George Inness End of Day

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looked wistful.
‘Yeah,’ he repeated. ‘Er.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Dibbler slowly.
‘It’s . . . I mean, it’s really great, but . . . well, I can’t help feeling . . . ‘
‘Yeah. There’s something wrong,’ said Dibbler flatly.
‘Not wrong,’ said Soll desperately. ‘Not exactly wrong. Not wrong as such. Just missing . . . ‘ He stopped, at a loss for words.
He sighed. And Dibbler sighed.
Overhead, the wall itself. Some of them were missing. It’d be a dangerous climb, even in daylight.
In the dark . . . not a chance.
The door slammed open behind him and Ginger strode in, dragging the handleman behind her.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Hurry up. You’ve got to save that poor monkey.’thunder rolled.And out of the sky came a broomstick with two scream­ing wizards on it. Victor pushed open the door at the base of the Tower of Art.It was dark inside, and he could hear water dripping down from the distant roof.The tower was said to be the oldest building in the world. It certainly felt like it. It wasn’t used for anything now, and the internal floors had long ago rotted away, so that all that was left inside was the staircase.It was a spiral, made of huge slabs set into the
‘Ape,’ said Victor absently.

Vincent van Gogh Red vineyards

Vincent van Gogh Red vineyardsVincent van Gogh Lane with PoplarsVincent van Gogh Harvest LandscapeLeroy Neiman SailingLeroy Neiman Nantucket Sailing
Thousands, I expect.’
‘But look, that can’t be right,’ said Ginger, in the small voice of one trying to be reasonable while madness is breaking down the door with a cleaver. ‘The alchemists only got the idea a few months ago.’
‘Yes. It’s something to think about.’
He reached out and found to work it all out yourself from the clues.
And you never, never get a chance to stay in your seat for the second house.

Candlelight flickered in the University corridor.
The Bursar did not think of himself as a brave man. The most he felt happy about tacklitried to put out of his mind the thought of octopi slithering silently over the seats in front of that living, shifting screen. He tried to forget the patrons who had been sitting in the darkness while, above them, centuries passed. Perhaps they were waiting for the lady to come around with the banged grains and hot sausages.The whole of life is just like watching a click,ng was a column of numbers, and being good at numbers had taken him further up the hierarchy her. Her body was ramrod stiff and flinched at his touch.‘We’re safe enough here,’ he added. ‘Gaspode will soon bring back some help. Don’t you worry about that.’He tried not to think about the sea slapping at the stairs, and the many‑legged things that scuttled over the midnight floor. He he thought. Only it’s as though you always get in ten minutes after the big picture has started, and no‑one will tell you the plot, so you have

Fabian Perez Flamenco Dancer

Fabian Perez Flamenco DancerJohannes Vermeer Girl with a Red HatDiane Romanello WindsongDiego Rivera The Flower SellerGustav Klimt The Music
still breathing,’ said Victor. Laddie leapt around them, barking furiously.
‘Maybe you should loosen her clothing or something,’ said Gaspode. ‘It’s just a thought,’ he added. ‘You teeth.
Between two of them was an arched doorway, three times as high as Victor. It was sealed with a pair of pale grey doors, either of stone or of wood that had become as hard as stone over the years. One of them was slightly open, but had been prevented from opening further by the drifts of sand in front of it. Frantically scrabbled furrows had been dug deep into the sand. Ginger had been trying to shift it with her bare hands.
‘Stupid thing to do in this heat,’ said Victor, vaguely. He looked from the door to the sea, and don’t have to glare at me like that. I’m a dog, what do I know?’ ‘She seems all right, but . . . look at her hands,’ said Victor. ‘What the hell has she been trying to do?’ ‘Tryin’ to open that door,’ said Gaspode. ‘What door?’ ‘That door there.’ Part of the hill had slipped away. Huge blocks of masonry protruded from the sand. There were the stubs of ancient pillars, sticking up like fluoridated

John Constable Wivenhoe Park Essex

John Constable Wivenhoe Park EssexJohn Constable Weymouth BayJohn William Waterhouse Destiny 1900John William Waterhouse The SirenJohn William Waterhouse The Lady Clare
was eight in the morning. A thunderous knocking awoke Bezam Planter, owner of the Odium, one of Ankh-Morpork’s mushrooming crop of moving-picture pits.
He’d had a bad night. The people of Ankh-Morpork liked novelty. The trouble was that they didn’t like novelty for blearily.
‘We’re shut ‘til two o’clock,’ he said. ‘Mat’nee. Come back then. Seats in all parts.’
He slammed the door. It rebounded off Throat Dibbler’s boot and hit Bezam on the nose.
‘I’ve come about the special showing of Sword of Passione,’ said Throat.
‘Special showing? What special showing?’
‘The special showing I’m about to tell you about,’ said Throat.
‘We ain’t showing nothin’ about any special passionate swords. We’re showin’ The long. The Odium had done great business for a week, had broken even for the next week, and was now dying. The late showing last night had been patronized by one deaf dwarf and an orang-utan, who’d brought along its own peanuts. Bezam relied on the sale of peanuts and banged grains for his profit, and wasn’t in a good mood. He opened the door and stared out Exciting–’
‘Mister Dibbler says yore showing Sword of Passione,’ rumbled a voice.

Georges Seurat The Models

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error gave him a paper like this. It was probably sacrilegious or something to ignore the opportunity.
They had to accept what you put down. Ponder hadn’t shared the room with the world’s greatest authority on There was no road to Holy Wood yet. Anyone trying to get there would take the highway to Quirm and, at some unmarked point out in the scrubby landscape, would turn off and strike out towards the sand dunes. Wild lavender and rosemary lined the banks: There was no sound but the buzzing examination procedures without learning a thing or two. He looked again at the question: ‘What is your name?’ He answered it. After a while he underlined it, several times, with his lucky ruler. After a little while longer, to show willing, he wrote above it: ‘The anser to questione One is:’. After a further ten minutes he ventured ‘Which is what my name is’ on the line below, and underlined it. Poor old Victor will be really sorry he missed this, he thought. I wonder where he is?

John William Waterhouse The Magic Circle

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cleanly out of the air and glued to the rock behind it.
'Amazing how they do it, isn't it,' said Teppic. 'Animal instinct, I suppose.'
You which had shattered, its electrum sheathing peeling away. In its descent from the pyramid it had hit the statue of Hat the Vulture-Headed God, bending it double and giving it an expression of mild surprise.
A faint groan sent him tugging at the wreckage of a tent. He tore at the heavy canvas and unearthed IIb, who blinked at him in the grey light.
'It didn't work, dad!' he moaned. 'We'd almost got it up there, and then the whole thing just sort of twisted!'
The builder lifted a spar off his son's legs.Bastard gave him a haughty glare from under his sweep-the-desert eyelashes and thought: . . . Let z=ei0. cudcudcud Then dz=ie[i0]d0=izd0 or d0=dz/iz . . . Ptaclusp, still in his nightshirt, wandered aimlessly among the wreckage at the foot of the pyramid. It was humming like a turbine. Ptaclusp didn't know why, knew nothing about the vast expenditure of power that had twisted the dimensions by ninety degrees and was holding them there against terrible pressures, but at least the disturbing temporal changes seemed to have stopped. There were fewer sons around than there used to be; in truth, he could have done with finding one or two. First he found the capstone,

Jack Vettriano baby bye bye

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shuffled into them anyway. (Priests were metal-reinforced overshoes. They saved your soles. This is an Assassin joke.) Mericet was a poisons man, after all. Bloat! If he tipped them with that Teppic would plate himself all detected no more wires; there was a faint crunch underfoot as a priest crushed a caltrap.
'In your own time, Mr Teppic.'
Mericet was standing in a corner. Teppic heard the faint scratching of his pencil as he made a note. He tried to put the man out of his mind. He tried to think.
There was a figure lying on a bed. It was entirely covered by a blanket.
This was the last bit. This was the room where everything was decided. This over the walls. They wouldn't need to bury him, they'd just redecorate over the top.* (* Bloat is extracted from the deep sea blowfish, Singularis minutia gigantica, which protects itself from enemies by inflating itself to many times its normal size. If taken by humans the effect is to make every cell in the body instantaneously try to swell some 2,000 times. This is invariably fatal, and very loud.) The rules. Mericet would have to obey the rules. He couldn't simply kill him, with no warning. He'd have to let him, by carelessness or over-confidence, kill himself. He dropped lightly on to the floor inside the room and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. A few exploratory swings with the rods

Thomas Moran The Wilds of Lake Superior

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of the kings of Lancre for many years, and it showed. His body was standing to attention. Despite all his efforts his stomach stood at ease.
The duke's gaze fell on the Fool, who was sitting on his stool by the throne. The hunched figure looked up, embarrassed, and gave his bells a half-hearted shake.
The duke reached a decision. The way to progress, he'd found, was to find weak spots. He tried to shut away the thought that these included such married,' he said. 'Advise me, my Fool.'
'I'faith, nuncle—' said the Fool.
'Nor am I thy nuncle. I feel sure I would have remembered,' said Lord Felmet, leaning down until the prow of his nose was a few inches from the Fool's stricken face. 'If you preface your next remark with nuncle, i'faith or marry, it will go hard with you.'these parts, don't you?' said the duke.
'Ma – Yes, sir.'
'So you would know all about the native beliefs and so on?'
'I suppose so, sir. Prithee

Franz Marc Dog Lying in the Snow

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think,' said Tomjon, 'that we're lost.'
Hwel looked at the baking purple moorland around them, which stretched up to the towering spires of the Ramtops themselves. Even in the height of summer there were pennants of snow flying from the highest peaks. It was a landscape of describable beauty.
Bees were busy, or at least endeavouring to look and sound busy, in the thyme by the trackside. Cloud shadows through clumps of hemlock and pine, outposts of the forest, it was pleasant enough to let the mules go at their own pace. The road, Hwel felt, had to go somewhere.
This geographical fiction has been the death of many people. Roads don't necessarily have to go anywhere, they just have to have somewhere to start.
'We are lost, aren't we?' said Tomjon, after a while.flickered over the alpine meadows. There was the kind of big, empty silence made by an environment that not only doesn't have any people in it, but doesn't need them either.Or signposts.'We were lost ten miles ago,' said Hwel. 'There's got to be a new word for what we are now.''You said the mountains were honeycombed with dwarf mines,' said Tomjon. 'You said a dwarf could tell wherever he was in the mountains.''Underground, I said. It's all a matter of strata and rock formations. Not on the surface. All the landscape gets in the way.''We could dig you a hole,' said Tomjon.But it was a nice day and, as the road meandered

Paul Klee Farbtafel

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Magrat didn't comment on this, because it had occurred to her that destinies sounded easy enough when you talked about them but were never very bankable where real human beings were concerned. But Nanny Ogg sat back and Nanny looked at Granny's broomstick. It was a well-made thing, built to last, apart from the occasional starting problem. But there were limits.
'You'll never do it,' she said. 'Not around the whole kingdom in that. That's all the way up to Powderknife and down to Drumlin's Fell. You just couldn't carry enough magic.'tipped another generous measure of apple brandy in her tea.'Could work out nice,' she said. 'A bit of peace and quiet for fifteen years. If I recall the spell, after you say it you have to fly around the castle before cock crow.''I wasn't thinking about that,' said Granny. 'It wouldn't be right. Felmet would still be king all that time. The kingdom would still get sick. No, what I was thinking of doing was moving the whole kingdom.'She beamed at them.'The whole of Lancre?' said Nanny.'Yes.''Fifteen years into the future?''Yes.'

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Cropped Hair

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few feet away a suit of armour jingled gently. Its pike vibrated in its mailed glove until, swishing through the night air like a swooping bat, it slid down and shattered the flagstone by the Fool's ear.
The Fool sat up and realised he was still shivering. So was the floor.
In Lord Felmet's room the shaking sent cascades of dust down from the ancient four-poster. He awoke from a dream that a great beast was tramping around the castle, and decided with horror that it might be true.
A Among the very many luxuries the duke had dispensed with in his life was that of ignorance. He liked to feel he knew what was going on. The glorious uncertainties of existence held no attraction for him.
'It's the witches, isn't it?' he growled, his left cheek beginning to twitch like a landed fish. They're oportrait of some long-dead king fell off the wall. The duke screamed.The Fool stumbled in, trying to keep his balance on a floor that was now heaving like the sea, and the duke staggered out of bed and grabbed the little man by his jerkin.'What's happening?' he hissed. 'Is it an earthquake?''We don't have them in these parts, my lord,' said the Fool, and was knocked aside as a chaise-longue drifted slowly across the carpet.The duke dashed to the window, and looked out at the forests in the moonlight. The white-capped trees shook in the still night air.A slab of plaster crashed on to the floor. Lord Felmet spun around and this time his grip lifted the Fool a foot off the floor.

George Inness Spring

George Inness SpringGeorge Inness Spring Blossoms New JerseyGeorge Inness Rome
BECAUSE I AM MORT. He turned, and she saw his eyes glow like blue pinpoints.
'Stop it!'
I – CAN'T.
She tried to the light was dragging towards her overcame any other doubts and she crept after him, around another corner and into what appeared, in the fitful glow from the sword, to be a cross between a treasury and a very cluttered attic.
'What's this place?' she whispered. 'I've never seen so much stuff!'
THE KING TAKES IT WITH HIM INTO THE NEXT WORLD, said Mort.
'He certainly doesn't believe in travelling light. Look, there's a whole boat. And a gold bathtub!'
DOUBTLESS HE WILL WISH TO KEEP CLEAN WHEN HE GETS THERE.
'And all those statues!'laugh. It didn't work. 'You're not Death,' she said. 'You're only doing his job.' DEATH is WHOEVER DOES DEATH'S JOB. The shocked pause that followed this was broken by a groan from further along the dark passage. Mort turned on his heel and hurried towards it.He's right, thought Ysabell. Even the way he moves. . . .But the fear of the darkness that

John Singer Sargent The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit

John Singer Sargent The Daughters of Edward Darley BoitJohn Singer Sargent Paul Helleu Sketching with his WifeRembrandt Saskia As Flora
SHALL CALL IT – DEATH'S GLORY. Death gave the thing a final admiring glance and stuck it into the hood of his robe. I FEEL INCLINED TO SEE A LITTLE EVENING, he Said. YOU CAN TAKE THE DUTY, NOWTHATYOU'VEGOTTHEHANGOFIT.AS IT WERE.
'Yes. Sir,' said such well developed hearing that they can be deafened by a good sunset. Just for a few seconds it seemed to Mort that the skin on the back of his neck was developing similar strange powers, because he could see Ysabell freeze in mid-stitch. He also heard the little intake of breath that he'd heard before, among the shelves. He remembered the lace handkerchief.
He said, 'Yes, sir. It won't happen again, sir.'
The skin on the back of his neck started to itch like fury.Mort, mournfully. the end of it.Death drummed his finger on the desk, muttered to himself.AH YES, he said. ALBERT TELLS ME SOMEONE'S BEEN MEDDLING IN THE LIBRARY.'Pardon, sir?'TAKING BOOKS our, LEAVING THEM LYING AROUND.BOOKS ABOUT YOUNG WOMEN. HE SEEMS TO THINK IT IS AMUSING.As has already been revealed, the Holy Listeners have

Edward Hopper Western Motel

Edward Hopper Western MotelEdgar Degas Dancers in PinkFrederic Edwin Church Cotopaxi
ubiquitous capture as we’ve discussed it before, though, intentional attention means having your capture tools out and ready to go before your attention is caught. By going into a situation ready to capture whatever might be interesting or valuable, you trigger your mind to expect to find interest and value in that situation.
Consider, for fellow students say, seem to get much more value out of my classes than students who lay out and then ignore their books, folders, and notebooks – or who don’t even bring them, sitting behind an empty desk. The first group of students has decided in advance that something of value might be said, and so they’re on the lookout for those valuable points. The second group has made the opposite decision; they don’t expect anything said or shown example, several different cases:The student: As a college instructor, I notice a distinct difference in the way my students engage with my lectures, presentations, or film screenings. Students who open a notebook in front of them, pen in hand, ready to write down anything important I or their

Leonardo da Vinci Virgin of the Rocks

Leonardo da Vinci Virgin of the RocksLeonardo da Vinci St John the BaptistLeonardo da Vinci Madonna with Yarnwinder
There, there," he said.
Strangely enough, he felt a lot better.
It occurred to Cutangle that he ought to lead the way in his own premises, but Granny in a hurry was no match for a nearterminal nicotine addict and he kept up only by a sort of crabwise leaping.
"It's this way," doors to the Library.
"Look," he said desperately, "No offence, Miss - um, Mistress -"
"I think Esmerelda will suffice now. What with us having shared a broomstick and everything."
"Can I go in front? It is my Library," he begged.
Granny turned around, her face a mask of surprise. Then she smiled.he said, splashing through the puddles. "I know. The building told me." "Yes, I was meaning to ask about that," said Cutangle, "because you see it's never said anything to me and I've lived here for years." "Have you ever listened to it?" "Not exactly listened, no," Cutangle conceded. "Not as such." "Well then," said Granny, edging past a waterfall where the kitchen steps used to be (Mrs Whitlow's washing would never be the same again). "I think it's up here and along the passage, isn't it?" She swept past a trio of astonished wizards, who were surprised by her and completely startled by her hat. Cutangle panted after her and caught her arm at the

Henri Matisse Odalisques

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He was proved right when the following morning revealed that the ten barrels of peach brandy had, indeed, turned into something nasty.
Esk wandered aimlessly through the grey streets until she reached Ohulan's tiny river docks. Broad flat-bottomed barges bobbed gently against the wharves, and one or two of them curled wisps of smoke from friendly stovepipes. Esk clambered easily on to the nearest, and used the staff to lever up the oilcloth that covered most Here she was, then. But "here" had moved.
"This is what they call sailing, then," she said, watching the far bank glide past, "It doesn't seem very special."of it. A warm smell, a mixture of lanolin and midden, drifted up. The barge was laden with wool. It's silly to go to sleep on an unknown barge, not knowing what strange cliffs may be drifting past when you awake, not knowing that bargees traditionally get an early start (setting out before the sun is barely up), not knowing what new horizons might greet one on the morrow .... You know that. Esk didn't. Esk awoke to the sound of someone whistling. She lay quite still, reeling the evening's events across her mind until she remembered why she was here, and then rolled over very carefully and raised the oilcloth a fraction.

Edward Hopper Early Sunday Morning

Edward Hopper Early Sunday MorningJuan Gris The GuitarJuan Gris Breakfast
star man lunged at him. The Luggage raised its lid threateningly.
'I know why it hasn't worked,' said a voice from the back of the crowd. It was Bethan.
'Oh yeah?' said the nearest citizen. 'And why should we listen to you?'
A mere fraction of a second later Cohen's sword was pressed against his neck.
'On the other hand,' said the man evenly, 'perhaps we should pay attention to what this young lady has got to say.'
As 'Can you remember what you said when the wrong colour appeared?'
Rincewind ran a finger down the page.Cohen swung around slowly with his sword at the ready Bethan stepped forward and pointed to the swirling shapes of the spells, which still hung in the air around Rincewind.'That one can't be right,' she said, indicating a smudge of dirty brown amidst the pulsing, brightly coloured flares.You must have mispronounced a word. Let's have a look.'Rincewind passed her the Octavo without a word.She opened it and peered the pages.'What funny writing,' she said. 'It keeps changing. What's that crocodile thing doing to the octopus?'Rincewind looked over her shoulder and, without thinking, told her. She was silent for a moment.'Oh,' she said levelly. 'I didn't know crocodiles could do that.''It's just ancient picture writing,' said Rincewind hurriedly. 'It'll change if you wait. The Spells can appear in every known language.'

Juan Gris The Open Window

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Eventually Wert said, 'We could try, I suppose. It doesn't seem to be spreading.'
'But we've got hardly any magic to speak of,' said one of the wizards.
'Have you got a better idea, then?'
One by one, Then I'd be as good as him, wouldn't I?' said Twoflower, flourishing his looted sword.
Rincewind hopped after him, keeping as close to the wall as possible.
'You don't understand!' he shouted. There's unimaginable horrors up there!'
'You always said I didn't have any imagination.'their ceremonial robes glittering in the weird light, the wizards turned and trudged towards the tower.The tower was hollow inside, with the stone treads of its staircase mortared spiral-into the walls. Twoflower was already several turns up by the time Rincewind caught him.'Hold on,' he said, as cheerfully as he could manage. 'This sort of thing is a job for the likes of Cohen, not you. No offence.''Would he do any good?'Rincewind looked up at the actinic light that lanced down through the distant hole at the top of the staircase.'No,' he admitted.

Jack Vettriano The Missing Man

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'Oh, dear,' said Kwartz.
The trolls halted. The night closed in like velvet. An owl hooted eerily – at least Rincewind assumed it was an owl, he was a little hazy on ornithology. Perhaps a nightingale hooted, unless it was a thrush. A bat flittered overhead. He was quite confident about that.
He was also very tired and quite bruised.
'Why oh dear?' he said.
He peered into the gloom. There was a distant speck in the hills that might have been a fire.
'Oh,' he said. 'You don't like fires, do you?'
Kwartz nodded. 'It destroys the superconductivity of our brains,' he said, 'but a fire that small wouldn't have much have been paying attenshion and not being shwayed by all this talk about your wosshnarnes, your din-chewers. I mussht be getting shoft.'effect on Old Grandad.'Rincewind looked around cautiously, listening for the sound of a rogue troll. He'd seen what normal trolls could do to a forest. They weren't naturally destructive, they just treated organic matter as a sort of inconvenient fog.'Let's hope he doesn't find it, then,' he said fervently.Kwartz sighed. 'Not much chance of that,' he said. They've lit it in his mouth.' 'It'sh a judgeshment on me!' moaned Cohen. He tugged ineffectually at his bonds.Twoflower peered at him muzzily. Gancia's slingshot had raised quite a lump on the back of his head and he was a little uncertain about things, starting with his name and working upwards.'I should have been lisshening out,' said Cohen. 'I should
He levered himself up by his elbows. Herrena and the rest of the gang were

Thomas Kinkade Conquering the Storms

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said. 'Some have seen Skelde, spirit of the smoke, and they are called sorcerers. A few have been privileged to see Umcherrel, the soul of the forest, and they are known as spirit masters. But none have seen a box with hundreds of legs that looked at them without eyes, and they are known as idio—'
The interruption was caused by a sudden screaming noise and a flurry of snow and sparks that blew the fire across the to use his seven league boots without the proper sequence of spells and preparations. Seven league boots, as has already been intimated, are a tricksy form of magic at best, and he remembered too late that the utmost caution must be taken in using a means of transport which,dark hut; there was a brief blurred vision and then the opposite wall was blasted aside and the apparition vanished.There was a long silence. Then a slightly shorter silence. Then the old shaman said carefully, 'You didn't just see two men go through upside down on a broomstick, shouting and screaming at each other, did you?'The boy looked at him levelly. 'Certainly not,' he said.The old man heaved a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for that,' he said. 'Neither did I.' The cottage was in turmoil, because not only did the wizards want to follow the broomstick, they also wanted to prevent each other from doing so, and this led to several regrettable incidents.The most spectacular, and certainly the most tragic, happened when one Seer attempted when all is said and done, relies for its

George Bellows Anne in White

George Bellows Anne in WhiteCaravaggio The Crowning with ThornsCaravaggio St. John the BaptistCaravaggio Martha and Mary Magdalene
A wave washed over the deck. Rincewind and Twoflower looked at each other. "Keep bailing!" they screamed in unison, and ," said Twoflower.
"I'd rather be a slave than a corpse," replied the wizard. He straightened up and looked out to sea. He appeared puzzled.
He was a somewhat different Rincewind from the one that escaped the fire of Ankh-Morpork six months before. More scarred, for one thing. And much more travelled. He had visited the Hublands, discovered the curious folkways of many colourful peoples - invariably obtaining more scars in the process - and had even, for a never-to-be-forgotten few days, sailed on the legendary Dehydratedreached for the buckets.After a while Twoflower's peevish voice filtered up from the waterlogged cabin."I don't see how it's my fault," he said. He handed up another bucket, which the wizard tipped over the side."You were supposed to be on watch," snapped Rincewind."I saved us from the slavers, remember