women at the Spring

Pablo Picasso Three Women at the SpringPablo Picasso Three DancersPablo Picasso The ShadowPablo Picasso The Pipes of Pan
stared at the scrawled notes.
I'm on the path, he thought. I don't have to know where it leads. I just have to follow. There's always a crime, if you look hard enough. And the Assassins are in this somewhere.
Follow every lead. Check every detail. Chip, chip away.
I'm hungry.
He staggered to his He scrambled forward on hands and knees and pulled himself upright alongside the window.
Images flashed through his mind. The dead dwarf. The hole in the wall . . .
A thought seemed to start in the small of his back and spread upwards to his brain: These were lath and plaster walls, and old ones at that; you could push a finger through themfeet and looked at his face in the cracked mirror over the basin.Events of the previous day filtered through the dogged gauze of memory. Central to all of them was the face of Lord Vetinari. Vimes grew angry just thinking about that. The cool way he'd told Vimes that he mustn't take an interest in the theft from—Vimes stared at his reflection——something stung his ear and smashed the glass.Vimes stared at the hole in the plaster, surrounded by the remains of a mirror frame. Around him, the mirror glass tinkled to the floor.Vimes stood stock still for a long moment.Then his legs, reaching the conclusion that his brain was somewhere else, threw the rest of him to the floor.There was another tinkle and a half bottle of Bear-hugger's exploded on the desk. Vines couldn't even remember buying it.

Edward Hopper Excursion into Philosophy

Edward Hopper Excursion into PhilosophyEdward Hopper Drug StoreEdward Hopper Conference at Night
can you be so sure?'
'The guards on the roofs in Filigree Street say no-one came in or went out, sir.'
And who's watching them?'
'They're watching one another, sir.'
'Very well. Listen carefully. I want the mess cleaned up. If anyone needs to go outside the building, I want everyone watched. And then how I've always told you how observation is important?'
'Yes, captain. I have always paid careful attention to your remarks on the subject.'
'So what did you observe?'
'Someone'd smashed a mirror. Everyone knows Assassins likethe Guild is going to be searched from top to bottom, do you understand?''What for, doctor?' said a junior lecturer in poisons.'For . . . anything that is hidden. If you find anything and you don't know what it is, send for a council member immediately. And don't touch it.''But doctor, all sorts of things are hidden—''This will be different, do you understand?''No, sir.''Good. And no-one is to speak to the wretched Watch about this. You, boy . . . bring me my hat.' Dr Cruces sighed. 'I suppose I shall have to go and tell the Patrician.''Hard luck, sir.' The captain didn't say anything until they were crossing the Brass Bridge.'Now then, Corporal Carrot,' he said, 'you know

Frederic Edwin Church The Icebergs

Frederic Edwin Church The IcebergsFrederic Edwin Church Twilight in the WildernessJulius LeBlanc Stewart At HomeTitian Sacred and Profane Love
Edward spent a lot of time among history books as well. The Assassins' Guild was an association of gentlemen of breeding, and people like that regard the whole of recorded history as a kind of stock book. There were a great many books in the Guild library, and a whole portrait gallery of kings and queensEdward d'Eath came to know their aristocratic faces better they are . . . well . . . human beings. He was also spiralling inwards, as tends to happen in cases like this.
He'd had no plan. He'd just retreated, as people do when they feel under attack, to a more defensible position, i.e. the past, and then something happened which had the same effect on Edward as finding a plesiosaur in his goldfish pond would on a student of ancient reptiles.
He'd stepped out blinking in the sunlight one hot afternoon, after a day spent in the company of departed glory, and had seen the face of the past strolling by, nodding amiably to people.than he did his own. He spent his lunch hours there.It was said later that he came under bad influences at this stage. But the secret of the history of Edward d'Eath was that he came under no outside influences at all, unless you count all those dead kings. He just came under the influence of himself.That's where people get it wrong. Individuals aren't naturally paid-up members of the human race, except biologically. They need to be bounced around by the Brownian motion of society, which is a mechanism by which human beings constantly remind one another that

Piet Mondrian Composition 2

Piet Mondrian Composition 2Steve Thoms PoppiesEdvard Munch Puberty 1894Unknown Artist Heighton After Hours
Hello, Mr. Flowerpot, two pints of eels if you would be so good.”
“Of course, it could be her destiny, or one of those sort of things.”
“Oook.”
“Millennium hand and shrimp.”
Ponder Stibbons looked embarrassed.
“Anyone want to follow her?”
“Oook.”
“Whoops, there he goes with his big clock.”
“Was that a ‘yes’?”
“Oook.”
“Not yours, his.”
“Flobby She knew she was near the Dancers now. Colored light flickered in the sky.
266wobbly, here comes our jelly.”“I think that probably counts as a ‘yes’,” said Ponder, reluctantly.“Oook?”“I’ve got a lovely new vest.”“But look,” said Ponder, “the graveyards are full of peo-ple who rushed in bravely but unwisely.”“Ook.”“What’d he say?” said the Bursar, passing briefly through reality on his way somewhere else.“I think he said, ‘Sooner or later the graveyards are full of everybody,’” said Ponder. “Oh, blast. Come on.”“Yes indeedy,” said the Bursar, “hands up the mittens, Mr. Bosun!”“Oh, shut up.”Magrat dismounted and let the horse go.
LORDS ftttO Cft0f£6
She wished she could go home.

Peter Paul Rubens Landscape with a Rainbow

Peter Paul Rubens Landscape with a RainbowPeter Paul Rubens Hippopotamus and Crocodile HuntJohn William Godward Summer Flowers
with military precision.”
“What for?”
“To get help, miss.”
“But you don’t know if there’s any help to get.”
“Can you think of anything else, miss?”
She couldn’t.
210ledge, and then dropped into the darkness.
Magrat pushed the bed against the door and sat on it.
It occurred to her that she should have gone as well. But that would mean leaving the castle empty, and that didn’t feel right.
Besides, she was scared.
There was one candle in the room, and that was half burned down. When it was gone, there’d be nothing (.ORQ6 fi/VO l.ftQ/£8“It’s very . .. brave of you, Shawn,” said Magrat.“You stay here and you’ll be right as rain,” said Shawn. “Tell you what... How about if I lock the door and take the key with me? Then even if they sing at you they can’t get you to open the door.”Magrat nodded.Shawn tried to smile. “Wish we had another suit of mail,” he said. “But it’s all in the armory.”“I’ll be fine,” said Magrat. “Off you go, then.”Shawn nodded. He waited for a moment on the window

Franz Marc Blaues Pferd 1

Franz Marc Blaues Pferd 1Franz Marc AffenfriesGarmash Sleeping Beauty
him look like a lizard that had lost a lot of weight very quickly.
“Where’s the coach driver?” said Shawn Ogg.
“He’s ill,” said Ridcully. “He had a sudden attack of ban-dits. What do we do with the mail?”
“I take theand hung the sack on the aforesaid nail.
“Yes, that’s another thing they used to have round here,”
said Ridcully. “Witches! Let me tell you about the witches
round here—“
“Our mum’s a witch,” said Shawn conversationally, rum-maging in the sack.
“As fine a body of women as you could hope to meet,” said Ridcully, with barely a hint of mental gear-clashing. “And not a bunch of interfering power-mad old crones at all, whatever anyone might say.” palace stuff, and we generally leave the sack161Terry Pratehetthanging up on a nail outside the tavern so that people can help themselves,” said Shawn.“Isn’t that dangerous?” said Ponder.“Don’t think so. It’s a strong nail,” said Shawn, rummag-ing in the sack.“I meant, don’t people steal letters?”“Oh, they wouldn’t do that, they wouldn’t do that. One of the witches’d go and stare at ‘em if they did that.” Shawn stuffed a few packages under his arm

John William Waterhouse Flora and the Zephyrs

John William Waterhouse Flora and the ZephyrsJohn William Waterhouse Apollo and DaphneVincent van Gogh On the Outskirts of Paris
Diamanda,” she said, meekly.
“This is the Moon,” Diamanda repeated, “for those who weren’t paying attention.” She held up the card. “And what do we see here—you, Muscara?”
“Um . . . it’s got a picture of the moon on it?” said Muscara (nee Susan) in a hopeful voice.
“Of course it’s not the moon. It’s a nonmimetic conven-tion, not tied to a conventional referencing system, actually,” On the other hand, the coven was helping people . . . more or less. Raising power and all that sort of thing. Oh dear, supposing she asks me?
Perdita realized that she was feeling worried. Something was wrong. It had just gone wrong. She didn’t know what it was, but it had gone wrong now. She looked up.
“Blessings be upon this house,” said Granny Weatherwax.said Diamanda.“Ah.”A gust rocked the cottage. The door burst open and slammed back against the wall, giving a glimpse of cloud-wracked sky in which a non-mimetic convention was show-ing a crescent.Diamanda waved a hand. There was a brief flash of octarine light. The door jerked shut. Diamanda smiled in what Perdita thought of as her cool, knowing way.She placed the card on the black velvet cloth in front of her.Perdita looked at it gloomily It was all very pretty, the cards were colored like little pasteboard jewels, and they had interesting names. But that little traitor voice whis-pered: how the hell can they know what the future holds? Cardboard isn’t very bright.

Mark Spain A Moment Of Tranquility

Mark Spain A Moment Of Tranquility
hunt again,” it said. “When? When?”“Soon,” said the Queen. “Soon.”It was a dark night, the kind of darkness which is not simply explainable by absence of moon or stars, but the darkness that appears to flow in from somewhere else—so thick and tangible that maybe you could snatch a handful of air and squeeze the night out of it.It was the kind of darkness which causes sheep to leap fences and dogs to skulk in kennels.Yet the wind was warm, and not so much
Mark Spain Timeless BeautyMark Spain The Pink Dress
The time is right, Lankin. The circles are opening. Soon we can return.”
The second rider leaned on the saddlehom.
“And I can strong as loud—it howled around the forests and wailed in chimneys.
On nights like this, normal people would pull the covers over their head, sensing that there were times when the world belonged to something else. In the morning it would be human again; there would be fallen branches, a few tiles off the roof, but human. For now . . . better to snuggle down.. .
But there was one man awake.
Jason Ogg, master blacksmith and farrier, pumped the bellows of his forge once or twice for the look of the thing, and sat down on his anvil again. It was always warm in the forge, even with the wind whistling around the eaves.
“He could shoe anything, could Jason Ogg. They’d

Thomas Kinkade Make a Wish Cottage

Thomas Kinkade Make a Wish CottageThomas Kinkade Key WestThomas Kinkade Golden Gate Bridge San Francisco
Ungulant looked down sadly at Brutha helping Vorbis away across the wilderness.
"And afterward there's probably mints!" he shouted, through cupped hands. "No?"
Soon the figures of brackish water and chew the odd lizard leg for medicinal purposes was a small price to pay.
He turned back to the laden table that shimmered in the air. All this . . . and all the little gods wanted was someone to know about them, someone to even believe that they existed.
There was jelly and ice-cream today, too.
"All the more for us, eh, Angus?"were mere dots on the sand."There may be visions of sexual grati-no, I tell a lie, that's Fridays . . ." St. Ungulant murmured.Now that the visitors had gone, the air was once again filled with the zip and whine of the small gods. There were billions of them.St. Ungulant smiled.He was, of course, mad. He'd occasionally suspected this. But he took the view that madness should not be wasted. He dined daily on the food of the gods, drank the rarest vintages, ate fruits that were not only out of season but out of reality. Having to drink the occasional mouthful

Herbert James Draper Lamia

Herbert James Draper LamiaHerbert James Draper Lament for IcarusGeorge Inness The Coming StormGeorge Inness SunsetGeorge Inness Peace and Plenty
intelligent people kept on making the same mistakes.
Candidates for the Tyrantship were elected by the placing of black or white balls in various urns, thus giving rise to a well-known comment about politics.
The Tyrant was a fat little man with skinny legs, giving people the impression of an egg that was hatch­ing upside down. He was sitting alone in the middle of the marble floor, in a chair surrounded by scrolls and scraps of paper. His feet didn't touch the marble, and his face was pink.Tyrant nodded. "As you wish," he said.
"This is intolerable!" snapped Vorbis. "We have been treated-
"Much better than you would have treated us," said the Tyrant mildly. "You sit or you stand, my lord, because this is Ephebe and indeed you may stand on your head for all I care, but don't expect me to believe that if it was I, seeking peace in your Citadel, I would be encouraged to do anything but grovel on what was left of my stomach. Be seated or be upstanding, my lord, but be quiet. I have nearly finished."
"Finished what?" said Vorbis.
"The peace treaty," said the Tyrant.
Aristocrates whispered something in his ear. The Tyrant looked up from his paperwork.
"Ah, the Omnian delegation," he said, and a smile flashed across his face like something small darting across a stone. "Do be seated, all of you."
He looked down again.
"I am Deacon Vorbis of the Citadel Quisition," said Vorbis coldly.
The Tyrant looked up and gave him another lizard smile.
"Yes, I know," he said. "You torture people for a living. Please be seated, Deacon Vorbis. And your plump young friend who seems to be looking for something. And the rest of you. Some young women will be along in a moment with grapes and things. This generally happens. It's very hard to stop it, in fact."
There were benches in front of the Tyrant's chair. The Omnians

Piet Mondrian Gray Tree

Piet Mondrian Gray TreePiet Mondrian Composition with Yellow Blue and RedPiet Mondrian Composition with Red Yellow
Vorbis appeared to reach a decision.
"Send him to see me when he is recovered," he said.
Nhumrod looked panicky.
"I merely wish Bees buzzed in the bean blossoms. And the sun beat down on the upturned shell of Om.
There is also a hell for tortoises.
He was too tired to waggle his legs now. That was all you could do, waggle your legs. And stick your head out as far as it would go and wave it about in the hope that you could lever yourself over.
You died if you had no believers, and that was what a small god generally worried about. But you also died if you died.to talk to him," said Vorbis. "I may have a use for him.""Yes, lord?""For, I suspect, the Great God Om moves in myste­rious ways." High above. No sound but the hiss of wind in feathers. The eagle stood on the breeze, looking down at the toy buildings of the Citadel.It had dropped it somewhere, and now it couldn't find it. Somewhere down there, in that little patch of green.

Marc Chagall The Three Candles

Marc Chagall The Three CandlesMarc Chagall Paris Through the WindowMarc Chagall Adam and Eve
was a sudden flurry of snow across the air where it had been.
Coin wrenched free of the Librarian's grip and ran into the circle, which was already turning white. His feet scuffed up a sprinkle of fine sand.
'He didn't as if by mere concentration he could change what he saw. 'Is he dead?'
'Gook,' observed the Librarian, contriving to imply that Rincewind was in a region where even things like time and space were a bit iffy, and that it was probably not very useful to speculate as to his exact state at this point in time, if indeed he was at any point in time at all, and that, all in all, he might even turn up tomorrow or, for that matter, yesterday, and finally that if there was any chance at all of surviving then Rincewind almost certainly would.come out!' he said.'Oook,' said the Librarian, in a philosophic manner.'I thought he'd come out. You know, just at the last minute.''Oook?'Coin looked closely at the cobbles,

Franz Marc The Monkey

Franz Marc The MonkeyFranz Marc RinderFranz Marc Rehe im Schnee
was a wide circle of other stones. Very few of them had actually stayed on top of another one.
The three of them crouched down and watched him.
'Is he asleep?' said Creosote.
Conina . 'Only I heard that if you wake up sleepwalkers their legs fall off, or something. What do you think?'
'Could be risky, with wizards,' said Nijel.
They tried to make themselves comfortable on the chilly sand.
'It's rather pathetic, isn't it?' said Creosote. 'It's not as if he's really a proper wizard.'
Conina and Nijel tried to avoid one another's gaze. Finally the boy coughed, and said, 'I'm not exactly a barbarian hero, you know. You may have noticed.'nodded.'What's he trying to do?''I think he's trying to build a tower.'Rincewind lurched back into the ring of stones and, with great care, placed another rock on empty air. It fell down.'He's not very good at it, is he,' said Nijel.'It is very sad,' said Creosote.'Maybe we ought to wake him up,' said Conina

Leroy Neiman Carnaval Suite Passistas

Leroy Neiman Carnaval Suite PassistasLeroy Neiman Carnaval Suite PanterasLeroy Neiman Cafe Rive Gauche
'Oook.'
'Don't let anyone in, will you? Um. I think that's frightfully important.'
'Oook.'
'Good.' Spelter stood up and dusted off his knees. Then he put his mouth to the keyhole and added, 'Don't trust anyone.'
'Oook.'
It was not It wasn't a normal noise up here. In the carpeted corridors of the senior wizards' quarters there were a number of sounds you might hear late at night, such as snoring, the gentle clinking of glasses, tuneless singing and, once in a while, the zip and sizzle of a spell gone wrong. But the sound of someone quietly crying was such a novelty that Spelter found himself edging down the passage that led to the Archchancellor's suite.
The door was ajar. Telling himself that he really shouldn't, tensing himself completely dark in the Library, because the serried rows of magical books gave off a faint octarine glow, caused by thaumaturgical leakage into a strong occult field. It was just bright enough to illuminate the pile of shelves wedged against the door.The former Patrician had been carefully decanted into a jar on the Librarian's desk. The Librarian himself sat under it, wrapped in his blanket and holding Wuffles on his lap.Occasionally he would eat a banana.Spelter, meanwhile, limped back along the echoing passages of the University, heading for the security of his bedroom. It was because his ears were nervously straining the tiniest of sounds out of the air that he heard, right on the cusp of audibility, the sobbing.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti Paolo and Francesca

Dante Gabriel Rossetti Paolo and FrancescaDante Gabriel Rossetti A Sea SpellJohannes Vermeer Lady Seated at a Virginal
Moving like one listening to inner directions, it padded noiselessly across the room until it reached the table whereon stood. In some parts of the city curiosity didn't just kill the cat, it threw it in the river with lead weights tied to its feet.
Rincewind's hands weaved unsteadily over the array of empty glasses on the table in front of him. He'd almost been able to forget about the cockroaches. After another drink he might manage to forget about the mattress, too.
'Whee! A fireball! Fizz! Vanishing like smoke! Whee!- Sorry a tall, round and battered leather box. It crept closer and gently raised the lid.The voice from inside sounded as though it was talking through several layers of carpet when it said, At last. What kept you? 'I mean, how did they all get started? I mean, back in the old times, there were real wizards, there was none of this levels business. They just went out and - did it. POW!,One or two of the other customers in the darkened bar of the Mended Drum tavern looked around hastily at the noise. They were new in town. Regular customers never took any notice of surprising noises like groans or unpleasantly gristly sounds. It was a lot healthier

Paul Cezanne Apples Peaches Pears and Grapes

Paul Cezanne Apples Peaches Pears and GrapesLaurie Maitland Symphony in Red and Khaki IIWilliam Bouguereau Youth
The new Death straightened up.
Or?
AH.
ER.
Bill Door in the forge.
The smithy was full of warm darkness.
What it didn’t contain was the ghost of a scythe.
Bill Door looked around desperately.
SQUEAK?
There was a small. dark-robed figure sitting on a beam above him. It gestured franticallstepped back, turned round, and ran for it. It was, as he was wonderfully well placed to know, merely putting off the inevitable. But wasn’t that what living was all about? No-one had ever run away from him after they were dead. Many had tried it before they were dead, often with great ingenuity. But the normal reaction of a spirit, suddenly pitched from one world into the next, was to hang around hopefully. Why run, after all? It wasn’t as if you knew where you were running to.The ghost Bill Door knew where he was running to. Ned Simnel’s smithy was locked up for the night, although this did not present a problem. Not alive and not dead, the spirit Bill Door dived through the wall.The fire was a barely-visible glow, settling y towards the corner.

Paul Cezanne Card Players

Paul Cezanne Card PlayersLaurie Maitland fireWilliam Bouguereau Innocence
Besides, it looks sharp enough to -‘ she began, and paused. Her fingers moved on the bone of his arm. They pulled away for a moment, and then closed again.
Bill day.’
I THINK PERHAPS THAT -
‘You know, I spent most of my life waiting for a knight on a white charger.’
Miss Flitworth grinned.’The joke’s on me, eh?’
Bill Door sat down on the anvil.
‘The apothecary came.’ she said.’He said he couldn’t do Door shivered.Miss Flitworth didn’t hesitate for long. In seventy-five years she had dealt with wars, famine, innumerable sick animals. a couple of epidemics and thousands of tiny, everyday tragedies. A depressed skeleton wasn’t even in the top ten Worst Things she had seen.‘So it is you,’ she said.MISS FLITWORTH, I - ‘I always knew you would come one

Thomas Kinkade Autumn Lane

Thomas Kinkade Autumn LaneJohn Collier SpringCaravaggio The Crucifixion of Saint Peter
now advancing towards him, with their hand out and a big smile on their face. ‘Don’t tell me, let me guess,’ they said.’You’re a zombie, right?’ ‘Er.’ Windle Poons had never seen anyone with such a pallid skin, such as there was of it, before. Or wearing clothes that looked as if they’d been washed in razor blades and smelled as though someone had not only died in them but was still in them. Or sporting a Glad To Be Grey badge. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I suppose so. Only they buried me, you see, and there was this card -‘ He held it out, Like a shield. “Course there was.’Course there was,’ said the figure. He’s going to want me ‘Poons. Windle Poons,’ said Windle.’Er -‘
‘Yeah, it’s always the same, ‘ said Reg Shoe bitterly. ‘Once you’re dead, people just don’t want to know, right? They act as if you’ve got some horrible disease. Dying can happen to anyone, right?’ ‘Everyone, I should have thought,’ said Windle.to shake hands, Windle thought. If I do, I just know I’m going to end up with more fingers than I started with. Oh, my goodness. Will I end up like that?‘And I ‘m dead, ‘ he said, lamely.‘And fed up with being pushed around, eh?’ said thegreenish-skinned one. Windle shook his hand very carefully.‘Well, not exactly fed -‘‘Shoe’s the name. Reg Shoe.’

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 BodiesSalvador Dali Asummpta Corpuscularia LapislazulinaJohn Singer Sargent A Morning Walk lady
supernova. It’s the difference between the beauty of morning dew on a cobweb and actually being a fly.
It was something that wouldn’t normally have happened for thousands of years.
It was about to happen now.
It was about to happen at the back of a disused cupboard in a tumble-down cellar in the Shades, the oldest and most disreputable part of Ankh-Morpork.
Plop.
It was a sound as soft as the first drop of rain on a century of dust.
‘Maybe‘You sure?’ said the Dean.
‘Well-known fact,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes flatly. ‘He used to pass water all the time when he was alive, ‘ said the Dean doubtfully.
‘Not when he’s dead, though.’ we could get a black cat to walk across his coffin.’ ‘He hasn’t got a coffin!’ wailed the Bursar, whose grip on sanity was always slightly tentative.‘OK, so we buy him a nice new coffin and then we get a black cat to walk across it?’‘No, that’s stupid. We’ve got to make him pass water.’‘What?’‘Pass water. Undeads can’t do it.’The wizards, who had crowded into the Archchancellor’s study, gave this statement their full, fascinated attention.
‘Yeah? Makes sense.’