Jack Vettriano The Missing Man

Jack Vettriano The Missing ManJack Vettriano The Missing Man IJack Vettriano The Man in the Mirror
'Well, then,' she said, 'I don't want something soppy and posey. No silly black lace or anything worn by idiots who write poetry in their rooms and dress like vampires and are vegetarians really.'
The images of clothes floated across her reflection. It was clear that black was the only option, but she settled on something Glod wandered quietly into the University Library. Dwarfs respected learning, provided they didn't have to experience it.
He tugged at the robe of a passing young wizard.
'There's a monkey runs this place, right?' he said. 'Big fat hairy monkey, hands a couple of octaves wide?'
The wizard, a pasty‑faced post‑graduate student, looked down at Glod practical and without frills. She put her head on one side critically.'Well, maybe a bit of lace,' she said. 'And perhaps a bit more . . . bodice.'She nodded at her reflection in the mirror. Certainly it was a dress that no Susan would ever wear, although she suspected that there was a basic Susanness about her which would permeate it after a while.'It's a good job you're here,' she said, 'or I'd go totally mad. Haha.'Then she went to see her grandf . . . Death.There was one place he had to be.

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 SonRembrandt rembrandt nightwatch painting
it was all some kind of dream, she didn't seem at any risk of waking up. Anyway, she didn't believe that kind of thing. Dreams weren't like this.
A path led from see how logically stupid the whole idea was, and he'd been standing there, anxiously waiting to see what she'd do...
Old certainties drained away, to be replaced by new certainties.
Now she understood whose granddaughter she was.
The Mended Drum had traditionally gone in for, well, traditional pub games, such as dominoes, darts and Stabbing People In The Back And Taking All Their Money. The new the stable‑yard past a vegetable garden and, descending slightly, into an orchard of black‑leaved trees. Glossy black apples hung from them. Off to one side were some white beehives.And she knew she'd seen it all before.There was an apple tree that was quite, quite different from the others.She stood and stared at it as memory flooded back.She remembered being just old enough to

Franz Marc Reh im Klostergarten

Franz Marc Reh im KlostergartenFranz Marc Pferd in LandschaftFranz Marc KüheFranz Marc Horse in a Landscape
turn the matter over to Corporal Nobbs,' he said.
'That's what I like,' said Gaspode bitterly. 'Incentive.'
He presssed his blotchy nose to the ground. It was all show, anyway. Angua's scent hung in the air like a rainbow.
'You can really talk?'He pulled the gonne into position, clicked a rack of six bullets into position, and sighted at random on a light. And then on another one. And another one.
He really shouldn't have let it shoot that beggar girl. That wasn't the plan. Guild leaders, that was poor little Edward's plan. Guild leaders, to start with. Leave the city leaderless and in turmoil, and then confront his silly candidate and say: Go forth and rule, it is your destiny That was an old disease, that kind of said Carrot.Gaspode rolled his eyes.' 'Course not,' he said.The figure had reached the top of the tower.Lamps and candles were alight all over the city. It was spread out below him. Ten thousand little earthbound stars . . . and he could turn off any one he wanted, just like that. It was like being a god.It was amazing how sounds were so audible up here. It was like being a god. He could hear the howl of dogs, the sound of voices. Occasionally one would be louder than the rest, rising up into the night sky.This was power. The power he had below, the power to say: do this, do that . . . that was just something human, but this . . . this was like being a god.

Vincent van Gogh The Night Cafe in the Place Lamartine in Arles

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thousand years. Just because he thinks that everyone's really decent underneath and would get along just fine if only they made the effort, and he believes that so strongly it burns like a flame which is bigger than he is. He's got a dream and we're all part they stole from the Assassins, but he was right to try to find out who killed Mr Hammerhock And no-one cares about Lettice Knibbs.'
'I like to find out who shoot me,' said Detritus.
'Beats me why anyone'd be daft enough to steal from the Assassins,' said Carrot. 'That's what Captain Vimes said. He said you'd have to be a fool to think of breaking into that place.'of it, so that it shapes the world around him. And the weird thing is that no-one wants to disappoint him. It'd be like kicking the biggest puppy in the universe. It's a kind of magic.'The gold's rubbing off,' said Cuddy. 'But it's a good watch,' he added quickly.'I was hoping we could give it to him tonight,' said Carrot. 'And all go out for a . . . drink . . .''Not a good idea,' said Angua.'Leave it until tomorrow,' said Colon. 'We'll form a guard of honour at the wedding. That's traditional. Everyone holds their swords up in a kind of arch.''We've only got one sword between us,' said Carrot glumly.They all stared at the floor.'It's not fair,' said Angua. 'I don't care who stole whatever

Thomas Kinkade Christmas Moonlight

Thomas Kinkade Christmas Moonlight
he was cleaning a club, sort of thing, and it accidentally went off,' said Nobby. He'd caught it, too.
'No-one 'd want to kill young Beano,' said the down, in a quiet voice. 'He was a friendly soul. Friends everywhere.'
Almost . I am detector-ing, he thought, with a faint touch of pride. People are Helping me with My Inquiries.
Thomas Kinkade Christmas Evening
'Dunno. Odd. Not quite himself—''This was yesterday?''Oh, 'Who are these gentlemen?' he demanded.'Er—' Boffo began.funny. That was the whole purpose of a clown. People laughed at clowns, but only out of nervousness. The point of clowns
Thomas Kinkade Abundant Harvest
everywhere,' said Colon.The funeral was over. The jesters, jokers and clowns were going about their business, getting stuck in door-ways on the way. There was much pushing and shoving and honking of noses and falling of prats. It was a scene to make a happy man slit his wrists on a fine spring rang.'All I know is,' said Boffo, in a low voice, 'that when I saw him yesterday he was looking very . . . odd. I called out to him when he was going through the gates and—''How do you mean, odd?' said Colon
Thomas Kinkade A Holiday Gathering
yes. In the morning. I know because the gate rota—''Yesterday morning?''That's what I said, mister. Mind you, we were all a bit nervous after the bang—''Brother Boffo!''Oh, no—' mumbled the clown.A figure was striding towards them. A terrible figure.No downs were was that, after watching them, anything else that happened seemed enjoyable. It was nice to know there was someone worse off than you. Someone had to be the butt of the world.But even clowns are frightened of something, and that is the white-faced clown. The one who never gets in the way of the custard. The one in the shiny white clothes, and the deadpan white make-up. The one with the little pointy hat and the thin mouth and the delicate black eyebrows.Dr Whiteface.

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Maria

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida MariaAlexandre Cabanel OpheliaAlexandre Cabanel Cleopatra
a jack-in-office and an insolent upstart!'
'Dear me. I did not appreciate your strength of feeling. But since you demand it, I will bring him to heel without delay.'
'Thank you.'
'Don't mention it. Do not let me keep you.'
Dr Cruces wandered off in the direction of the Patrician's idle gesture.
Lord Vetinari bent over his paperwork again, and did not even look up when there was a distant, muffled cry. Instead, he reached down and rang a small silver bell.
A clerk hurried up.
'Go and fetch the ladder, will you, Drumknott?' he said. 'Dr Cruces seems to have fallen in the hoho.'

The back door to the dwarf Bjorn Hammerhock's workshop lifted off the latch and creaked open. He went to see if there was anyone there, and shivered.
He shut the door.. I can easily replace that. You know,' he said, looking up, 'this is a very interesting device. With the chemicals in the tubes and all. Such a simple idea. Is it a clown thing? Some kind of automatic slap-stick?'
He sorted through a bin of metal offcuts to find a piece of steel, and then selected a file.
'I'd like to make a few sketches afterwards,' he said.'Bit of a chilly breeze,' he said, to the room's other occupant. 'Still, we could do with it.'The ceiling of the workshop was only about five feet above the floor. That was more than tall enough for a dwarf.Ow, said a voice that no-one heard.Hammerhock looked at the thing clamped in the vice, and picked up a screwdriver.Ow.'Amazing,' he said. 'I think that moving this tube down the barrel forces the, er, six chambers to slide along, presenting a new one to the, er, firing hole. That seems clear enough. The triggering mechanism is really just a tinderbox device. The spring . . . here . . . has rusted through
About thirty seconds later there was a pop and a cloud of smoke.
Bjorn Hammerhock picked himself up, shaking his

Mark Spain Timeless Beauty

Mark Spain Timeless BeautyMark Spain The Pink DressMark Spain SevillaMark Spain ReflectionMark Spain Pure Elegance
of Esme Weatherwax’s head, at the tight bun of gray hair under the brim of the pointy hat.
“Sweet?” she said.
“I expect you’ve got another bag now,” said Granny, without looking around.
“Esme—“
“You got anything to say, Gytha? About bags of sweets?”
Granny Weatherwax still hadn’t turned around.
Nanny looked at her boots.
“No, Esme,” she said meekly.
“I knew “It’s legal, is it?”
“Technically they shouldn’t do it when there’s women present,” said Nanny. “Otherwise it’s sexual morrisment.”you’d go up to the Long Man, you know. How’d you get in?”“Used one of the special horseshoes.”Granny nodded. “You didn’t ought to have brung him into it, Gytha.”“Yes, Esme.”“He’s as tricky as she is.”“Yes, Esme.”“You’re trying preemptive meekness on me.”“Yes, Esme.”They walked a little further.“What was that dance your Jason and his men did when they’d got drunk?” said Granny.“It’s the Lancre Stick and Bucket Dance, Esme.”