Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres Napoleon I on His Imperial Throne

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres Napoleon I on His Imperial ThroneJean Auguste Dominique Ingres Mme MoitessierJean Auguste Dominique Ingres La Grande baigneuse
There were various weapons, some of them half finished, on racks by the bench. Vimes picked up most of a crossbow.
'He did good work,' he said. 'Very good at mechanisms.'
'Well known for it,' 'I should think it is!'
'I mean, it's made to be buried with a dwarf. Every dwarf is buried with a weapon. You know? To take with him to . . . wherever he's going.'
'But it's fine workmanship! And it's got an edge like – aargh,' Vimes sucked his finger, 'like a razor.'
Carrot looked shocked. 'Of course. It'd be no good him facing them with an inferior weapon.'
'What them are you talking about?'said Carrot, poking around aimlessly on the bench. 'A very delicate hand. He made musical boxes for a hobby. Could never resist a mechanical challenge. Er. What are we looking for actually, sir?''Not sure. Now this is good . . .'It was a war axe, and so heavy that Vimes' arm sagged. Intricate etched lines covered the blade. It must have represented weeks of work.'Not your actual Saturday night special, eh?''Oh no,' said Carrot, 'that's a burial weapon.'

Thomas Kinkade Home For Christmas

Thomas Kinkade Home For ChristmasThomas Kinkade Elegant Evening at BiltmoreThomas Kinkade Dawson
had to allow, though, that Dr Cruces recovered very quickly. He didn't explode when he read the letter, or argue, or claim it was a forgery'You mean he's still in there?'
'How do I know? Hoods and cloaks, everyone in black 'How come you were able to fee this?'
'Oh, I always nip into the Assassins' Guild on a Wednesday night. He simply folded it up, handed it back, and said, coldly, 'I see. The freehold, at least.''Quite so. Could you tell me what has been happening, please?'He was aware of other senior Assassins entering the courtyard through the hole in the wall. They were very carefully looking at the debris.Dr Cruces hesitated for a moment.'Fireworks,' he said. 'What happened,' said Gaspode, 'was that someone put a dragon in a box right up against the wall inside the courtyard, right, and then they went and hid behind one of the statues and pulled a string and next minute – bang!''Bang?'' 'S'right. Then our friend nips into the hole for a few seconds, right, comes out again, trots around the courtyard and next minute there's Assassins everywhere and he's among 'em. What the hell. Another man in black. No-one notices, see?'

Tamara de Lempicka Andromeda

Tamara de Lempicka AndromedaTamara de Lempicka Adam and EveWassily Kandinsky Squares with ConcentricPierre-Auguste Cot Springtime
Nanny lifted out the paperwork. The first envelope was addressed to her, and bore the legend: To Gytha Ogge, Reade This NOWE.
The second envelope was a bit smaller and said: The Will of Esmerelda Weatherwax, Died Midsummer’s Eve.
And then there was a bundle of letters with a bit of string round them. They were very old; bits of yellowing paper crackled off them as Magrat picked them up.
“They’re all letters to her,” she said.
“Nothing odd about Always tried to see inside to the real thing.”
They were both silent for a moment, and the silence wound out around them and filled the kitchen, to be sliced into gentle pieces by the soft ticking of the clock.
“I never thought we’d be doing this,” said Magrat, after a while. “I never thought we’d be reading her will. I thought she’d keep on going for ever.”
“Well, there it is,” said Nanny. “Tempus fuggit.”that,” said Nanny. “Anyone can get letters.”“And there’s all this stuff at the bottom,” said Magrat.“It looks like pebbles.”She held one up.“This one’s got one of those curly fossil things in it,” she said. “And this one . . . looks like that red rock the Dancers were made of. It’s got a darning needle stuck to it. How strange.”“She always paid attention to small details, did Esme.

Pop art king elvis on red

Pop art king elvis on redPop art kim gordon on bluePop art green on green
ORQ6 ftttD Lft0/£6
It struck Shawn immediately that this wasn’t the right thing to say.
It was black, , she jolly well got on her horse and went and rescued him. Well, I’m going to do that too.”
Shawn tried to grin.
“You’re going to sing7” he said.
“I’m going to fight. I’ve got everything to fight for, haven’t I? And I’ve tried everything else.”
Shawn wanted to say: but that’s not the same! Going and fighting when you’re a real person isn’t like folksongs! In real life you die! In folksongs you just have to remember to keep one finger in your ear and how to get to the next chorus! In real life no one goes wack-fol-a-diddle-di-do-sing-too-rah-li-ay!and larger than what Magrat had to think of as a human horse. It rolled red eyes at her, and tried to get into position to kick.Magrat managed to mount only by practically tethering every leg to the rings in the stable wall, but when she was on, the horse changed. It had the docility of the severely whipped, and seemed to have no mind of its own.“It’s the iron,” said Shawn.“What does it do to them? It can’t hurt.”“Don’t know, miss. Seems they just freeze up, kind of thing.”“Drop the portcullis after I’m through.”“Miss—““Are you going to tell me not to go?”“But—““Shut up, then.”“But—““I remember a folksong about a situation just like this,” said Magrat. “This girl had her fiance stolen by the Queen of the Elves and she didn’t hang around whining

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Child's Siesta

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Child's SiestaJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Before BathingJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Beaching the BoatJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Beach at Valencia
She’s looking for a way,” Granny repeated.
“Good morrow, brothers, and wherehap do we whist this merry day?” said Carter the baker.
The rest of the Lancre Morris Men looked at him.
“You on some kind of medication or what?” said Weaver the thatcher.
“Just trying to enter into the spirit of the thing,” said Carter.
“That’s how these buggers in the writing,” said Carter the baker. “I never said ‘fol-de-rol’ in my life. And I can’t understand any of the jokes.”
“You ain’t supposed to understand the jokes, this is a play,” said Jason.
“Drawers!” said Baker the weaver.
“Oh, shut up. And push the cart.”
“Don’t see why we couldn’t do the Stick and Bucket Dance ...” mumbled Tailor the other weaver.
“We’re not doing the Stick and Bucket dance! I never
want to hear any more ever about the Stick and Bucket
140
LORDS ft/YD Lft0f£8
dance! I still get twinges in my kneerude mechanicals talk.”“Who’re rude mechanicals?” said Baker the weaver.“They’re the same as Comic Artisans, I think,” said Carter the baker.“I asked my mum what artisans are,” said Jason.“Yeah?”“They’re us.”“And we’re Rude Mechanicals as well?” said Baker the weaver.“I reckon.”“Bum!”“Well, we certainly don’t talk like

Andrea Mantegna Virgin and child with the Magdalen and St John the Baptist

Andrea Mantegna Virgin and child with the Magdalen and St John the BaptistAndrea Mantegna The Madonna of the CherubimAndrea Mantegna The Adoration of the Shepherds
cobblers, poetry,” said Ridcully. “I’ve listened to mountain streams and they just go trickle, trickle, gurgle.
87
Terry Pratchett
And you get them things in them, you know, insect things with little . . . anyway. Doesn’t sound like laughter at all, is my point. Poets always get it wrong. ‘S’like ‘she had lips like cherries.’ Small, round, and got a stone in the middle? Hah!”
He shut his eyes. After a while Ponder said, “So what happened, sir?”
“What?”
“The girl you were telling me about.”
“What girl?”
“This girl.”
“Oh, that girl. Oh, she turned me down. Said there were things she wanted to do. Said there’d be time enough.”
There was her
name. Hah! She could outrun a horse—“
“Kneel and deliver!”
The coach rattled to a halt.
Ridcully opened an eye.
“What’s that?” he said.another pause.“What happened then?” Ponder prompted.“Happened? What d’you think happened? I went off and studied. Term started. Wrote her a lot of letters but she never answered ‘em. Probably never got ‘em, they probably eat the mail up there. Next year I was studying all summer and never had time to go back. Never did go back. Exams and so on. Expect she’s dead now, or some fat old granny with a dozen kids. Would’ve wed her like a shot. Like a shot.” Ridcully scratched his head. “Hah . . . just wish I could remember her name ...”He stretched out with his feet on the Bursar.“’S’funny, that,” he said. “Can’t even remember
Ponder jerked awake from a reverie of lips like mountain

Lord Frederick Leighton The Painter's Honeymoon

Lord Frederick Leighton The Painter's HoneymoonLord Frederick Leighton Leighton Mother and ChildLord Frederick Leighton Leighton Music Lesson
You never heard Om," said Brutha. "You never believed. You never, ever heard his voice. All you heard were the echoes inside your own mind."
"Really? But I am the Cenobiarch and you are going to burn for treachery and heresy," said Vorbis. "So much for Om, perhaps?"
"There will be justice," said Brutha. "If there is no justice, there is nothing."
He was aware of a small voice in his head, too faint yet to distinguish words.
"Justice?" said Vorbis. The idea seemed to enrage him. He spun around to the crowd of bishops. "Did you hear him? There will be justice? Om has judged! Through me! This is justice!"
There was a speck in the sun now, speeding toward the Citadel. And the little voice was saying left left left up up left right a bit up left-"Vorbis?" croaked Brutha.
"What?" snapped the deacon.
"You're going to die."
It was hardly a whisper, but it bounced off the bronze doors and carried across the Place . . .
It made people uneasy, although they couldn't quite say why.
The eagle sped across the square, so low that people ducked. Then it cleared the roof of the temple and curved away towards the mountains. The watchers relaxed. It was only an eagleThe mass of metal under him was getting uncomfortably hot."He comes now," said Brutha.Vorbis waved his hand to the great facade of the temple. "Men built this. We built this," he said. "And what did Om do? Om comes? Let him come! Let him judge between us!""He comes now," Brutha repeated. "The God."People looked apprehensively upward. There was that moment, just one moment, when the world holds its breath and against all experience waits for a miracle.-up left now, when I say three, one, two, THREE-

Alphonse Maria Mucha Dance

Alphonse Maria Mucha DanceAlphonse Maria Mucha AutumnMichelangelo Buonarroti The Creation of Adam hand
Vorbis lay on his side, his black-on-black eyes staring at nothing.
Brutha tried to sleep.
He had never dreamed. Didactylos had been quite excited about that. Someone who remembered everything and didn't dream would have to think slowly, he said. Imagine a heart,[9] he said, that was nearly all memory, and had hardly any beats to spare for the everyday purposes of thinking. That would explain why Brutha moved his lips while he thought.
So this couldn't , visions of greatness, moments of opportunity, picking him up, taking him high above the world, all this was his, he could do anything, all he had to do was believe, in me, in me, in me-
An image formed in front of him. There, on a stone beside him, was a roast pig surrounded have been a dream. It must have been the sun.He heard Om's voice in his head. The tortoise sounded as though he was holding a conversation with people Brutha could not hear.Mine!Go away!No.Mine!Both of them!Mine!Brutha turned his head.The tortoise was in a gap between two rocks, neck extended and weaving from side to side. There was another sound, a sort of gnat-like whining, that came and went . . . and promises in his head.They flashed past . . . faces talking to him, shapes

Sung Kim Point

Sung Kim PointSung Kim ParadiseSung Kim Palm ReflectionSung Kim Overlook Cafe II
You never come and see me," said the tortoise. "I know you're busy," it added sarcastically, "but a quick prayer would be nice, even."
"I checked you first thing this morning," said Brutha.
"And I'm hungry."
"You had a whole melon rind last night."
"And who had the melon, eh?"
"No, he didn't," said Brutha. "He eats stale bread and water."
"Why ?"
"You did," said Brutha. Then he added: "According to Book One of the Septateuch, anyway."
I've never thought like this before, he thought. I'd never have said "anyway."
"Why'd the captain tell me something like that?" he said. "It's not normal conversation."
"I told you, I never made the world," said Om. "Why should I make the world? It was here already. And if I did make a world, I wouldn't make it a ball. People'd fall off. All doesn't he eat fresh bread?""He waits for it to get stale.""Yes. I expect he does," said the tortoise."Om?" "What?""The captain just said something odd. He said the world is flat and has an edge.""Yes? So what?""But, I mean, we know the world is a ball, because . . .The tortoise blinked."No, it's not," he said. "Who said it's a ball

Salvador Dali Argus

Salvador Dali ArgusJohannes Vermeer The Little StreetJohannes Vermeer Mistress and Maid
Much taken up with the mundane problems of the empire."
A statement. Not a crack in it where you could insert a bone­-disjointer.
"There , who had walked across many a battlefield the day after a glorious victory, when you had ample opportunity to see what winning meant. The Omnians forbade the use of all drugs. At times like that the prohibition bit hard, when you dared not go to sleep for fear of your dreams.
"Did not the Great God declare, through the Prophet Abbys, that there is no greater and more honorable sacrifice than one's own life for the God?"
"Indeed he did," said Fri'it. He couldn't help recalling that Abbys had been a bishop in was the crusade against the Hodgsonites," said Fri'it distantly. "And the Subjugation of the Melchiorites. And the Resolving of the false prophet Zeb. And the Correction of the Ashelians, and the Shriving of the-”"But all that was just politics," said Drunah."Hmm. Yes. Of course, you are right.""And, of course, no one could possibly doubt the wisdom of a war to further the worship and glory of the Great God.""No. None could doubt it," said Fri'it

Gustav Klimt dancer

Gustav Klimt dancerGustav Klimt Adam and EveFrederic Remington The Cowboy
Although it has nothing much to do with the story, it is an interesting fact that, about five hundred miles away, a small flock, or rather in this case a herd, of birds were picking their way cautiously through the trees. They had heads like
Custom was slow in the Mended Drum. The troll chained to the doorpost sat in the shade and reflectively picked someone out of his teeth.
Creosote was singing softly to himself. He had discovered beer and wasn't having to pay for it, because the coinage of compliments - rarely employed by the swains of Ankh - was having an astonishing effect on the landlord's daughter. She was a large, good-natured girl, with a figure a flamingo, bodies like a turkey, and legs like a Sumo wrestler; they walked in a jerky, bobbing fashion, as though their heads were attached to their feet by elastic bands. They belonged to a species unique even among Disc fauna, in that their prime means of defence was to cause a predator to laugh so much that they could run away before it recovered. Rincewind would have been vaguely satisfied to know that they were geas.

Bill Brauer Scarlet Dancer

Bill Brauer Scarlet DancerBill Brauer Harvest MoonBill Brauer Gold Dress
except by walking through the several hundred tons of stone that blocked the tunnel or, to put it in another way, which was the way Rincewind put it, they were undoubt­edly trapped. He relaxed a bit.
At least there to eat that carpet, they were probably moths.'
'Gosh.'
'That's what you people never understand,' said Rincewind, wearily. 'You think magic is just something you can pick up and use, like a, a-’
'Parsnip?' said Nijel.
'Wine bottle?' said the Seriph.
'Something like that,' said Rincewind cautiously, bwas no mistaking the magic carpet. It lay rolled up on a raised slab in the middle of the room. Next to it was a small, sleek oil lamp and - Rincewind craned to see - a small gold ring. He groaned. A faint octarine corona hung over all three items, indicating that they were magical.When Conina unrolled the carpet a number of small objects tumbled on to the floor, including a brass herring, a wooden ear, a few large square sequins and a lead box with a preserved soap bubble in it.'What on earth are they?' said Nijel.'Well,' said Rincewind, 'before they tried ut rallied somewhat and went on, 'But the truth is, is-’

William Beard Phantom Crane

William Beard Phantom CraneWilliam Beard OwlsWilliam Beard Majestic Stag
winning by sheer weight of numbers, using nets and ropes to tangle the struggling crew. They worked in absolute silence, clubbing and dodging, avoiding the use of swords wherever possible.
'Musn't damage the merchandise,' said Conina. Rincewind watched in horror as the captain went down under a press of dark shapes, screaming, 'Green fire! Green fire!'
Rincewind The battle already seemed to be over. Five of the raid­ers stalked up the ladder to the afterdeck, leaving most of their colleagues to round up the defeated crew below. The leader pulled down his mask and leered briefly and swarthily at Conina; and then he turned backed away. He wasn't any good at magic, but he'd had a hundred per cent success at stay­ing alive up to now and didn't want to spoil the record. All he needed to do was to learn how to swim in the time it took to dive into the sea. It was worth a try.'What are you waiting for? Let's go while they're occupied,' he said to Conina.'I need a sword,' she said.'You'll be spoilt for choice in a minute.''One will be enough.'Rincewind kicked the Luggage.'Come on,' he snarled. 'You've got a lot of floating to do.'The Luggage extended its little legs with exaggerated nonchalance, turned slowly, and settled down beside the girl.'Traitor,' said Rincewind to its hinges.

Vincent van Gogh Houses at Auvers

Vincent van Gogh Houses at AuversVincent van Gogh Tree trunksVincent van Gogh Stairway at Auvers
I wish you every success in your search,' he said, 'Id help you myself, only I'm not going to.'
'What?'
'Sorry. I don't been totally changed, and in fact would also have been considerably shorter, but he would have got a good night's sleep although, of course, it would have been on the floor.
The future held its breath, waiting for Rincewind to walk away.
He didn't do this for three reasons. One was alcohol. One was the tiny flame of pride that flickers in the heart of even the most careful coward. But the third was the voice.know why, but the prospect of certain death in unknown lands at the claws of exotic monsters isn't for me. I've tried it, and I couldn't get the hang of it. Each to their own, that's what I say, and I was cut out for boredom.' He rammed his hat on his head and stood up a little unsteadily.He'd reached the foot of the steps leading up into the street when a voice behind him said: 'A real wizard would have accepted.'He could have kept going. He could have walked up the stairs, out into the street, got a pizza at the Klatchian takeaway in Sniggs Alley, and gone to bed. History would have

Vincent van Gogh Fishing Boats on the Beach

Vincent van Gogh Fishing Boats on the BeachVincent van Gogh Cornfield with CypressesVincent van Gogh Cherry Tree
Archchancellor?’
‘The comment I made recently about the Y-word . . .’
‘Yes? Yes?’
‘You can definitely include Yee-haw, too.’
The Dean hung his head.
‘Oh. And then the floor erupted ahead of them.
And then, behind them.
The thing that arose from the shattered tiles was either formless or many forms at once. It writhed angrily, snapping its tubing at them. The trolley skewed to a halt.
‘Got any more magic, Dean?’Yes. Archchancellor.’‘And why hasn’t everythin’ gone boom?’‘I put a slight delay on it, Archchancellor. I thought perhaps we ought to get out before things happened.’‘Good thinking, that man.’‘Soon have you out, Windle,’ said Reg Shoe. ‘We don’t leave our people in there. Isn’t this -‘
‘Er . . . no, Archchancellor.’

John William Waterhouse The Siren

John William Waterhouse The SirenJohn William Waterhouse The Lady ClareJohn William Waterhouse Flora
craned his neck to see around the kitchen, just in case jewels and treasure were hanging out of the dresser drawers. Miss FIitworth eclipsed his view.
‘I’m sure you did. Thank you. Now I expect you’ll be wanting to be off home.’
‘lf there’s anything we can do -‘
‘I know ‘I ain’t surprised. He makes it up in the woods. Apples isn’t the half of it.’
I HAVE NEVER FELT ILL BEFORE. OR TIRED.
‘lt’s all part of being alive.’
AND HOW DO HUMANS STAND IT?
‘Well, fermented apple juice can help.’
Bill Door sat staring gloomily at the floor.where you live. And you ain’t paid no rent there for five years, too. Goodbye. Mr Spigot.’She ushered them to the door and shut it in their faces, then she turned around.‘What the hell have you been doing, Mr So-Called Bill ?I AM TIRED AND IT WON’T STOP.Bill Door clutched at his skull.ALSO SPIGOT GAVE ME A HUMOROUS APPLE JUICE FERMENTED DRINK BECAUSE OF THE HEAT AND NOW I FEEL ILL.

John William Waterhouse Pandora

John William Waterhouse PandoraJohn William Waterhouse LamiaVincent van Gogh The Yellow House
professional to another. Bill Door said: AND YOU ARE -?
The Death of Rats nodded.
SQUEAK.
I REMEMBER, said Bill Door, WHEN YOU WERE A PART OF ME.
The Death of Rats squeaked again.
Bill Door fumbled in the pockets of his overall. He’d put some of his lunch in there. Ah, yes.
I at their flight in and out of the high barred windows. Death had wondered, at the time, why anyone would do something like that.
I WON’T DELAY YOU, he said. I EXPECT YOU’VE GOT THINGS TO DO.
RATS TO SEE. I KNOW HOW IT IS.
And now he understood.EXPECT, he said, THAT YOU COULD MURDER A PIECE OF CHEESE?The Death of Rats took it graciously.Bill Door remembered visiting an old man once - only once - who had spent almost his entire life locked in a cell in a tower for some alleged crime little birds for company during his life sentence. They crapped on his bedding and ate his food, but he tolerated them and smiled

Gustav Klimt Hygieia (II)

Gustav Klimt Hygieia (II)Gustav Klimt Goldfish (detail)Salvador Dali Tiger
there’s a crescent moon in the sky and a crust on the snow and the hills go on for ever . . . and the other wolves, well, fill up as the population of Ankh-Morpork began its informal shift change between the night people and the day people. All of them avoided Windle. People didn’t bump into a zombie if they could help it.
He reached the University gates. which were now open, and made his way to his bedroom.
He’d need money, if he was moving out. He’d saved quite a lot over the years. Had he made a will? He’d they feel what it’s like, of course, but they don’t know like I do. To feel and know at the same time. No-one else knows what that’s like. No-one else in the whole world could know what that’s like. Windle became aware of teetering on the edge of a pit of sorrows. He never knew what to say in moments like this.Lupine brightened up. ‘Come to that . . . what’s it like, being a zombie?’‘It’s OK. It’s not too bad.’Lupine nodded.‘See you around,’ he said, and strode off.The streets were beginning to

Frederic Edwin Church Sunset

Frederic Edwin Church SunsetFrederic Edwin Church AutumnLorenzo Lotto St Catherine of AlexandriaTitian Emperor CharlesTitian The Fall of Man
the other curtain!’
‘One, two, three . . . now!’
Windle blinked in the invasive sunlight.
The wizards held their breath.
‘I ‘m sorry,’ he said.’It doesn’t seem to work.’
They sagged again.
‘, Windle, is not doing you any good,’ he said, and slammed the door behind him.
After a few seconds the four screws holding the door handle very slowly unscrewed themselves. They rose up and orbited near the ceiling for a while, and then fell.
Windle thought about this for a while.
Memories. He had lots of them. One hundred and thirty years of memories. When he was alDon’t you feel anything?’ said Ridcully.‘No sensation of crumbling into dust and blowing away?’ said the Senior Wrangler hopefully.‘My nose tends to peel if I ‘m out in the sun too long,’ said Windle.’I don ‘t know if that’s any help.’ He tried to smile.The wizards looked at one another and shrugged.‘Get out,’ said the Archchancellor. They trooped out. Ridcully followed them. He paused at the door and waved a finger at Windle.‘This uncooperative attitudeive he hadn’t been able to remember one-hundredth of the things he knew but now he was dead