Mark Spain The Pink Dress

round and round in front of Sock's face.
'You give it to me right now or I'll make you eat your own nose!'
A crowd of apprentice butchers was trying to keep out of the way.
'But—'
'Don't you argue with me! I'm an officer of the Watch, I am!'
'But you—'
'You've got one lastdistant voice.
'There's a man of the Watch in there freezing to death,' said Cuddy.

There was quite a crowd around them when they finally got the main door open. Lumps of ice clinked on the stones, and there was a rush of supercold air. chance, mister. Give it to me right now!'Sock shut his eyes.'What is it you want?'The crowd waited.'Ah,' said Cuddy. 'Ahaha. Didn't I say?''No!''I'm pretty sure I did, you know.''You didn't!''Oh. Well. It's the key to the pork futures warehouse, if you must know.' Cuddy jumped down.'Why?'The axe hovered in front of his nose again.'I was just asking,' said Sock, in a desperate and

Vincent van Gogh View of Arles with Irises

but at least I stay the same shape all month, no offence meant.'
'You're asking for a bite.'
'Oh, yeah,' bite, maybe just a nibble—'
'Shut up.' At least you've got a lady friend, Carrot had said. As if there was something on his mind . . .
'A quick lick, even—'
'Shut up.'

'This unrest is all Vetinari's fault,' said the Duke of Eorle. 'The man has no style! So now, of course, we have a city where grocers have as much influence as barons. He even let the plumbers form moaned Gaspode. 'Yeah, you'll bite me. Aaargh. Oh, yes, that'll really worry me, that will. I mean, think about it. I've got so many dog diseases I'm only alive 'cos the little buggers are too busy fighting among 'emselves. I mean, I've even got Licky End, and you only get that if you're a pregnant sheep. Go on. Bite me. Change my life. Every time there's a full moon, suddenly I grow hair and yellow teeth and have to go around on all fours. Yes, I can see that making a big difference to my ongoing situation. Actually,' he said, 'I'm definitely on a losing streak in the hair department, so maybe a, you know, not the whole

Salvador Dali The Great Masturbator

Right. Carry on, then.'
Carrot stood up and removed his helmet. He smoothed down his hair. Then he raised his right hand.
'Raise your right hands, too,' he said. 'Er. . . that's the one nearest Lance-Constable Angua, Lance-Constable Detritus. And repeat after me . . .' He closed his eyes and his lips moved for a moment, as though he was reading something off the inside of his skull.
' "I comma of said duty comma so help me bracket aforefaid deity bracket full stop Gods Save the King stroke Queen bracket delete whichever is inappropriate bracket full stop." '
Angua subsided gratefully, and then did see Carrot's face. There were unmistakable square bracket recruit's name square bracket comma" . . .'He nodded at them. 'You say it.'They chorused a reply. Angua tried not to laugh.' ". . . do solemnly swear by square bracket recruit's deity of choice square bracket . . ." 'Angua couldn't trust herself to look at Carrot's face.' ". . . to uphold the Laws and Ordinances of the city of Ankh-Morpork, serve the public truft comma and defend the fubjects of His ftroke Her bracket delete whichever is inappropriate bracket Majefty bracket name of reigning monarch bracket . . ." 'Angua tried to look at a point behind Carrot's ear. On top of everything else, Detritus' patient monotone was already several dozen words behind everyone else.' ". . . without fear comma favour comma or thought of perfonal fafety semi-colon to purfue evildoers and protect the innocent comma laying down my life if necefsary in the caufe

Pop art coltrane on rust

“Er ...” said Weaver. “Didn’t recognize you in your fly-ing hat, miss ...”
“I thought you were doing the Entertainment? What’s happened? Where is everyone? Where is my going-to-be-husband?”
“Er...”
Yes, it was “Miss!” said Weaver, his eyes full of pleading. “Don’t say
it! We heard ‘em go down the street. Dozens of ‘em. And
they’ve stolen old Thatcher’s cow and Skindle’s goat and
they broke down the door of—“
“Why’d you put a bowl of milk out?” Magrat demanded.probably the helmet. That’s what Magrat decided afterward. There are certain items, such as swords and wizards’ hats and crowns and rings, which pick up something of the nature of their owners. Queen Ynci had probably never sewn a tapestry in her life and undoubtedly had a temper shorter than a wet cowpat. It was better to think that something of her had rubbed off on the helmet and was being transmitted to Magrat like some kind of royal scalp disease. It was better to let Ynci take over.She grabbed Weaver by his collar.“If you say ‘Er’ one more time,” she said, “I’ll chop your ears off.”“Er . . . aargh ... I mean, miss . . . it’s the Lords and Ladies, miss!”“It really is the elves?”

Salvador Dali Portrait of the Cellist Ricard Pichot

Magrat couldn’t help noticing that Diamanda was strik-ingly good-looking and, from what she’d heard, quite brave enough to stand up to Granny Weatherwax. She could hardly wait to get her better so that she could envy her properly.
The wound seemed to be healing up nicely, but there seemed to be—
Magrat strode to the bellpull in the comer and hauled on it.
After a minute or two Shawn Ogg arrived, panting.
There was gold paint on his hands.
“What,” said Magrat, “are all these things?”
“Um. Don’t like to say, ma’am ...”
“One happens to be ... very nearly ... the queen,” said Magrat.
“Yes, but the king Shawn looked at his feet. There was gold paint on his boots, too.
“Well, our mum said ...”
“Yes?”
“Our mum said I was to see to it that there was iron round her. So me and Millie got some bars from down the smithy and wrapped ‘em up like this and Millie packed ‘em round her.”said ... well. Granny said—““Granny Weatherwax does not happen to rule the king-dom,” said Magrat. She hated herself when she spoke like this, but it seemed to work. “And anyway she’s not here. One is here, however, and if you don’t tell one what’s going on I’ll see to it that you do all the dirty jobs around the palace.”“But I do all the dirty jobs anyway,” said Shawn.“I shall see to it that there are dirtier ones.”Magrat picked up one of the bundles. It was made up of strips of sheet wrapped around what turned out to be an iron bar.“They’re all around her,” she said. “Why?”

Mark Spain Burning Desire

Ogg turned over again. There was a slithering noise from the end of the bed, and a muffled yowl as Greebo hit the floor.
And Nanny sat up.
“Get your walking paws on, young fella-me-lad. We’re going out.”
As she passed through the midnight kitchen she paused, took one of the big black flatirons from the hob by the fire, and attached it to a length of clothesline.
For all her life she’d walked at night through Lancre with no thought of carrying a weapon of any sort. Of course, for most of that time she’d recognizably been a witch, and any importunate prowler would’ve ended up taking his essentials away in a paper bag, but even so it was generally true of any woman in Lancre. Man too, come to that.
Now she could sense Granny got to her feet from the shadow of the Piper, where she had been sitting quite invisibly in the blackness.
“Learned that from my dad,” she said. “When he went hunting. He always used to say a bad hunter chases, a good hunter waits.”
“Oh? So you’re hunting me now?”her own fear.The elves were coming back all right, casting their shad-ows before them.110Diamanda reached the crest of the hill.She paused. She wouldn’t put it past that oldWeatherwax woman to have followed her. She felt sure there had been something tracking her in the woods.There was no one else around.She turned.“Evenin’, miss.”“You? You did follow me!”
“No. I was just waiting

Jean-Honore Fragonard le jour

fitfQ LfiQIEQ
“Some king’s getting married and wants us to come.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.
“Some tinpot king gets wed and he wants us to come?”
“It’s up in the mountains,” said the Archchancellor, qui-etly “Good trout fishin’ in those parts, as I recall. My word. Lancre. Good grief. Hadn’t thought about the place in years. You know, there’s glacier lakes up there where the fish’ve never seen a rod. Lancre. Yes.”
“And it’s far too. . . and the sky’s a deeper blue than anywhere else, it’s very . . . and the grass ...and ...”
He returned abruptly from the landscapes of memory.
“Got to go, then,” he said. “Duty calls. Head of state get-tin’ married. Important occasion. Got to have a few wizards there. Look of the thing. Nobblyess obligay.”
“Well, I’m not going,” said the Dean. “It’s not natural, the countryside far,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.Ridcully wasn’t listening. “And there’s deer. Thousands of head of deer. And elk. Wolves all over the place. Mountain lions too, I shouldn’t wonder. I heard that Ice Eagles have been seen up there again, too.”His eyes gleamed.“There’s only half a dozen of ‘em left,” he said.Mustrum Ridcully did a lot for rare species. For one thing, he kept them rare.“It’s the back of beyond,” said the Dean. “Right off the edge of the map.”“Used to stay with my uncle up there, in the holidays,” said Ridcully, his eyes misty with distance. “Great days I had up there. Great days. The summers up there

Pop art king elvis on red

other two had been enjoying themselves.
She wiped the dust off her mirror and examined herself critically. Not a lot to work with, really. No matter what she did with her hair it LORQ8 ft/VD ift0f£6
She did her best with the dress and dragged a vengeful brush through her hair.
Then she went up to the castle.
Guard duty at Lancre castle was the province of anyone who didn’t have much of anything else to do at the moment. On duty today was Nanny Ogg’s youngest son Shawn, in ill-fitting chain-mail. He brought himself to what he probably thought was attention as Magrat pattered past, and then dropped his pike and hurried after her.took about three minutes for it to tangle itself up again, like a garden hosepipe left in a shed. She’d bought herself a new green dress, but what had looked exciting and attractive on the plaster model looked like a furled umbrella on a Magrat.Whereas Verence had been here reigning for eight months. Of course, Lancre was so small that you couldn’t lie down without a passport, but he was a genuine king and genuine kings tended to attract young women looking for career opportunities in the queening department.l Which, no matter how carefully coiled, will always uncoil overnight andtie the lawnmower to the bicycles.16

Andrea del Sarto Holy Family

right. That's right," said Brutha. "Which ones are you?"
Urn leaned closer.
"How's your memory?"
"Unfortunately, it is fine."
"Good. Good. Uh. It would be a good idea to stay out of trouble, d'you hear . . . if anything happens. Remember the Turtle. Well, of course you would."
"What things?"
Urn pattedUrn ran after him and then stopped briefly and turned.
"Be careful," he said. "We need what's in your head!"
Brutha watched them go.
"So do I," he murmured.
And then he was alone again. him on the shoulder, making Brutha think for a moment of Vorbis. Vorbis, who never touched another person inside his head, was a great toucher with his hands."Best if you don't know what's happening," said Urn."But I don't know what's happening," said Brutha."Good. That's the way."The burly man gestured with his knife towards the tunnels that led into the rock."Are we going, or what?" he demanded.
But he thought: Hold on. I don't have to be. I'm a bishop. At least I can watch. Om's gone and soon the world will end, so at least I might as well watch it happen.

Paul Klee Farbtafel

what do you think of it?" he asked.
"They have many gods, and they don't pay them much attention," said Brutha. "And they search for ignorance."
"And they find it in abundance, be sure of that," said Vorbis.
He pointed his staff into the night. "Let us walk," he said.
There was the sound of laughter, somewhere in the darkness, and the clatter of pans. The scent of evening-opening flowers hung thickly in the air. The stored heat of daytime radiating from the stones, made the night seem like a fragrant soup.
"Ephebe looks to the sea," said Vorbis after a while. "You see the way it is built? All on the slope of a hill facing the sea. But the sea is mutable. Nothing lasting comes from the sea. Whereas our dear Citadel looks towards the high desert. And what do we see there?"
Instinctively Brutha turned, and looked over the rooftops to the black bulk of the desert against the sky.
"I saw a flash And candles. And lamps."
"And so on," said Vorbis, nodding. "Of course. But there is another kind of light. A light that fills even the darkest of places. This has to be. For if this metalight did not exist, how could darkness be seen?"
Brutha said nothing. This sounded too much like philosophy.of light," he said. "And again. On the slope.""Ah. The light of truth," said Vorbis. "So let us go forth to meet it. Take me to the entrance to the labyrinth, Brutha. You know the way.""My lord?" said Brutha."Yes, Brutha?""I would like to ask you a question.""Do so.""What happened to Brother Murduck?"There was the merest suggestion of hesitation in the rhythm of Vorbis's stick on the cobbles. Then the exquisitor said, "Truth, good Brutha, is like the light. Do you know about light?""It . . . comes from the sun. And the moon and stars.
"And so it is with truth," said Vorbis. "There are

Claude Monet The Seine at Rouen I

walked past a fountain. The deacon's steelshod staff clicked in the night.
"I see a great future for you in the Church," said Vorbis, eventually. "The time of the eighth Prophet is coming. A time of expansion, and great opportunity for those true in the service of Om."
Brutha looked ," he said, "who can stand against us? You impress me, Brutha."
There was more laughter in the darkness, and the twang of stringed instruments.
"A feast," sneered Vorbis. "The Tyrant invited us to a feast! I sent some of the party, of course. Even their generals are in there! They think themselves safe behind their labyrinth, as a tortoise thinks himself safe in his shell, not realizing it is a prison. Onward."
The inner wall of the labyrinth loomed out of the darkness. Brutha leaned against it. From far above came the chink of metal on metal as a sentry went on his rounds.into the pit.If Vorbis was right, and there was a kind of light that made darkness visible, then down there was its opposite, the darkness where no light could ever reach: darkness that blackened light. He thought of blind Didactylos and his empty lantern.He heard himself say, "And with people like the Ephebians, there is no truce. No treaty can be held binding, if it is between people like the Ephebians and those who follow a deeper truth?"Vorbis nodded. "When the Great God is with us

Thomas Kinkade Graceland

turned me on my back!No, he with a mind as incisive as a meringue. And if Brutha found out that . . .Or if Brutha died . . ."How are you feeling?" said Om.turned a tortoise on its back.Yes. Me.No. You're a god.Yes, but a persistently tortoise-shaped one.If he had known you were a god . . .But Om remembered Vorbis's absorbed expression, in a pair of grey eyes in front
ambition in his big flabby body. And this is what you've got to work with . . .
The god part said: Vorbis would have been better. Be rational. A mind like that could do anything!
He of a mind as impenetrable as a steel ball. He'd never seen a mind shaped like that on anything walking upright. There was someone who probably would turn a god on his back, just to see what would happen. Someone who'd overturn the universe, without thought of consequence, for the sake of the knowledge of what happened when the universe was flat on its back . . .But what he had to work with was Brutha, ."
"Snuggle down under the sails a bit more," said Om. "You don't want to catch a chill."
There's got to be someone else, he thought. It can't be just him who . . . the rest of the thought was so terrible he tried to block it from his mind, but he couldn't .
. . . it can't be just him who believes in me.
Really in me. Not in a pair of golden horns. Not in a

Andy Warhol Camouflage green yellow white

Brutha trailed behind the other three, and risked a whisper.
"What's the matter?"
"Him! The bald one! Push him over the side!"
Vorbis half-turned, caught Brutha's embarrassed attention, and smiled.
"We will have"No one knows."
"Excepting the God, of course," said Vorbis.
The captain's face was a sickly yellow.
"Of course. Certainly," he said.
"Brutha?" shouted the tortoise. "Are you listening to me?"
"And over there?" said Vorbis.
The sailor followed his extended arm. our minds broadened, I am sure," he said. He turned back to the captain, and pointed to a large bird gliding down the face of the waves."The Pointless Albatross," said the captain promptly. "Flies from the Hub to the Ri-” he faltered. But Vorbis was gazing with apparent affability at the view."He turned me over in the sun! Look at his mind!""From one pole of the world to the other, every year," said the captain. He was sweating slightly."Really?" said Vorbis. "Why?"

John William Waterhouse The Magic Circle

imagine it will vanish soon enough.'
And, indeed, the white flagstones around the glow looked as though they were unravelling and disappear­ing into it.
Rincewind hesitated.
'Aren't we 'We may never forgive him,' said Hakardly.
Rincewind groaned.
'What will be left when it's all over?' he said. 'What will be left?'
Hakardly looked down.
'I'm sorry,' he repeated.
The octarine light had grown brighter and was beginning to turn black around the edge. It wasn't the black that is merely the opposite of light, though; it was the grainy, shifting blackness going to help him?' he said.Hakardly stared at him, and then at the iridescent tableau. His mouth opened and shut once or twice.'I'm sorry', he said.'Yes, but just a bit of help on his side, you've seen what that thing is like-' 'I'm sorry."'He helped you.' Rincewind turned on the other wizards, who were scurrying away. 'All of you. He gave you what you wanted, didn't he?'

George Bellows Both Members of This Club

, with only a slight increase in finger pressure, could have turned his head into a bowling ball.
'Although I could be mistaken,' he added, when she took her hand away. 'Who knows? Who cares? What does it matter?'
They didn't be of some assistance?' Rincewind ventured.
Somewhere inside Conina and Nijel's private world the bluebirds went to roost, the little pink clouds drifted away and the orchestra packed up andtake any notice.'I'll just go and see if I can find the hat, shall I?' he said.'Good idea,' murmured Conina.'I expect I shall get murdered, but I don't mind,' said Rincewind.'Jolly good,' said Nijel.'I don't expect anyone will even notice I'm gone,' said Rincewind.'Fine, fine,' said Conina.'I shall be chopped into small pieces, I expect,' said Rincewind, walking toward the door at the speed of a dying snail.Conina blinked.'What hat?' she said, and then, 'Oh, that hat.''I suppose there's no possible chance that you two might

Edward Hopper Hills South Truro

'Well,' he ventured, looking around at the brocaded hangings, the ruby-studded pillars and the gold filigree cushions, 'you've done this place up nicely. It's-’ he sought for something suitably descriptive - 'well, pretty much of a miracle of rare device.'
'One aims for 'Excuse me,' said Conina, 'but who are you? And where is this?'
'My name is Creosote, Seriph of Al Khali,’ said the fat man, 'and this is my Wilderness. One does one's best.'
Rincewind coughed on his honey stick.
'Not Creosote as in "As rich as Creosote"?' he said.simplicity,' sighed the man, still scribbling busily. 'Why are you here? Not that it isn't always a pleasure to meet fellow students of the poetic muse.''We were brought here,' said Conina.'Men with swords,' added Rincewind.'Dear fellows, they do so like to keep in practice. Would you like one of these?'He snapped his fingers at one of the girls.'Not, er, right now,' Rincewind began, but she'd picked up a plate of golden-brown sticks and demurely passed it towards him. He tried one. It was delicious, a sort of sweet crunchy flavour with a hint of honey. He took two more.

Wassily Kandinsky Red Spot II

Spring had come to Ankh-Morpork. It wasn't immediately apparent, but there were signs that were obvious to the cognoscenti. For example, the scum on the river Ankh, that great wide slow waterway that served the double city as that lined the rooftops, much to the gargoyles' disappointment.
A kind of spring had even come to the ancient University itself. Tonight would be the Eve of Small Gods, and a new Archchancellor would be elected.
Well, not exactly elected, because wizards didn't have any truck with all this undignified voting business, and it was well known that Archchancellors were selected by the will of the gods, and this year it was a pretty good bet that the gods would see their way clear to reservoir, sewer and frequent morgue, had turned a particularly iridescent green. The city's drunken rooftops sprouted mattresses and bolsters as the winter bedding was put out to air in the weak sunshine, and in the depths of musty cellars the beams twisted and groaned when their dry sap responded to the ancient call of root and forest. Birds nested among the gutters and eaves of Unseen University, although it was noticeable that however great the pressure on the nesting sites they never, ever, made nests in the invitingly open mouths of the gargoyles

Pablo Picasso Les Demoiselles dAvignon

ever wonder about anything, you stupid girl?”
“What good does that do, m’m?”
I called her a stupid girl, thought Magrat. Royalty is rub-bing off on me.
“Oh, well,” she said, “where’ve we got to?”
“We’re going to need two thousand yards of the blue chintz material with the little white flowers,” said Millie.
95
Terry Pratchett
“And we haven’t even measured half the windows yet,” said Magrat, rolling up the tape measure.
She looked down the length of the Long Gallery. The thing about it, the thing that made it so noticeable, the first thing anyone noticed about it, was that it was very long. It shared certain distinctive traits with the Great Hall and the Deep Dungeons. Its name was a perfectly accurate Bored, bored, bored. I’m going for a walk in the gardens.”
“Shall I fetch Shawn with the trumpet?”
“Not if you want to live.”
Not all the gardens had been dug up for agricultural

Claude Monet Banks of the Seine

Combination Harvester accelerated towards them. The schip-schip of its blades became a whine.
‘Is it angry because you stole its tarpaulin?’
THAT’S NOT ALL I STOLE.
Death grinned at the watchers. He picked up his scythe, turned it over in his hands and then, when he was sure their gaze was fixed upon it, let it fall to the ground.
Then he folded his arms.
Miss Flitworth dragged at him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
DRAMA.
The Harvester reached the gate into the yard and came through in a cloud of sawdust.
‘Are you sure we’ll be all right?’
Deathwent clonk.
Then the Harvester was still travelling, but in pieces. Sparks fountained up from its axles. A few spindles and arms managed to hold together, jerking madly as they spun away from the whirling, slowing confusion. The circle of blades tore free, smashed up through the machine, and skimmed away across the fields.
There was a jangle, a clatter, and then the last isolated boing, which is the audible equivalent of the famous pair of smoking boots. And then there was silence. nodded.‘Well. That’s all right then.’The Harvester’s wheels were a blur PROBABLY.And then . . .. . . something in the machinery

Claude Monet Vetheuil In Summer

name’s Simnel. What do you think, eh?’
IT’S A GOOD NAME.
‘No, I mean the machine. Pretty ingenious, eh?’
Bill Door ?regiy~,or two rather radical ideas in that direction.’ he added dreamily.
IT’S A DEVICE OF SOME SORT?
Simnel looked mildly affronted.
‘I prefer the term machine,’ he said.’It will revolutionise farming methods, and drag them kicking and screaming into the Century of the Fruitbat. My folk have had this forge for three hundred years, but Ned Simnel doesn’t intend to spend the rest of his life nailing bits of bent metal on to horses, I call tell you.’
Bill looked at him blankly. Then he bent down and
ded? it with polite incomprehension. It looked, at first sight, like a portable windmill that had been attacked by an enormous insect, and at second sight like a touring torture chamber for an Inquisition that wanted to get out and about a bit and enjoy the fresh air. Mysterious jointed arms stuck out at various angles. There were belts, and long springs. The whole thing was mounted on spiked metal wheels.‘Of course, you’re not seeing it at its best when it’s standing still,’ said Simnel.’It needs a horse to pull it. At the moment, anyway. I’ve got one

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Child's Siesta

before we were talking about the sun?’
‘Zigzagging aimlessly over the water,’ said one of the young flies; This was a fair bet in any case.
‘No, before that.’
‘Er . . . you were telling us about the Great Trout.’
‘Ah. Yes. Right. The Trout. Well, you see, if you’ve been a good mayfly,
zigzagging up and down properly -‘ ‘- taking heed of your elders and betters -
‘
‘- yes, and taking heed of your elders and betters,
then beginning to realise that, as the most senior fly present, it now had the privilege of hovering closest to the surface.
‘They say, ‘ said the mayfly at the top of the zigzagging crowd, ‘that when
the Great Trout comes for you, you go to a land flowing eventually the Great Trout -‘ClopClop‘Yes?’ said one of the younger mayflies.There was no reply.‘The Great Trout what?’ said another mayfly, nervously.They looked down at a series of expanding concentric rings on the water. ‘The holy sign!’ said a mayfly.’I remember being told about that! A Great Circle in the water! Thus shall be the sign of the Great Trout!’thoughtfully. It was