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
Friday, April 10, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
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.
'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.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
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
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
Monday, April 6, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
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
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.’
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.’
Wednesday, April 1, 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 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.’
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.’
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