Andrew Atroshenko Just for Love

Andrew Atroshenko Just for LoveEdward Hopper Two on the AisleEdward Hopper Corn Hill Truro Cape CodEdward Hopper Bridle PathAmedeo Modigliani Landscape
that’s it,’ said Victor. ‘It’s over. Can you make the sleepwalking part of you understand that? It’s no good trying to get in any more, there isn’t any way. It’s buried. It’s over. Thank goodness.’

There’s a bar like it in every town. It’s dimly‑lit and the drinkers, although they talk, don’t address their words to one she wants. I do what she want, then she say, that not right, you a troll with no finer feelin’, you do not understand what a girl wants. She say, Girl want sticky things to eat in box with bow around, I make box with bow around, she open box, she scream, she say flayed horse not what she mean. She don’t know what she wants.’
‘Yeah,’ said a voice from under Silverfish’s stool. ‘It’d serve ‘em all right if I another and they don’t listen, either. They just talk the hurt inside. It’s a bar for the derelict and the unlucky and all of those people who have been temporarily flagged off the racetrack of life and into the pits.It always does a brisk trade.On this dawn the mourners sat ranged along the counter, each in his cloud of gloom, each certain that he was the most unfortunate individual in the Whole world.‘I created it,’ said Silverfish, morosely. ‘I thought it would be educational. It could broaden people’s horizons. I didn’t intend for it to be a, a, a show. With a thousand elephants!’ he added nastily.‘Yeah,’ said Detritus. ‘She don’t know what

Sandro Botticelli Madonna with the Child

Sandro Botticelli Madonna with the ChildSandro Botticelli Madonna and ChildSandro Botticelli Madonna and Child and Two AngelsJean Beraud The Theatre des VarietesJean Beraud Symphony in Red and Gold
or even just for the insurance. Most of the big stone buildings that actually made it a city, as opposed simply to a load of hovels all in one place, survived themthat a good fire every hundred years or so was essential to the health of the city since it helped to keep down the rats, roaches, fleas and, of course,buildings was what was painted on the canvas. The two‑dimensional Unseen University burned. The Patrician’s backless palace burned. Even the scale‑model Tower of Art gushed flames like a roman candle.
Dibbler watched it with concern.
After a while Soll , behind him, said, ‘Waiting for something, Uncle?’
‘Hmm? Oh, no. I hope Gaffer’s concentrating on the tower, that’s all,’ said people not rich enough to live in stone houses.The famous Fire during the Civil War had been noteworthy simply because it was started by both sides at the same rime in order to stop the city falling into enemy hands.It had not otherwise, according to the history books, been very impressive. The Ankh had been particularly high that summer, and most of the city had been too damp to burn.This time it was a lot better.Flames poured into the sky. Because this was Holy Wood, everything burned, because the only difference between the stone buildings and the wooden

Vincent van Gogh Cornfield with Cypresses

Vincent van Gogh Cornfield with CypressesVincent van Gogh Cherry TreeLeroy Neiman Michael JordanGeorge Frederick Watts The Recording AngelGeorge Frederick Watts She shall be called woman
the handlemen do before they had handles to turn?’
She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Ankh-Morpork’s distant glow.
‘Now what worries me. It’s as though we’re being slotted in. You think we’re using Holy Wood, but Holy Wood is using us. All of us.’ ‘How? Why?’ ‘I don’t know, but-’
‘Look at wizards,’ Ginger went on, vibrating with indignation. ‘What good has their magic ever done anyone?’
‘I think it sort of holds the world together-’ Victor began.
‘They’re pretty good at magic flames and things, but can they make a loaf of they’re trying to find ways of adding sound to moving pictures,’ she said, ‘and out there are people who’ll turn out to be amazingly good at making, making . . . making soundies. They don’t even know it yet - but they’re out there. I can feel them. They’re out there.’ Her eyes were glowing gold. It might just be the sunset, Victor thought, but . . . ‘Because of Holy Wood, hundreds of people are finding out what it is they really want to be,’ said Ginger. ‘And thousands and thousands are getting a chance to forget themselves for an hour or so. This whole damn world is being given a shake!’ ‘That’s it,’ said Victor. ‘That’s

Daniel Ridgway Knight Waiting

Daniel Ridgway Knight WaitingClaude Monet Vase Of FlowersClaude Monet The women in the GardenClaude Monet The PicnicClaude Monet La Grenouillere
Don’t you worry about a fing, mister,’ said the nearest one. ‘Me and ole Galena over there have got this down pat.’
‘Trolls!’ said Victor, backing away.
‘That’s what’d we want to eat people–’
‘Swaller,’ said the other troll. ‘You mean swaller.’
‘Yeah. What’s we want to swaller people for? We always spit out the bits. And anyway we’re retired from all that now,’ he added quickly. ‘Not that we ever did it.’ He nudged Victor in a friendly fashion, nearly breaking one of his ribs. ‘It’s good here,’ he said conspiratorially. ‘We get right,’ said Galena. He flourished a club with a nail in it. ‘But, but,’ Victor began. ‘Yeah?’ said the other troll. What Victor would like to have said was: but you’re trolls, fierce animated rocks that live in the mountains and bash travellers with huge clubs very similar to the ones you’re holding now, and I thought when they said trolls they meant ordinary men dressed up in, oh, I don’t know, sacking painted grey or something. ‘Oh, good,’ he said weakly. ‘Er.’ ‘And don’t you go listening to them stories about us eatin’ people,’ said Galena. ‘That’s a slander, that is. I mean, we’re made of rock,

George Inness Sunset

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Oh, I–’ Silverfish stopped. He looked puzzled. ‘Don’t know,’ he said, eventually. ‘Can’t . . . quite remember. Must have heard about it once and forgot it, and then it just popped into my head. You know how these things happen.’
‘Yeah,’ said Lully. ‘Like with me and the film. It was like I was remembering how to do it. Funny old tricks the ‘What’s this place called?’ said Lully, eventually.
‘Don’t know what it was called in the old days,’ said Silverfish, leaning back and pulling the banged grains towards him. ‘These days they call it the Holy Wood.’
‘Holy Wood,’ said Lully. ‘Sounds . . . familiar.’ There was another mind can play.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘ ‘S’n idea whose time has come, see.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘That must be it.’ A slightly worried silence settled over the table. It was the sound of minds trying to put their mental fingers on something that was bothering them. The air seemed to glitter.

Vincent van Gogh The Olive Trees

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'You spoke?' he said.
'Er, if it is the king, er I - that is, we - think perhaps you should let him get on with it. Er, don't you think that would be a they had been engaged in their eternal squabbling, the gods were returning.
They staggered and lurched across the fields and reed beds, heading for the pyramid. Near-brainless though they were, they understood what it was. Perhaps they even understood what Teppic was trying to do. Their assorted animal faces made it hard to be certain, but it looked as though they were very angry.really good idea?' Dios's staff kicked, and the priests felt the cold bands of restraint freeze their limbs. 'I gave my life for the kingdom,' said the high priest. 'I gave it over and over again. Everything it is, I created. I cannot fail it now.' And then he saw the gods. Teppic eased himself up another couple of feet and then gently reached down to pull a knife out of the marble. It wasn't going to work, though. Knife climbing was for those short and awkward passages, and frowned on anyway because it suggested you'd chosen a wrong route. It wasn't for this sort of thing, unless you had unlimited knives. He glanced over his shoulder again as strange barred shadows flickered across the face of the pyramid. From out of the sunset, where

Johannes Vermeer The Little Street

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mean, king of a Lost Kingdom. It'd be dreadful. I've got to get it back.'
You Bastard slowly turned his massive head to follow the flight of an errant blowfly; deep in his brain little columns of red numbers flickered, detailing vectors and speed and elevation. The conversation of human beings seldom interested him, but it crossed his mind that the males and females always got along best when neither Ptraci dutifully cast around for a new topic of conversation. Introducing Topics of Amusing Discourse was also part of a handmaiden's duties. She'd never been particularly good at it. The other girls had come up with an astonishing assortment: everything from the mating habits of crocodiles to speculation about life in the netherworld. She'd found it heavy going after talking about the weather.
'So,' she said. 'You've killed a lot of people, I expect?'
'Mm?'actually listened fully to what the other one was saying. It was much simpler with camels. Teppic stared at the line in the rock. Geometry. That was it. 'We'll go to Ephebe,' he said. 'They know all about geometry and they have some very unsound ideas. Unsound ideas are what I could do with right now.' 'Why do you carry all these knives and things? I mean, really?' 'Hmm? Sorry?' 'All these knives. Why?' Teppic thought about it. 'I suppose I don't feel properly dressed without them,' he said. 'Oh.'

Jack Vettriano The Railway Station

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Teppic stared straight ahead. Mericet appeared in front of him, wiping grey dust off his bony face. He took a length of pipe out of his mouth and tossed it aside, then pulled a clipboard out of his coat. He was bundled up even in this heat. Mericet was the kind of person who could freeze in a volcano.
'Ah,' hewidths, or twelve in wet weather",' he recited. '"Throwing distance is-"
'Name three poisons acknowledged for administration by ear.' A breeze sprang up, but it did nothing to cool the air; it just shifted the heat about. said, his voice broadcasting disapproval, 'Mr. Teppic. Well, well.' 'A fine night, sir,' said Teppic. The examiner gave him a chilly look, suggesting that observations about the weather acquired an automatic black mark, and made a note on his clipboard. 'We'll take a few questions first,' he said. 'As you wish, sir.' 'What is the maximum permitted length of a throwing knife?' snapped Mericet. Teppic closed his eyes. He'd spent the last week reading nothing but The Cordat; he could see the page now, floating tantalisingly just inside his eyelids - they never ask you lengths and weights, students had said knowingly, they expect you to bone up on the weights and lengths and throwing distances but they never- Naked terror hotwired his brain and kicked his memory into gear. The page sprang into focus. '"Maximum length of a throwing knife may be ten finger

Guido Reni St Joseph

Guido Reni St JosephGuido Reni St JeromeGuido Reni Joseph and Potiphars' WifeFrancois Boucher Shepherd and Shepherdess ReposingFrancois Boucher Brown Odalisk
Nanny Ogg paused with a walnut halfway to her gums. She listened to the words.
'I never shipwrecked anybody!' she said. 'They just said they shipwreck people! I never did!'
Up in the tower Magrat elbowed the Fool in the ribs.
'Green blusher,' she said, staring at the 3rd Witche. 'I don't look like that. I don't, do I?'
Nanny shook her head. The king listened with his mouth open as Tomjon, lurching crabwise across the stage, launched into his major speech.
'I think he's meant to be you,' said Nanny, distantly.
'But I never walked like that! Why's he got a hump on his back? What's happened to his leg?' He listened some more, and added, in horrified tones, 'And I certainly never did that! Or that. Why is he saying I did that?'
The look he gave Nanny was full of pleading. She shrugged.
The king reached up, lifted off his spectral crown, and examined it.'Absolutely not,' said the Fool.'And that hair!'The Fool peered through the crenellations like an over-eager gargoyle.'It looks like straw,' he said. 'Not very clean, either.'He hesitated, picking at the lichened stonework with his fingers; Before he'd left the city he'd asked Hwel for a few suitable words to say to a young lady, and he had been memorising them on the way home. It was now or never.'I'd like to know if I could compare you to a summer's day. Because – well, June 12th was quite nice, and . . .Oh. You've gone . . .' King Verence gripped the edge of his seat; his fingers went through it. Tomjon had strutted on to the stage.'That's him, isn't it? That's my son?'The uncracked walnut fell from Nanny Ogg's fingers and rolled on to the floor. She nodded.Verence turned a haggard, transparent face towards her.'But what is he doing? What is he saying?'

Vincent van Gogh The good Samaritan Delacroix

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'Well, that was it. And nothing. He had this little cane which he twirled and, you know, it was incredibly . . .'
The dwarfs voice trailed off. Tomjon's face had that familiar expression of polite and slightly condescending puzzlement 'You also know what your father says about going out drinking,' he said.
'Yes. He said he used to do it all the time when he was a lad. He said he'd think nothing of quaffing ale all night and coming home at 5 a.m., smashing windows. He said he was a bit of a roister-doister, not like these white-livered people today who can't hold their drink.' Tomjon adjusted his doublet in front of the mirror, and added, that Hwel had come to know and dread.'Anyway, it was very amusing,' he said, half to himself. But he knew he'd never convince the rest of the company. If it didn't have a custard pie in it somewhere, they said, it wasn't funny.Tomjon swung his legs out of bed and reached for his britches.'I'm not going back to sleep,' he said. 'What's the time?''It's after midnight,' said Hwel. 'And you know what your father said about going to bed late.''I'm not,' said Tomjon, pulling on his boots. Tm getting up early. Getting up early is very healthy. And now I'm going out for a very healthy drink. You can come too,' he added, 'to keep an eye on me.'Hwel gave him a doubting look.

Claude Monet La Grenouillere

Claude Monet La GrenouillereFabian Perez TangoFabian Perez FlamencoFabian Perez Flamenco DancerJohannes Vermeer Girl with a Red Hat
The singing wasn't particularly good. The only word the singer appeared to know was 'la', but she was making it work hard. The general tune gave the impression that the singer believed that people were supposed to sing 'lalala' in certain circumstances, and was determined to do what the world expected of her.
The Fool -seed, which is for inflammation of the ears . . .'
Even Nanny Ogg, who took a fairly cheerful view of the world, would have been hard put to say anything complimentary about Magrat's voice. But it fell on the Fool's ears like blossom.risked raising his head a little further, and saw Magrat for the first time.She had stopped dancing rather self-consciously through the narrow meadow and was trying to plait some daisies in her hair, without much success.The Fool held his breath. On long nights on the hard flagstones he had dreamed of women like her. Although, if he really thought about it, not much like her; they were better endowed around the chest, their noses weren't so red and pointed, and their hair tended to flow more. But the Fool's libido was bright enough to tell the difference between the impossible and the conceivably attainable, and hurriedly cut in some filter circuits.Magrat was picking flowers and talking to them. The Fool strained to hear.'Here's Woolly Fellwort,' she said. 'And Treacle Worm

Henri Rousseau A Carnival Evening

Henri Rousseau A Carnival EveningPaul Cezanne Three BathersPaul Cezanne The Black ClockPaul Cezanne The Banks of the MarnePaul Cezanne Still Life with Onions
all right,' she whispered. 'He's not dead!'
'Are you calling me a liar, my girl?' snapped Granny. 'I saw it all!'
'Look, Granny, it's not really real, d'you see?'
Granny Weatherwax subsided a little, but still grumbled under her breath. She was beginning to feel that things were trying to make a fool of her.
Up on the stage a man in a sheet was giving a spirited monologue. Granny listened intently for some minutes, and then commentary was all part of the play, stared as one man at the corpse. It blushed.
'And look at his boots, too,' said Nanny critically. 'A real king'd be ashamed of boots like that.'nudged Magrat in the ribs.'What's he on about now?' she demanded.'He's saying how sorry he was that the other man's dead,' said Magrat, and in an attempt to change the subject added hurriedly, 'There's a lot of crowns, isn't there?'Granny was not to be distracted. 'What'd he go and kill him for, then?' she said.'Well, it's a bit complicated—' said Magrat, weakly.'It's shameful!' snapped Granny. 'And the poor dead thing still lying there!'Magrat gave an imploring look to Nanny Ogg, who was masticating an apple and studying the stage with the glare of a research scientist.'I reckon,' she said slowly, 'I reckon it's all just pretendin'. Look, he's still breathing.'The rest of the audience, who by now had already decided that this

Leonardo da Vinci Madonna With The Carnation

Leonardo da Vinci Madonna With The CarnationLeonardo da Vinci Madonna with FlowerLeonardo da Vinci Leda 1508
What do you want from me?'
Mort told him.
Albert cackled.
'Just that? Just change Reality? You can't. There isn't any magic strong enough any more. The Great Spells could being written.'
' "Albert looked at him uncertainly",' Ysabell read.
'You can't believe everything writ down there —'
'— "he burst out, knowing in the flinty pit of his heart that Mort certainly could",' Ysabeof done it. Nothing else. And that's it, so you might as well do as you please and the best of luck to you.'Ysabell came back, a little out of breath, clutching the latest volume of Albert's life. Albert sniffed again. The tiny drip on the end of his nose fascinated Mort. It was always on the point of dropping off but never had the courage. Just like him, he thought.'You can't do anything to me with the book,' said the old wizard warily.'I don't intend to. But it strikes me that you don't get to be a powerful wizard by telling the truth all the time. Ysabell, read out what's ll

Pierre Auguste Renoir By the Water

Pierre Auguste Renoir By the WaterPierre Auguste Renoir At the ConcertPierre Auguste Renoir After The Bath
by her sorrowing relatives, had smiled at him and said he was looking a little pale.
The Disc sun was close to the horizon by the time Binky cantered wearily through the skies over Sto Lat, and Mort looked down and saw the borderland of reality. It curved away below him, a crescent of faint silver mist. He didn't know held sway and she was quite definitely dead, the duke was king and the world was proceeding sedately according to plan, whatever that was.
The point is that both realities were true.
The sort of historical event horizon was currently about twenty miles away from the city, and wasn't yet very noticeable. That's because the thrashing around like a steel hawser with the tension off, twanging backwards and forwards across reality in great destructive sweeps.
History isn't like that. History unravels gently, like an old sweater. It has been patched and darned many times, reknitted to suit different people

Vincent van Gogh Road with Cypress and Star

Vincent van Gogh Road with Cypress and StarVincent van Gogh Olive Trees 1889Vincent van Gogh Flower Beds in Holland
the word. Fifty-three times so far. Or fifty-four.'
Binky looked up as they approached and gave a short neigh of recognition when the abbot patted his nose. Mort mounted reincarnate. And just when I'm getting the hang of things, the lads come down from the temple looking for a boy conceived at the hour the old abbot died. Talk about unimaginative. Stop here a moment, please.'
Mort looked down.
'We're in mid-air,'he said doubtfully.
'I won't keep you a minute.' The abbot slid down from Binky's back, walked a few steps on thin air, up and helped the abbot up behind him.'It must be very interesting,' he said, as Binky climbed away from the temple. On the absolute scale of small talk this comment must rate minus quite a lot, but Mort couldn't think of anything better.'No, it mustn't,' said the abbot. 'You think it must be because you believe I can remember all my lives, but of course I can't. Not while I'm alive, anyway.''I hadn't thought of that,' Mort conceded.'Imagine toilet training fifty times.''Nothing to look back on, I imagine,' said Mort.'You're right. If I had my time all over again I wouldn't shouted.

Salvador Dali meditative rose

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for me and —' he paused – 'the young lady, of course.'
Mort nodded. 'Your daughter,' he said.
'Mine? Ha,' said Albert. 'You're wrong there. She's his.'
Mort stared down at his fried eggs. They stared back from their lake values, and only his fancy. He doesn't mean anything by it.'
Leaving his breakfast to congeal, Mort hurried up the steps, along the corridor and paused in front of the first door. He raised his hand to knock.
ENTER.
The handle turned of its own accord. The door swung inward.
Death was seated behind a desk, peering intently into a vast leather book didn't hold with them.'Are we talking about the same person?' he said at last. Tall, wears black, he's a bit . . . skinny.'Adopted,' said Albert, kindly. 'It's rather a long story —'A bell jangled by his head.'— which will have to wait. He wants to see you in his study. I should run along if I were you. He doesn't like to be kept waiting. Understandable, really. Up the steps and first on the left. You can't miss it —''It's got skulls and bones around the door?' said Mort, pushing back his chair.They all have, most of them,' sighed Albert. 'It's

Pierre Auguste Renoir The Umbrellas

Pierre Auguste Renoir The UmbrellasPierre Auguste Renoir Les baigneusesPierre Auguste Renoir By the Seashore
There was a thoughtful pause.
"Only -"said Trestle.
"Only what?" asked Cutangle.
"Only what was it you understood?" said Trestle. "That's what's bothering me. I mean, can you explain it?"
"How do you mean, explain?" Cutangle looked worried.
"What he keeps talking about," said Trestle, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Oh, it's the genuine stuff, I know. But what "I'm sure that's what he said," said Cutangle. He was starting to sweat.
"No, I remember the bit where he seemed to suggest that if you went far enough in any direction you would see the back of your head," Trestle insisted.
"You're sure he didn't mean someone else's head?"exactly is it?" Cutangle looked at him, his mouth open. Eventually he said, "Oh, that's easy. Magic fills the universe, you see, and every time the universe changes, no, I mean every time magic is invoked, the universe changes, only in every direction at once, d'you see, and -" he moved his hands uncertainly, trying to recognise a spark of comprehension in Trestle's face. "To put it another way, any piece of matter, like an orange or the world or, or -" "- a crocodile?" suggested Trestle. "Yes, a crocodile, or - whatever, is basically shaped like a carrot." "I don't remember that bit," said Trestle.

Jean Fragonard The Bathers

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Esk sniffed again at the powder, which seemed to be pennyroyal with a base she couldn't quite identify, and carefully replaced the lid. While the two women exchanged gossip in a kind of feminine code, full of eye contact and the staff. I wondered what the bees were talking about. Well, well. Give me your hand, child."
Esk held out her hand. Hilta's fingers were so heavy with rings it was like dipping into a sack of walnuts.
Granny sat upright, radiating disapproval, as Hilts began to inspect Esk's palm.
"I really don't think that is necessary," she said sternly. "Not between us."unspoken adjectives, she examined the other exotic potions on display. Or rather, not on display. In some strange way they appeared to be artfully half-hidden, as if Hilts wasn't entirely keen to sell. "I don't recognise any of these," she said, half to herself. "What do they give to people?" "Freedom," said Hilts, who had good hearing. She turned back to Granny. "How much have you taught her?" "Not that much," said Granny. "There's power there, but what kind I'm not sure. Wizard power, it might be." Hilts turned around very slowly and looked Esk up and down. "Ah," she said, "That explains

Piet Mondrian Composition 2

Piet Mondrian Composition 2Steve Thoms PoppiesEdvard Munch Puberty 1894
Twoflower rummaged in the Luggage and produced a large sack. He began to fill it with clothes and money and the picture box until finally the Luggage was completely empty. The last thing he put in was his souvenir musical cigarette box with the shell-encrusted lid, carefully wrapped in soft paper.
'It's all yours,' he said, shutting the Luggage's lid. 'I shan't really need it any more, and it won't fit on my wardrobe anyway.'
'What?'
'Don't you want it?'
'Well, I – of course, but – it's yours. It follows you, not me.'
'Luggage,' Twoflower walked up the gangplank, which the impatient crew hauled up behind him.
The rowing drum started its beat and the ship was propelled slowly out onto the turbid waters of the Ankh, now back to their old level, where it caught the tide and turned towards the open sea.said Twoflower, 'this is Rincewind. You're his, right?'The Luggage slowly extended its legs, turned very deliberately and looked at Rincewind.'I don't think it belongs to anyone but itself, really,' said Twoflower.'Yes,' said Rincewind uncertainly.'Well, that's about it, then,' said Twoflower. He held out his hand.'Goodbye, Rincewind. I'll send you a postcard when I get Home Or something.''Yes. Any time you're passing, there's bound to be someone here who knows where I am.''Yes. Well. That's it, then.''That's it, right enough.''Right.''Yep.'

Pino WHITE SAND

Pino WHITE SANDPino WHISPERING HEARTPino THINKING OF YOUPino THE DANCER
money?' he said. 'You come into my shop —'
'We didn't mean to,' said Twoflower quickly. 'We didn't notice it was there.'
'It wasn't,' said Bethan firmly. 'It's magical, isn't it?'
The small shopkeeper hesitated.
'Yes,' he reluctantly agreed. 'A bit.'
'A bit?'Better?' he demanded.
'It's an improvement,' said Twoflower, doubtfully. 'I liked the herbs best.'
At this point Rincewind groaned. He was about to wake up.' said Bethan. 'A bit magical?''Quite a bit, then,' he conceded, backing away, and, 'All right,' he agreed, as Bethan continued to glare at him. 'It's magical. I can't help it. The bloody door hasn't been and gone again, has it?''Yes, and we're not happy about that thing in the ceiling.'He looked up, and frowned. Then he disappeared through a little beaded doorway half-hidden among the merchandise. There was a lot of clanking and whirring, and the black globe disappeared into the shadows. It was replaced by, in succession, a bunch of herbs, a mobile Twoflower had never heard of but which was apparently a bedtime drink, a suit of armour and a stuffed crocodile of extreme pain and surprise.The shopkeeper reappeared.

Mark Rothko Yellow and Gold2

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really need that sort of thing, now if I may draw your attention to of the day—'
'What's this paper?' said Jiglad Wert, of the Hood-winkers, waving the document that had been left in front of him, and waving it all the more forcefully because his own chair, back in his cluttered and comfortable tower, was if anything more ornate than Galder's had been.
'It's an agenda, Jiglad,' said Trymon, patiently.
'And what does a gender do?'
'It's just a .
'What?'
I'm sure we all realise the importance of proper leadership,' said Trymon. 'Now, Vard is – well, worthy, of course, in his way, but —'
one of the other wizards.
'No, but it could be,' said Trymon.list of the things we've got to discuss. It's very simple, I'm sorry if you feel that—''We've never needed one before!''I think perhaps you have needed one, you just haven't used one,' said Trymon, his voice resonant with reasonableness.Wert hesitated. 'Well, all right,' he said sullenly, looking around the table for support, 'but what's this here where it says—' he peered "Successor to Greyhald Spold". It's going to be old Rhunlet Yard, isn't it? He's been waiting for years.''Yes, but is he sound?' said Trymon

Sir Henry Raeburn The Reverend Robert Walker Skating

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that,' he muttered. 'What's the good of being a wizard, after all? Avyento, thessalousl I would fly! To me, spirits of air and darkness!'
He spread a nightwards, racing the slow light towards the edge of the world, a line of white mist surged on. There was a crackling of dry twigs behind him. He turned to see Ymper Trymon, second in command of the Order, who had been the only other wizard able to keep up.
Galder ignored him for the moment, taking care only to keep a firm grip on the stonework and gnarled hand and pointed to a piece of crumbling parapet. Octarine fire sprouted from under his nicotine-stained nails and burst against the otting stone far above.It fell. By a finely calculated exchange of velocities Ga.cer rose, nightshirt flapping around his bony legs. Higher and higher he soared, hurtling through the pale night like a, like a – all right, like an elderly but powerful wizard being propelled upwards by an expertly judged thumb on the scales of the universe.He landed in a litter of old nests, caught his balance, and stared down at the vertiginous view of a Disc dawn.At this time of the long year the Circle Sea was almost on the sunset side of Cori Celesti, and as the daylight sloshed down into the lands around Ankh-Morpork the shadow of the mountain scythed across the landscape like the gnomon of God's sundial. But

Salvador Dali Corpus Hypercubus

Salvador Dali Corpus HypercubusVincent van Gogh View of Arles with Irises IVincent van Gogh Wheatfield with a LarkVincent van Gogh Vegetable Gardens in Montmartre
My Lord... what is Death like?" called the old man tremulously.
"When I have and flicked the air away contemptuously. Thinner air, too. Twoflower's ear popped for the third time.
Ahead of the swarm, he noticed, was a golden dragon. Someone on it, too.
"Hey, are you all right?" said Rincewind urgently.
He had to drink in several lungfuls of the strangely investigated it fully, I will let you know," came the faintest of modulations on the breeze."Yes," murmured the loremaster. A thought struck him. "During daylight, please," he added. "You clowns," screamed Hrun, from his perch on Ninereed's foreclaws."What did he say?" roared Rincewind, as the dragon ripped its way through the air in the race for the heights."Didn't hear." bellowed Twoflower, his voice torn away by the gale. As the dragon banked slightly he looked down at the little toy spinning top that was the mighty Wyrmberg and saw the swarm of creatures rising in pursuit. Ninereed's wings pounded