Nicolas De Stael Agrigente

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Wait and see,’ said Victor hoarsely. ‘It’s Holy Wood! Holy Wood’s been brought to Ankh‑Morpork!’
‘Yes, but‑‘
‘Don’t you remember anything? That night in the hill? Before you woke up?’
‘No. I told you.’
‘Wait and see,’ Victor repeated. He glanced at a decorated easel against one wall.
It said: ‘said. ‘Right inside the city, too. Odd, that.’
‘That’s just Lady Ramkin’s Sunshine Sanctuary for Sick Dragons,’ said the Bursar, distractedly.
‘And here there’s "Terra Incognita",’ said the Archchancellor. ‘Why’s that?’
The Bursar craned to see. ‘Well, it’s probably more interesting than putting in lots of cabbage farms.’
‘And there’s "Here be Dragons" again.’
‘I think that’s just a lie, in fact.’
The Archchancellor’s horny thumb continued in the direction they’d Three showings a day!’And he thought of sand dunes, and ancient myths, and lobsters. Map‑making had never been a precise art on the Discworld. People tended to start off with good intentions and then get so carried away with the spouting whales, monsters, waves and other twiddly bits of cartographic furniture that they often forgot to put the boring mountains and rivers in at all.The Archchancellor put an overflowing ashtray on a corner that threatened to roll up. He dragged a finger across the grubby surface.‘Says here "Here be Dragons",’ he

Salvador Dali Manhattan Skyline

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got out of bed and also looked towards the hill, although it is doubtful if she saw it. Moving like a sightless person in a familiar room, she padded across to the door, down the steps, and out into the tail of the night.
A small dog, a cat and a mouse watched from the shadows as she moved silently down the alley and headed for the hill.
‘Did you that somethin’s not right,’ said Gaspode desperately. ‘That’s not walkin’, that’s lurchin’. Like she’s bein’ pulled along by a inner voice, style of fing.’
‘Don’t look like that to me,’ said Squeak. ‘Walking on two legs is lurching, in my book.’
‘You’ve only got to look at her face to see there’s somethin’ wrong!’
‘Of course there’s something wrong. She’s a human,’ said Squeak.
Gaspode considered the options. There weren’t many. The obvious one see her eyes?’ said Gaspode. ‘Glowing,’ said the cat. ‘Yukth!’ ‘She’s going to the hill,’ said Gaspode. ‘I don’t like that.’ ‘So what?’ said Squeak. ‘She’s always around the hill somewhere. Goes up there every night and moons around looking dramatic.’ ‘What?’ ‘Every night. We thought it was all this romance stuff.’ ‘But you can see by the way she’s movin’

Henri Rousseau Woman Walking in an Exotic Forest

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you listen to the man?’ said Dibbler, talking to the sky again. He glared at the artist. ‘She doesn’t look like two of them, does she? One Spink, two Spinks. Now get on with it. I want those posters all round the city first thing ‘I think it’s meant to be, dear,’ she said doubtfully.
‘I thought swords had to be straight,’ said Victor. Outside, he could hear Dibbler asking the sky why everyone was so stupid.
‘Perhaps they start out straight and go bendy with use,’ said the old lady, patting him on the hand. ‘A lot of things do.’ tomorrow.’ The artist gave Victor an agonized look he was coming to recognize. Everyone around Dibbler wore them after a while. ‘Right you are, Mr Dibbler,’ he said. ‘Right.’ Dibbler turned to Victor. ‘Why aren’t you changed?’ he said. Victor ducked quickly into a tent. A little old lady[10] shaped like a cottage loaf helped him into a costume apparently made of sheets inexpertly dyed black, although given the current state of accommodation in Holy Wood they were probably just sheets taken off a bed at random. Then she handed him a curved sword. ‘Why’s it bent?’ he asked.

Sung Kim Escape

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looked up at the sandy hill.
‘There was jus’ me and him,’ he said. ‘And then jus’ me, remembering Holy Wood. And now. . . ‘ He raised his hand to his mouth.
‘Oo-er,’ he said.
YES, said Death.
It would be wrong to say a look of panic passed across Deccan Ribobe’s face, because at that moment it was several ‘Well, of course, I’m not telling you anything . . . ‘
NO.
‘ . . . I mean, I was hopin’ someone’d get shipwrecked or somethin’, or come treasure huntin’, and I could explain it like old Tento explained it to me, teach ‘em the chants, get it all sorted out before I died . . . ‘ yards away and wearing a sort of fixed grin, as if it had seen the joke at last. But his spirit was definitely worried. ‘See, the thing is,’ it said hastily, ‘no-one ever comes here, see, apart from the fishermen from the next bay, and they just leaves the fish and runs off on account of superstition and I couldn’t sort of go off to find an apprentice or somethin’ because of keepin’ the fires alight and doin’ the chantin’ . . . ‘ YES. ‘ . . . It’s a terrible responsibility, bein’ the only one able to do your job . . . ‘ YES, said Death.
YES?

Bill Brauer The Gold Dress

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both sides of the line, wooden horses were taking shape.

'It's gone,' said be off, then.' He inched his way up the debris and poked his head over the top just as the vanguard of the dead came round the corner of the nearest minor pyramid.
His first thought was: this is it, they're coming to complain. He'd done his best. It wasn't always easy to build to a budget. Maybe not every lintel was exactly as per drawings, perhaps the quality of the internal plasterwork wasn't always up to snuff, but . . .
They can't all be complaining. Not this many of them.
Ptaclusp IIb climbed up alongside him. His mouth dropped open.Ptaclusp IIb, slithering back down the pile of rubble. 'About time, too,' said his father. 'Help me fold up your brother. You're sure it won't hurt him?' 'Well, if we do it carefully he can't move in Time, that is, width to us. So if no time can pass for him, nothing can hurt him.' Ptaclusp thought of the old days, when pyramid building had simply consisted of piling one block on another and all you needed to remember was that you put less on top as you went up. And now it meant trying to put a crease in one of your sons. 'Right,' he said doubtfully. 'Let's

Lord Frederick Leighton Solitude

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Oh, yes. Yes. I suppose so,' said Teppic, glancing at Dios. 'Everything. You know.'
'Then there's mazes,' said Ptaclusp, trying to keep his voice steady. 'Very popular this era. Very important, your maze, it's no We'll have them all. All of them.'
The architect took a deep breath.
'And of course you'll require all the usual steles, avenues, ceremonial sphinxes-' he began.
'Lots,' said Teppic. 'We leave it entirely up to you.'
Ptaclusp mopped his brow.good deciding you ought to have put a maze in after the robbers have been. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I'd go for the Labrys every time. Like we say, they may get in all right, but they'll never get out. It costs that little bit extra, but what's money at a time like this? O master of the waters.' Something we don't have, said a warning voice in the back of Teppic's head. He ignored it. He was in the grip of destiny. 'Yes,' he said, straightening up. 'The Labrys. Two of them.' Ptaclusp's stylus went through his tablet. 'His 'n' hers, O stone of stones,' he croaked. 'Very handy, very convenient. With selection of traps from stock? We can offer deadfalls, pitfalls, sliders, rolling balls, dropping spears, arrows-' 'Yes, yes,' said Teppic. 'We'll have them.
'Fine,' he said. 'Marvellous.' He blew his nose. 'Your father, if I may make so bold, O sower of the seed, is extremely

Leonardo da Vinci Head of Christ

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Granny Weatherwax coughed. Then she treated the soldiers holding her to a bright, friendly smile, and pointed to the mound that was now the duchess.
'Take her away and put her in a cell somewhere,' she commanded. The men snapped to attention, grabbed the duchess by her arms, and pulled her upright with considerable difficulty.
'Them,' agreed Granny. 'Most of the per cents in being a king is acting, if you ask me. You ought to be good at it.'
Tomjon looked for help into the wings, where Hwel should have been. The dwarf was in fact there, but he wasn't paying much attention. He had the script in front of him, and was rewriting furiously.
'Gently, mind,' said Granny.She rubbed her hands together and turned to Tomjon, who was watching her with his mouth open.'Depend on it,' she hissed. 'Here and now, my lad, you don't have a choice. You're the King of Lancre.''But I don't know how to be a king!''We all seed you! You had it down just right, including the shouting.''That's just acting!''Act, then. Being a king is, is—' Granny hesitated, and snapped her fingers at Magrat. 'What do you call them things, there's always a hundred of them in anything?'Magrat looked bewildered. 'Do you mean per cents?' she said.

Nicolas De Stael Noon Landscape

Nicolas De Stael Noon LandscapeNicolas De Stael Jazz MusiciansNicolas De Stael Fiesole 1953Nicolas De Stael Cap Gris-NezNicolas De Stael Agrigente stretched and yawned to hide his embarrassment. Being called a good cat in the middle of one of his favourite stalking grounds wasn't going to do anything for his prowl-credibility. He disappeared into the undergrowth.
The Fool The Fool sighed, removed his chain mail protection, and tinkled gently through the night in search of high ground. High ground seemed a good idea. The ground he was on at the moment appeared to be trembling. He was sure it shouldn't do that.peered into the gloom. It dawned on him that while he liked forests, he liked them at one remove, as it were; it was nice to know that they were there, but the forests of the mind were not quite the same as real forests that, for example, you got lost in. They had more mighty oaks and fewer brambles. They also tended to be viewed in daylight, and the trees didn't have malevolent faces and long scratchy branches. The trees of the imagination were proud giants of the forest. Most of the trees here appeared to be vegetable gnomes, mere trellises for fungi and ivy.The Fool was vaguely aware that you could tell which direction the Hub lay by seeing which side of the trees the moss grew on. A quick inspection of the nearby trunks indicated that, in defiance of all normal geography, the Hub lay everywhere.Greebo had vanished.

Rodney White Nothing to Dream

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shut up, Leonal,' she said. 'I think within these four walls we can dispense with that sort of thing.'
'Who told her? Did you tell her?'
'And calm down. No-one told her. She's a witch, for goodness sake, they find out about these things. Second glance, or something.'
'Sight,' said Nanny.
'Which you will not possess much longer, my good woman, unless you tell us who else knows and indeed, assist us on a number of other matters,' said the duchess grimly. 'And you will do so, believe me. I am skilled in these things.'

'What?' said the guard.
'I SAID,' said Magrat, 'I've come to sell my lovely apples. Don't you listen?'
'There's not a sale on, is there?' The guard was extremely nervous since his colleague had been Granny glanced around the dungeon. It was beginning to get crowded. King Verence was bursting with such angry vitality that he was very nearly apparent, and was furiously trying to get a grip on a knife. But there were others behind – wavering, broken shapes, not exactly ghosts but memories, implanted in the very substances of the walls themselves by sheer pain and terror.'My own dagger! The bastards! They killed me with my own dagger,' said the ghost of King Verence silently, raising his transparent arms and imploring the netherworld in general to witness this ultimate humiliation. 'Give me strength . . .''Yes,' said Nanny. 'It's worth a try.''And now we will commence,' said the duchess.

Unknown Artist James Wiens Birch Silhouette I

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tall figure tapped its calcareous fingers on the scythe's handle. It was obviously upset about something.
If it came to that, Verence thought, so am I. But the various broad hints available in his present circumstances were breaking through even the mad brave stupidity that made up most of his character, and it was dawning on him that whatever kingdom he might currently be in, he wasn't king of it.
'Are you THIS IS VERY IRREGULAR, he went on, apparently to himself. HOWEVER, WHO AM I TO ARGUE?
'Who indeed.'
WHAT?
'I said, who indeed.'
SHUT UP.Death, fellow?' he ventured.I HAVE MANY NAMES.'Which one are you using at present?' said Verence, with a shade more deference. There were people milling around them; in fact, quite a few people were milling through them, like ghosts.'Oh, so it was Felmet,' the king added vaguely, looking at the figure lurking with obscene delight at the top of the stairs. 'My father said I should never let him get behind me. Why don't I feel angry?'GLANDS, said Death shortly. ADRENALIN AND SO FORTH. AND EMOTIONS. YOU DON'T HAVE THEM. ALL YOU HAVE NOW IS THOUGHT.The tall figure appeared to reach a decision.

Nicolas De Stael Agrigente

Nicolas De Stael AgrigenteNicolas De Stael Agrigente 1953Rodney White Small Change
drink, that is. It's raspberry port. On the dresser. You might as well finish the bottle.'
Mort eyed the dresser suspiciously. He felt he'd rather lost the initiative. He pulled out the hourglass and glared at it. There ink in front of the candle, sealed the letter with a drip of wax, and tucked it under the candlestick. Then she picked up the cat.
'Granny Beedle will be around directly tomorrow to tidy up and you're to go with her, understand? And see she lets Gammer Nutley have the pink marble washstand, she's had her eye on it for years.'
The cat yawped knowingly.
'I haven't, that is, I HAVEN'T GOT ALL NIGHT, YOU KNOW,' said Mort reproachfully.
'You have, I haven't, and there's no need to shout,' said the witch. She slid off her stall and then Mort saw how bent she was, like a bow. With some difficulty she unhooked a tall pointed hat from its nail on the was a little heap of sand left.There's still a few minutes yet,' said the witch, without looking up.'How, I mean, HOW DO YOU KNOW?'She ignored him, and dried the

Leonardo da Vinci Portrait of Ginevra de Benci

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'Sure, sure, it's gold,' said Cutwell hurriedly. 'It's gold all right. I just wondered where it had come from, that's all.'
'You wouldn't believe me,' said Mort. 'What time's sunset around here?'
'We normally PIQUANT. HELP YOURSELF, I HAVE AN EXTRA PIN.
But, of course, just because he was forty miles away didn't mean he wasn't here as well. . . .
And in his untidy room Cutwell turned the gold coin over and over in his fingers, muttering 'walls' to himself, and draining the bottle.
He appeared to notice what he was doing only when there was no more manage to fit it in between night and day,' said Cutwell, still staring at the coin and taking little sips from the blue bottle. 'About now.'Mort glanced out of the window. The street outside already had a twilight look to it.'I'll be back,' he muttered, and made for the door. He heard the wizard call out something, but Mort was heading down the street at a dead run.He started to panic. Death would be waiting for him forty miles away. There would be a row. There would be a terrible —AH, BOY.A familiar figure stepped out from the flare around a jellied eel stall, holding a plate of winkles.THE VINEGAR IS PARTICULARLY

Vincent van Gogh The Sower

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wanted to ask what 'nuptials' meant.
What he actually said was, 'Yes. Thank you. I'd better be going. I'll try and write you a letter.'
'There's bound to Lezek waved back. Then, as the horse and its two riders disappeared from view, he lowered his hand and looked at it. The handshake . . . it had felt strange. But, somehow, he couldn't remember be someone passing who can read it to us,' said Lezek. 'Goodbye, Mort.' He blew his nose.'Goodbye, dad. I'll come back to visit,' said Mort. Death coughed tactfully, although it sounded like the pistol-crack of an ancient beam full of death-watch beetle.WE HAD BETTER BE GOING, he said. HOP UP, MORT.As Mort scrambled behind the ornate silver saddle Death leaned down and shook Lezek's hand.THANK YOU, he said.'He's a good lad at heart,' said Lezek. 'A bit dreamy, that's all. I suppose we were all young once.'Death considered this.No, he said, I DON'T THINK so.He gathered up the reins and turned the horse towards the Rim road. From his perch behind the black-robed figure Mort waved desperately.

Franz Marc Tiger

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said the dust was afraid of it! Can you imagine?"
"Yes," saidwindows and stared out over the city. She was feeling angrier than usual, so the broom attacked the dust with unusual vigour. Spiders ran desperate eight-legged dashes for safety as ancestral cobwebs disappeared into the void. In the walls mice clung to each other, legs braced against the inside of their holes. Woodworm scrabbled in the ceiling beams as they were drawn, inexorably, backwards down their tunnels. Granny. Mrs Whitlow pushed her teacup towards her and gave her an embarrassed smile. Granny sighed inwardly and squinted into the none-too-clean depths of the future. She was definitely beginning to run out of imagination. The broom whisked down the corridor raising a great cloud of dust which, if you looked hard at it, seemed somehow to be sucked back into the broomstick. If you looked even harder you'd see that the broom handle had strange markings on it, which were not so much carved as clinging and somehow changed shape as you watched. But no one looked. Esk sat at one of the high deep

Salvador Dali Ascension

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Eh?" said Simon, opening his eyes in time to stop the oxen wandering off the track.
"You said all those wubbleyous!"
"Idid?"
"I heard you! Try again."
Simon took a deep breath. "The worworwor - the wuwuw -" he said. "The wowowoo-" he continued.
"It's no good, it's gone," he said. "It happens sometimes, if I don't think about it. Master Treatle says I'm allergic to pass of orange rock. Simon looked at it disconsolately.
"My granny taught me some hayfever cures," Esk said. "We could try those."
Simon shook his head. It looked touch and go whether it would fall off.
"Tried everything," he said. "Fine wwiwwi-magician I'd make, eh, can't even sss-utter the wowo-name."
"I could see where that would be a problem," said Esk. She watched the scenery for a while, marshalling a train of thought.something." "Allergic to double-yous?" "No, sisssisi-" //-silly-" said Esk, generously. "- there's sososo-" "- something -" "- in the air, p-pollen maybe, or g-grass dust. Master Treatle has tried to find the cause of it but no magic seems to h-help it." They were passing through a narrow

Ford Madox Brown Romeo and Juliet

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She tried to recall the bits of lessons that Granny grudgingly doled out. It isn't what you know, it's what other people don't know. Magic can be something right in the wrong place, or something wrong in the right place. It can be
Granny always wore it to the village. And the big black cloak, which certainly wasn't magical, because for most of the winter it had been a goat blanket and Granny washed it in the spring.
Esk ." She tapped her silver hair, which was drawn into a tight bun that could crack rocks.
"But it's not real!" Esk protested. "That's not magic, it's it's -"
"Listen," said Granny, "If you give someone a bottle of red jollop for their began to feel the shape of the answer and she didn't like it much. It was like a lot of Granny's answers. Just a word trick. She just said things you knew all the time, but in a different way so they sounded important. "I think I know," she said at last. "Out with it, then." "It's in sort of two parts." "Well?" "It's a witch's hat because you wear it. But you're a witch because you wear the hat. Um." "So -"prompted Granny. "So people see you coming in the hat and the cloak and they know you're a witch and that's why your magic works?" said Esk. "That's right," said Granny. "It's called headology

Vincent van Gogh View of Arles with Irises I

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The crowd surged over one of the bridges that linked Morpork with Ankh. Below it the river, turgid at the best of times, was a mere trickle which steamed.
The bridge shook under their feet rather more than it should. Strange ripples ran across the muddy remains of the river. A few tiles slid off the roof of a nearby house.
'What was that?' said Twoflower.
Bethan looked behind them, and screamed.
The star was rising. As the Disc's own sun scurried for safety below the horizon the great bloated ball of the star climbed slowly into the sky until the whole of it was several degrees above the edge of the world.
They pulled Rincewind into the safety of a doorway. The crowd hardly noticed them, but ran on, terrified as lemmings.
'The star's got spots on,' said Twoflower.
'No,' saidits gates were, generally, making one of two demands. They were demanding that either a) the wizards should stop messing about and get rid of the star or, and this was the demand favoured by the star people, that b) they should cease all magic and commit suicide in good order, thus ridding the Disc of the curse of magic and warding off the terrible threat in the sky.
The wizards on the other side of the w

Salvador Dali Asummpta Corpuscularia Lapislazulina

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Twoflower appear like a colour plate?
Probably not, he decided. The Octavo they were in was something a bit different from the mere book chained to its lectern deep in Unseen University, which was merely a three-dimensional representation of a multidimensional reality, and—
Hold on, he thought. I don't think like this. Who's thinking for me?
'Rincewind,' said a voice like the rustle of old pages.
'Who? Me?'
'Of course you, you daft sod.'
A flicker of defiance flared very briefly in Rincewind's battered heart.
'Have you managed to recall how the Universe started yet?' he said nastily. 'The Clearing of the Throat, wasn't it, or the Drawing of the Breath, or the Scratching of the Head and Trying to Remember It, It was On the Tip of the Tongue?'
Another voice, dry as tinder, hissed, 'You would do well to remember where you are.' It should be

Leroy Neiman Roulette II

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other bigger, is he all right?' he said solicitously.
'He's just suffering from reality shock,' said Rincewind. You haven't got a red hat, by any chance?'
'Wheet?'
'Just a thought.'
'I know where there's some food for biggers,' said the gnome, 'and shelter, too. It's not far.'
Rincewind , anxiously. 'Did it hurt?'
The Luggage seemed to think about this. Every brass handle, every knothole, radiated extreme concentration.
Then it shrugged its lid and waddled away.
The tree sighed, and shook a few dead leaves out of its twigs.
looked at the lowering sky. The daylight was draining out of the landscape and the clouds looked as if they had heard about snow and were considering the idea. Of course, people who lived in mushrooms couldn't necessarily be trusted, but right now a trap baited with a hot meal and clean sheets would have had the wizard hammering to get in.They set off. After a few seconds the Luggage got carefully to its feet and started to follow.'Psst!'It turned carefully, little legs moving in a complicated pattern, and appeared to look up.'Is it good, being joinery?' said the tree

Paul Cezanne Table Corner

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wizard made out the shape of something, the edge of something-
Like those curious little pictures where the silhouette of an ornate glass suddenly becomes the outline of two faces, the , sweeping slowly past it, was something that for all its city-sized scales, its crater-pocks, its lunar cragginess, was indubitably a flipper.
"Shall I let go?" suggested the troll
"Gnah," said Rincewind, straining backwards.
"I have lived here on the Edge for five years and I have not had the courage," boomed Tethis. "Nor have you, if I'm any judge." He stepped back, allowing Rincewind to fling himself onto the ground.scene beneath him flipped into a whole, new, terrifying perspective. Because down there was the head of an elephant as big as a reasonably-sized continent. One mighty tusk cut like a mountain against the golden light, trailing a widening shadow towards the stars. The head was slightly tilted, and a huge ruby eye might almost have been a red super-giant that had managed to shine at noonday.Below the elephant-Rincewind swallowed and tried not to think-Below the elephant there was nothing but the distant, painful disc of the sun. And