Michelangelo Buonarroti The Creation of Adam hand

Michelangelo Buonarroti The Creation of Adam handPierre Auguste Renoir La Moulin de la GalettePierre Auguste Renoir By the WaterPierre Auguste Renoir At the Concert
could do that, you could do that, certainly,' said Silverfish. 'But he might not be in a position to listen. He disappeared a couple of years ago.'
. . . then when I find something to write with, thought Detritus, I have to find someone teach me how write . . .
'Disappeared? Howwas an idiot!'
'Oh, not an idiot,' said Silverfish, picking up a billiard ball that had miraculously escaped the detonations. 'Just so sharp he kept cutting himself, as my granny used to say. Lightning lemons! Where's the sense in that? It was as bad as his "voices-in-the-sky" machine. I told him: Leonard, I said, what are wizards for, eh? There's ?' said Cuddy.'We think,' said Silverfish, leaning closer, 'that he found a way of making himself invisible.''Really?''Because,' said Silverfish, nodding conspiratorially, 'no-one's seen him.''Ah,' said Cuddy. 'Er. This is just off of the top of my head, you understand, but I suppose he couldn't . . . just have gone somewhere where you couldn't see him?''Nah, that wouldn't be like old Leonard. He wouldn't disappear. But he might vanish.''Oh.''He was a bit . . . unhinged, if you know what I mean. Head too full of brains. Ha, I remember he had this idea once of getting lightning out of lemons! Hey, Sendivoge, you remember Leonard and his lightning lemons?'Sendivoge made little circular motions alongside his head with one finger. 'Oh, yes. "If you stick copper and zinc rods in the lemon, hey presto, you get tame lightning." Man

Leroy Neiman Femlin

Leroy Neiman FemlinUnknown Artist Abstract Autumn by DougallAndy Warhol Shot Blue Marilyn 1964
'Trolls going one way, dwarfs going the other?' said Carrot.
'Now there's a parade you don't want to miss,' said Nobby.
'What's wrong?' said Angua.
Carrot waved his with valuable minerals in them and the silicon-based lifeform known as trolls are, basically, rocks with valuable minerals in them. In the wild they also spend most of the daylight hours dormant, and that's not a situation a rock containing valuable minerals needs to be in when there are dwarfs around. And dwarfs hate trolls because, after you've just found an interesting seam of valuable minerals, you don't like rocks that suddenly stand up and tear your arm off because you've just stuck a pick-axe in their ear.hands vaguely in the air. 'Oh, dear. It's going to be dreadful. We must do something.''Dwarfs and trolls get along like a house on fire,' said Nobby. 'Ever been in a burning house, miss?'Sergeant Colon's normally red face had gone pale pink. He buckled on his sword belt and picked up his truncheon.'Remember,' he said, 'let's be careful out there.''Yeah,' said Nobby, 'let's be careful to stay in here.' To understand why dwarfs and trolls don't like each other you have to go back a long way.They get along like chalk and cheese. Very like chalk and cheese, really. One is organic, the other isn't, and also smells a bit cheesy. Dwarfs make a living by smashing up rocks

John William Waterhouse Waterhouse Narcissus

John William Waterhouse Waterhouse NarcissusJohn William Waterhouse The Lady of ShalottJohn William Waterhouse waterhouse Ophelia
When I married Mr.. Ogg, we had three dozen oysters at our wedding feast. Mind you, they didn’t all work.”
“And I like the way they give us all a bit o’ the wedding
cake in a little bag,” said Granny.
“Right. You know, they says, if you puts a bit under your
pillow, you dream of “Cake’s nice,” said Granny, “but. .. right now . . . don’t know why ... what I could really do with, Gytha, right now ... is a sweet.”
The last word hung in the evening air like the echo of a gunshot.
Nanny stopped. Her hand flew to her pocket, where the usual bag of fluff-encrusted your future husb ...” Nanny Ogg’stongue tripped over itself.She stopped, embarrassed, which was unusual in an Ogg.“It’s all right,” said Granny “I don’t mind.”“Sorry, Esme.”“Everything happens somewhere. I know. I know.Everything happens somewhere. So it’s all the same in theend.”“That’s very continuinuinuum thinking, Esme.”303Terry Pratehett

Mark Spain Contemplation

Mark Spain ContemplationMark Spain CastillaMark Spain Carmen
225
Terry Pratchett
Greebo had spent an her dress and kicking the third elf just under the knee.
Shawn saw a flash of metal as her foot retreated under the silk again.
She elbowed the screaming elf aside, trotted into the doorway, and came back with a crossbow.
“Shawn,” she said, “which one hurt you?”
“All of them,” said Shawn, weakly. “But the one fighting Greebo stabbed Diamanda.”
The elf pulled Greebo off his face. Green-blue irritating two minutes in that box. Technically, a cat locked in a box may be alive or it may be dead. You never know until you look. In fact, the mere act of opening the box will determine the state of the cat, although in this case there were three determinate states the cat could be in: these being Alive, Dead, and Bloody Furious.Shawn dived sideways as Greebo went off like a Claymore mine.“Don’t worry about him,” said Magrat dreamily, as the elf flailed at the maddened cat. “He’s just a big softy.”She drew a knife out of the folds of her dress, turned, and stabbed the elf behind her. It wasn’t an accurate thrust, but it didn’t have to be. Not with an iron blade.She completed the movement by daintily raising the hem of

Paul Cezanne Still Life with Soup Tureen

Paul Cezanne Still Life with Soup TureenPaul Cezanne Still Life with Fruit Pitcher and Fruit-VasePaul Cezanne Poplar Trees
. That’s very true. And you ever seen ‘em Morris dancing? “Muff to make you hang up your hanky.”
“What, Morris dancing in a city?”
“Well, down in Sto Helit, anyway. Bunch o’ soft wizards and merchants. I watched ‘em a whole hour and there wasn’t even a groinin’.”
146
LORDS ftffQ ift0/£6
“Swish city bastards. Comin’ up here, takin’ our jobs...”
“Don’t be daft. They don’t know what a proper job is.”
The jug glugged, but with a deeper tone, suggesting that it contained a lot of emptiness.
“Bet they’ve the sky and the hills.”
Jason Ogg wrinkled his brows. They were always pretty wrinkled anyway, whenever he was dealing with the com-plexities of the world. Only when it came to iron did he know exactly what to do. But he held up a wavering finger and tried to count his fellow thespians. Given that the jug was now empty, this was an effort. There seemed, on aver-age, to be seven other people. But he had a vague, nagging feeling that something wasn’t never been up to the armpit—““The point is. The point is. The point. The point is. Hah. All laughin’ at decent rude artisans, eh? I mean. I mean. I mean. What’s it all about? I mean. I mean. I mean.Play’s all about some mechanical. . . rude buggers makin’ apig’s ear out of doin’ a play about a bunch of lords andladies—“A chill in the air, sharp as icicles . ..“It needs something else.”“Right. Right.”“A mythic element.”“Right. My point. My point. My point. Needs a plot they can go home whistlin’. Exactly.”“So it should be done here, in the open air. Open to

Juan Gris Guitar on a Table

Juan Gris Guitar on a TableJuan Gris Guitar and Music PapeJuan Gris Fantomas Pipe and NewspaperGeorge Bellows The Picnic
Nanny. “It’s going to be on Midsummer’s
Eve.”
“It’s got to be special, on Midsummer’s Eve,” said Jason
Ogg.
The door to the smithy had been bolted shut. With-
in were the eight members of the Lancre Morris Men,
six times winners of the Fifteen Mountains All-Comers
Morris Championship,* now getting to grips with a new art
form.
“I feel a right twit,” said Bestiality Carter, Lancre’s
only baker. “A dress on! I just hope my wife doesn’t see
me!”
“Says here,” said Jason Ogg, his enormous forefinger
hesitantly tracing its way along the page, “that it’s a beaut-i-
ful story of the love of the Queen of the Fairies—that’s you,
Bestiality—“
“—thank you
“Why can’t we do a Morris like normal?” said Obidiah
Carpenter the tailor.*
“Morris is for every day,” said Jason. “We got to dp something cultural. This come all the way from Ankh-Morpork.”
“We could do the Stick and Bucket Dance,” volunteered Baker the very much—““—for a mortal man. Plus a hum-our-rus int-ter-lude with Comic Artisans...”l Three times outright, once after eleven hours extra time, and twice when the other finalists ran away. 83Terry Pratchett“What’s an artisan?” said Weaver the thatcher.“Dunno. Type of well, I reckon.” Jason scratched his head. “Yeah. They’ve got ‘em down on the plains. I repaired a pump for one once. Artisan wells.”“What’s comic about them?”“Maybe people fall down ‘em in a funny way?”

Leonardo da Vinci Mona Lisa Smile

Leonardo da Vinci Mona Lisa SmileLeonardo da Vinci Mona Lisa PaintingRembrandt Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery
everything! Something broke!"
"It must be the steel they make here," said Urn. "The link pins on-”
"That doesn't matter now," said Simony.
The flat tones of his voice made Urn follow the eyes of the crowd.
There was another iron turtle there-a proper model of a turtle, mounted on a sort of open gridwork of metal bars in which a "There's more of them than there are of us," said Simony.
"Well, haven't there always been? There's not mag­ically more of them than there are of us just because they've got Brutha, are there?"
Simony grabbed his arm.couple of inquisitors were even now lighting a fire. And chained to the back of the turtle-"Who's that?""Brutha.""What?""I don't know what happened. He hit Vorbis, or didn't hit him. Or something. Enraged him anyway. Vorbis stopped the ceremony, right there and then."Urn glanced at the deacon. Not Cenobiarch yet, so uncrowned. Among the Iams and bishops standing uncertainly in the open doorway, his bald head gleamed in the morning light."Come on, then," said Urn."Come on what?""We can rush the steps and save him!"

Thomas Kinkade The Light of Freedom

Thomas Kinkade The Light of FreedomThomas Kinkade The Hour of PrayerThomas Kinkade The Heart of San Francisco
looked around him. Nothing but flat rock and sand stretched away on every side.
"Don't you get the sun everywhere all the time?" he said.
"But it's much more important in the morning," said St. Ungulant. "Besides, Angus says we ought to have a patio."
"He could barbecue on it," said Om, inside Brutha's head.
"Um," said course that rather spoils the whole thing."
"Er . . . but there's . . . Angus?" said Brutha, stating at the spot where he believed Angus to be, or at least where he believed St. Ungulant believed Angus to be.
"He's over here now," said the saint sharply, pointing to a different part of the wheel. "But he doesn't do any of the herming. He's not, you know, trained. He's just company. My word, I'd have gone quite mad if it wasn't for Angus cheering me up all the time!"
"Yes . . . I expect you would," said Brutha. He smiled at the empty air, in order to show willing.Brutha. "What . . . religion . . . are you a saint of, exactly?"An expression of embarrassment crossed the very small amount of face between St. Ungulant's eyebrows and his mustache."Uh. None, really. That was all rather a mistake," he said. "My parents named me Sevrian Thaddeus Ungulant, and then one day, of course, most amusing, someone drew attention to the initials. After that, it all seemed rather inevitable."The wheel rocked slightly. St. Ungulant's skin was almost blackened by the desert sun."I've had to pick up herming as I went along, of course," he said. "I taught myself. I'm entirely selftaught. You can't find a hermit to teach you herming, because of

Thomas Kinkade Pinocchio Wishes Upon a Star

Thomas Kinkade Pinocchio Wishes Upon a StarCao Yong CatalinaUnknown Artist Lazlo Emmerich Kenya
NOW CONSIDER THE TORTOISE AND the eagle.
The tortoise is a ground-living creature. It is impossible to live nearer the ground without being under it. Its horizons are aanything bigger.
And yet the eagle Perhaps he could find a couple of rocks out there. A small rock to hold and a big rock to hide behind, while he waited for Vorbis . . .
And that thought was habit, too. Revenge? Here?
He smiled.
Be sensible, man. You were a soldier. This is a desert. You crossed a few in your time.
And you survive by learning about them. There's whole tribes that know how to live in the worst kinds of desert. Licking water off the shady sides of dunes, that sort of thing . . . They think it's home. Put 'em in a vegetable garden and they'd think you were mad.. All power, all control. Lightning death on wings. Talons and claws enough to make a meal of anything smaller than it is and at least take a hurried snack out of

John William Waterhouse Lamia

John William Waterhouse LamiaVincent van Gogh The Yellow HouseLeonardo da Vinci Virgin of the Rocks
lettuce leaf.
All my life, Brutha thought, I've known that the Great God Om-he made the holy horns sign in a fairly half-hearted way­-was a . . . a . . . great big beard in the sky, or sometimes, when He comes down into the world, as a huge bull or a lion or . . . something big, anyway. Something you could look up to.
Somehow a been . . . ill?"
The tortoise put its foot on a leaf.
"What day is it?" it said.
"Tenth of Grune," said Brutha.
"Yes? What year?"
"Er . . . Notional Serpent . . . what do you mean, what year?"
"Then . . . three years," said the tortoise. "This is good lettuce. And it's me saying it. You don't get lettuce up in the hills. A bit of plantain, a thorn bush or two. Let there be another leaf:"tortoise isn't the same. I'm trying hard . . . but it isn't the same. And hearing him talk about the SeptArchs as if they were just . . . just some mad old men . . . it's like a dream . . .In the rain-forests of Brutha's subconscious the butterfly of doubt emerged and flapped an experimental wing, all unaware of what chaos theory has to say about this sort of thing . . ."I feel a lot better now," said the tortoise. "Better than I have for months.""Months?" said Brutha. "How long have you

Alphonse Maria Mucha JOB

Alphonse Maria Mucha JOBAlphonse Maria Mucha GismondaPierre Auguste Renoir The Umbrellas
wall. No matter how far a wizard goes, he will always come back for his hat.
Silence filled , which as has already been indicated is not a place for your average rubber-stamp-and-Dewey­decimal employment, had some time ago turned the Librarian into an orang-utan. He had since resisted all efforts to turn him back. He liked the handy long arms, the prehensile toes and the right to scratch himself in public, but most of all he liked the way the University in the same way that air fills a hole. Night spread across the Disk like plum jam, or possibly blackberry preserve.But there would be a morning. There would always be another morning. THE END --------------------------------------------------------------------------------[1] Like rhinestones, but different river. When it comes to glittering objects, wizards have all the taste and self-control of a deranged magpie.[2] A magical accident in the Library

Talantbek Chekirov Missing You

Talantbek Chekirov Missing YouTalantbek Chekirov Embrace in ParisTalantbek Chekirov Close Encounter
'Of course,' said Nijel, 'with all this wild magic float­ing around, you could try using some of it.'
Ah-’ said Rincewind, and, 'Well-’
'You've got "wizzard" written on your hat,' said Creosote.
'Anyone can writehat, pointedly blew the dust off the star, put the hat on again, adjusted the brim, rolled up his sleeves, flexed his fingers and panicked.
In default of anything better to do, he leaned against the stone.
It was vibrating. It wasn't that it was being shaken; it felt that the throbbing was coming from inside the wall.
It was very much the same sort of trembling he had felt back at the University, just before the sourcerer arrived. The stone was definitely very unhappy about something. things on their hat,' said Conina. 'You don't want to believe everything you read.''Now hold on a minute,' said Rincewind hotly.They held on a minute.They held on for a further seventeen seconds.'Look, it's a lot harder than you think,' he said.'What did I tell you?' said Conina. 'Come on, let's dig the mortar out with our fingernails.'Rincewind waved her into silence, removed his

Diego Rivera View of Toledo

Diego Rivera View of ToledoDiego Rivera Motherhood Angelina and the Child DiegoLeroy Neiman Resting Tiger
dishevelled star, and lifted the Archchancellor's hat out of its box. It felt rather heavier than he'd expected. The octarines around the crown were glowing faintly.
He lowered it into the leaden, freezing past, one behind the other, watched him with blank grey eyes.
That's why it's so cold, he told himself, the warmth seeps into the dead world. Oh, no ...
When the hat spoke, he saw two hundred pairs of pale lips move.carefully on to his new hairstyle, clutch­ing the brim tightly in case he felt the first icy chill.In fact he simply felt incredibly light. And there was a feeling of great knowledge and power - not actually pre­sent, but just, mentally speaking, on the tip of his metaphorical tongue.Odd scraps of memory flickered across his mind, and they weren't any memories he remembered remember­ing before. He probed gently, as one touches a hollow tooth with the tongue, and there they were -Two hundred dead Archchancellors, dwindling

Thomas Kinkade Beacon of hope

Thomas Kinkade Beacon of hopeThomas Kinkade The Sea Of TranquilityThomas Kinkade The Beginning of a Perfect Day
metal objects on the floor behind them. Each one was made of four nails welded together so that, however the things fell, one was always pointing upwards.
She looked critically at the nearest doorway.
'You haven't got about four feet of cheesewire on you, have you?' she said wistfully. Shed drawn another throwing knife and was throwing it up and catching it again.
'I don't guard was not known for its responsive approach to community policing, preferring to cut bits off instead. Among the things they took a dim view of was, well, basically, people being in the same universe. Running away from them was likely to be a capital offence.
'I think maybe I'll come along with you,' he think so,' said Rincewind weakly.'Pity. I've run out. Okay, come on.''Why? I haven't done anything!'She went to the nearest window, pushed open the shutters and paused with one leg over the sill.'Fine,' she said, over her shoulder. 'Stay here and explain it to the guards.''Why are they chasing you?''I don't know.''Oh, come on! There must be a reason!''Oh, there's plenty of reasons. I just don't know which one. Are you coming?'Rincewind hesitated. The Patrician's personal

Marc Chagall The Concert

Marc Chagall The ConcertPaul Gauguin When Will You MarryPaul Gauguin What Are You Jealous
Four of us should be enough,’ said the Archchancellor.
‘I’ve never even heard him say “Yo”,’ muttered the Dean. He removed his hat, something a wizard doesn’t .
The Dean hesitated. He wasn’t too sure himself, if it came to it. But a good wizard never let uncertainty stand in his way.
‘No, it’s definitely got to be bonsai,’ he said. He considered it some more and then brightened up. ‘On account of it all being part of bushido. Like . . . small trees. Bush-i-do. Yeah. Makes sense, when you think about it.’ ‘But you can’t shout “bonsai!” here,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. ‘We’ve got a totally different ordinarily do unless he’s about to pull something out of it, and handed it to the Bursar. Then he tore a thin strip off the bottom of his robe, held it dramatically in both hands, and tied it around his forehead.‘It’s part of the ethos,’ he said, in answer to their penetratingly unspoken question. ‘That’s what the warriors on the Counter-weight Continent do before they go into battle. And you have to shout -‘ He tried to remember some far-off reading.’- er, bonsai. Yes. Bonsai!’ ‘I thought that meant chopping bits off trees to make them small,’ said the Senior Wrangler

Vincent van Gogh Couple in the Park,Arles

Vincent van Gogh Couple in the Park,ArlesLeonardo da Vinci Portrait of Ginevra de BenciLeonardo da Vinci Portrait Of A Young Lady
future definitely lay ahead.
Then there was the matter of the scythe. He went to the wall where it had been hung. A bit of a mystery, that. Here was the most superb instrument of its kind he’d ever seen. You couldn’t even blunt it. Its sharpness extended well beyond its actual edge. And yet he was supposed to destroy it. Where was the sense in that? Ned Simnel was a Weird fellow, Bill Door. He’d said he wanted to be sure it was absolutely dead. As if you could kill a thing.
Anyway, how could anyone destroy it? Oh, the handle would burn and the metal would calcine and, if he worked hard enough, eventually there’d be nothing more than a little heap of dust and ashes. That was what the customer wanted.
On the other hand, presumably you could destroy it just by taking the blade off the handle . . . After all, it wouldn’t great believer in sense, of a certain specialised kind.Maybe Bill Door just wanted to be rid of it. and that was understandable, because even now when it hung innocuously enough from the wall it seemed to radiate sharpness. There was a faint violet corona around the blade, caused by the draughts in the room driving luckless air molecules to their severed death.Ned Simnel picked it up with great care.

Andy Warhol Knives black and white

Andy Warhol Knives black and whiteAndy Warhol GunsAndy Warhol Gun 1982
BUT WE FEED THEM, he said helplessly.
‘That’s right. And then they feed us. This one’s been off lay for months.
eye on him. Chickens are a lot more stupid than humans, and don’t have the sophisticated mental filters that prevent them seeing what is truly there. It knew where it was and who was looking at it.
He looked into its small and simple life and saw the last few seconds pouring away.
He’d never killed. He’d taken life, but only when it was finished with. There was a difference between theft and stealing by finding. NOT THE CLEAVER, he said wearily. GIVE ME THE CHICKEN. He turned his back for a moment, then handed the limp body to Miss Flitworth.That’s how it goes in the chicken world. Mr Flitworth used to wring their necks but I never got the knack of that; the cleaver’s messy and they run bit afterwards, but they’re dead all right, and they know it.’ Bill Door considered his options. The chicken had focused one beady

Gustave Courbet Woman with a Parrot

Gustave Courbet Woman with a ParrotMary Cassatt Children Playing On The BeachMary Cassatt Young Mother Sewing
really liked making rag rugs. And, above all, and around all, and permeating all, was the smell.
It smelled of long, dull afternoons.
On a cloth-draped sideboard were two small wooden chests flanking a larger one. They must be the famous boxeswith a loaded tray. There was a blur of activity as she performed the alchemical ceremony of making tea, buttering scones, arranging biscuits, hooking sugar tongs on the basin . . . She sat back. Then, as if she had been in a state of repose for twenty minutes, she trilled slightly breathlessly: ‘Well . . . isn’t this nice.’
YES, MISS FLITWORTH.
‘Don’t often have occasion to open up the parlour these days.’
NO. full of treasure, he thought. He became aware of ticking.There was a clock on the wall. Someone had once had what they must have thought was the jolly idea of makinga clock like an owl. When the pendulum swung, the owl’s eyes went backwards and forwards in what the seriously starved of entertainment probably imagined was a humorous way. After a while. your own eyes started to oscillate in sympathy.Miss Flitworth bustled in

Francisco de Goya The Quail Shoot

Francisco de Goya The Quail ShootFrancisco de Goya Blind Man's Buffchilde hassam Wayside Inn Sudbury MassachusettsEdgar Degas Cafe Concert SingerEdgar Degas A Carriage at the Races
Windle Poons lurched aimlessly along a dark alley in the Shades, arms extended in front of him, hands hanging down at the wrists. He didn’t know why. It just seemed the right way to go about it. Jumping off a building? No, that wouldn’t work, either. It was hard enough to walk as it was, and two broken legs wouldn’t help. Poison? He voice.
‘Are you Thieves’ Guild?’ said Windle, without turning around.
‘No, we’re . . . freelances. Come on, let’s see the colour of your money.’ ‘Haven’t got any,’ said Windle. He turned around. There were two more muggers behind him.
‘Ye gods, look at his eyes,’ said one of them.
Windle raised his arms above his head.
imagined it would be like having a very bad stomach ache. Noose? Hanging around would probably be more boring than sitting on the bottom of the river. He reached a noisome courtyard where several alleys met. Rats scampered away from him. A cat screeched and scurried off over the rooftops.As he stood wondering where he was, why he was, and what ought to happen next, he felt the point of a knife against his backbone. ‘OK, grandad,’ said a voice behind him, ‘it’s your money or your life.’In the darkness Windle Poons’ mouth formed a horrible grin.‘I ‘m not playing about, old man, ‘ said the