Jack Vettriano Girls' Night

Jack Vettriano Girls' NightJack Vettriano Ghosts From The PastJack Vettriano Games of Power
That had hardly begun to fill the space. After a while he'd added: BORN TO, and left a space because he wasn't quite sure what he'd been born to. BORN TO EAT BIG DINNERS wouldn't be appropriate.
After some more bemused thought he'd gone on to: LIVE FATS DIE YO GNU. It wasn't quite right, he could see; he'd turned the sight, and not just because of the natural look of students. Here were some people who, while this damn music was making everyone tap their feet, had stayed in­doors all night ‑ working.
'What are you lot doing in here?' he said. 'You . . . what's your name?'
The student wizard pinned by Ridcully's pointing finger squirmed anxiously.
'Er. Um. Big Mad Drongo,' he said, twisting the brim of his hat in his hands.
'Big. Mad. Drongo,' said Ridcully. 'That's your name, is it? That's what you've got sewn on your vest?'
'Um. No, Archchancellor.'
'It is...?'material over while he was making the holes for the studs and had sort of lost track of which direction he was going.Of course, it didn't matter which direction you went, just so long as you went. That's what music with rocks in it was all about . . .]. . . 'And Recent Runes is in his room playing drums, and the rest of them have all got guitars, and what the Bursar's done to the bottom of his robe is really strange,' said Ridcully. 'And the Librarian's wandering around the place pinchin' stuff and no‑one listens to a word I say.'He stared at the students. It was a worrying

Henri Matisse Woman with a Hat

Henri Matisse Woman with a HatHenri Matisse The WindowHenri Matisse The Green LineHenri Matisse Red FishHenri Matisse Pink Nude
hesitated.
He lowered his hands and pulled out all the rest of the stops, including the twelve knobs with '?' on them and the two with faded labels warning in several languages that they were on no account to be touched, .ever, in any circumstances.
He raised his'Would you believe four beats to the bar, two‑four time, melody led, with the bass beat forward in the melody?'
'What's all dat?' said Lias. 'What's all dem words mean?'
'You're a musician, ain't you?' said Glod. 'What do you think you do?'
'I hits 'em with de hammers,' said Lias, one of nature's drummers.
'But that bit you did . . .' said Imp, 'you know . hands.He raised his feet also, positioning them over some of the more perilous pedals.He shut his eyes.He sat for a moment in contemplative silence, a test pilot ready to slit the edge of the envelope in the starship Melody.He let the plangent memory of the music fill his head and flow down his arms and fill his fingers.His hands dropped.'What did we do? What did we do?' said Imp. Excitement ran its barefoot races up and down his spine.They were sitting in the tiny cramped room behind the bar.Glod took off his helmet and wiped the inside.

Thomas Kinkade San Francisco Lombard Street

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eyes upwards, to the dog that was gripping him.
'Gaspode? Is that you?'
'Yeff,' said Gaspode, his mouth full.
There was hardly any weight to the poodle but, then, there was hardly any weight to Gaspode. He'd darted forward and braced his The gutter creaked again.
It's going to go, he thought. Story of my life . . .
Big Fido struggled around.
'What are you holding me up by?'
'Yer collar,' said Gaspode, through his teeth.legs to take the strain, but there was nothing much to brace them against. He slid down inexorably until his front legs were in the gutter, which began to creak.Gaspode had an amazingly clear view of the street, three storeys down.'Oh, hell!' said Gaspode.Jaws gripped his tail.'Let him go,' said Angua indistinctly.Gaspode tried to shake his head.'Stop ftruggling!' he said, out of the corner of his mouth. 'Brave Dog Faves the Day! Valiant Hound in Wooftop Wefcue! No!'

Pop art art on fire

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, I know it's a bit cheeky,' said Carrot, 'but I've always been very interested in Guild customs . . . so . . . do you think someone could show me your museum?'
'Sorry? What Colon tried to see a message in Carrot's face. He'd got used to simple Carrot. Complicated Carrot was as unnerving as being savaged by a duck.
'We'll, er, we'll just be going, then, shall we?' he said.
'No point in staying here now it's all settled,' said Carrot, mugging museum?''The clown museum?''Oh, you mean the Hall of Faces. That's not a museum. Of course. Nothing secret about it. Boffo, make a note. We'd be happy to show you around any time, corporal.''Thank you very much, Dr Whiteface.'Any time.''I'm just going off duty,' said Carrot. 'Right now would be nice. Since I happen to be here.''You can't go off duty when— ow!' said Colon.'Sorry, sergeant?''You kicked me!''I accidentally trod on your sandal, sergeant. I'm sorry.'

Pop art chuck berry on pink

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Whiteface tried to look panicky, but this did not work very well under a mouth painted into a wide grin.
'What? No! I , Dr Whiteface. I can see this must have been a great strain on you.'
The clown was limp with relief.
'Don't mention it. Don't mention it. Happy to help. I know you have your job to do.'
He ushered them down the stairs and into the courtyard, bubbling with small talk now. The rest of the Watch clanked to attention.
'Actually . . .' said Carrot, just as he was being ushered out of the gate, 'there is one thing you could do.'
'Of course, of course.'mean – if an Assassin broke into our Guild, I mean, not on proper business, and stole something, well, we'd definitely consider we were within our rights to, well—''Pour jelly into his shirt?' said Angua.'Hit him around the head with a bladder on a stick?' said Colon.'Possibly.''Each Guild to their own, of course,' said Carrot. 'I suggest we might as well be going, sergeant. Nothing more for us to do here. Sorry to have troubled you

William Bouguereau Rest

William Bouguereau RestWilliam Bouguereau The Rapture of PsycheWilliam Bouguereau Cupid and Psyche as ChildrenWilliam Bouguereau Charity
'My cartoons,The Patrician played with it for a while.
'What's the glue made of?'
'Boiled slugs.'
The Patrician pulled the paper off one hand. It stuck to the other hand.
'Is that what you came to see me about?' said Leonard.
'No. I came to talk to you,' said Lord Vetinari, 'about the gonne.'
'Oh, dear. I'm very sorry.'
'I am afraid it has . . . escaped.'' said Leonard.'This is a good one of the little boy with his kite stuck in a tree,' said Lord Vetinari.'Thank you. May I make you some tea? I'm afraid I don't see many people these days, apart from the man who oils the hinges.''I've come to . . .'The Patrician stopped and prodded at one of the drawings.'There's a piece of yellow paper stuck to this one,' he said, suspiciously. He pulled at it. It came away from the drawing with a faint sucking noise, and then stuck to his fingers. On the note, in Leonard's crabby backward script, were the words: 'krow ot smees sihT: omeM'.'Oh, I'm rather pleased with that,' said Leonard. 'I call it my "Handy-note-scribbling-piece-of-paper-with-glue-that-comes-unstuck-when-you-want".'

Rene Magritte The Big Family

Rene Magritte The Big FamilyRene Magritte PrimevereRene Magritte Personal ValuesRene Magritte Dangerous Liaisons
monochrome them into contact with animals. They wore scent or aftershave a lot and tended to be very fastidious about their food. And kept diaries with the phases of the moon carefully marked in red ink.
It was no life, being a werewolf in the country. Abackground against which the sounds and, yes, the smells seared like brilliant lines of . . . coloured fire and clouds of . . . well, of coloured smoke.That was the point. That was where it all broke down. There were no proper words afterwards for what she heard and smelled. If you could see an eighth distinct colour just for a while, and then describe it back in the seven-coloured world, it'd have to be . . . 'something like a sort of greenish-purple'. Experience did not cross over well between species.Sometimes, although not very often, Angua thought she was very lucky to get to see both worlds. And there was always twenty minutes after a Change when all the senses were heightened, so that the world glowed in every sensory spectrum like a rainbow. It was nearly worth it just for that.There were varieties of werewolf. Some people merely had to shave every hour and wear a hat to cover the ears. They could pass for nearly normal.But she could recognize them, nevertheless. Werewolves could spot another werewolf across a crowded street. There was something about the eyes. And, of course, if you had time, there were all sorts of other clues. Werewolves tended to live alone and take jobs that didn't bring

Marc Chagall The Three Candles

Marc Chagall The Three CandlesMarc Chagall Paris Through the WindowMarc Chagall Adam and EveMarc Chagall La Mariee
radius' will be appropriate.
Vimes therefore pushed the door open carefully. The smell of dragons engulfed him. It was an unusual smell, even by Ankh-Morpork standards – it put Vimes in mind of a pond that had been used to dump alchemical waste for several years and then drained'
The sack was thrust into his arms. At the same moment a talon ripped out of the bottom of the sack and scraped down his breastplate in a spirited attempt to disembowel him. A spiky-eared head thrust its way out of the other end, two glowing red eyes focused on him briefly, a tooth-serrated mouth gaped open and a gush of evil-smelling vapour washed over him.
Lady Ramkin grabbed the lower jaw triumphantly, and thrust the other arm up to the elbow down the little dragon's throat.
'Got you!' She turned to Vimes, who was still rigid with shock. 'Little devil wouldn't

Thomas Kinkade Bridge of Faith

Thomas Kinkade Bridge of FaithThomas Kinkade Autumn LaneJohn Collier SpringCaravaggio The Crucifixion of Saint Peter
swarms spiraled up over the clearing, circled once, and then broke and headed away. Others joined them, out of backyard skeps and hollow trees, blackening the sky.
After a while, order became apparent in the great cir-cling cloud. The drones flew on the wings, throbbing like bombers. The workers were a cone made up of thousands of tiny bodies. And at its tip, a hundred queens flew.
The fields lay Queen Ynci laughing scornfully from a thousand years ago. She’d not give up. Magrat was just another one of those dozens of simpering stiff women who’d just hung around in long dresses, ensuring the royal succession—
Bees poured down out of the sky.
Granny Weatherwax turned her face toward Magrat.silent after the arrow-shaped swarm of swarms had gone.Flowers stood alone and uncourted. Nectar flowed undrunk. Blossoms were left to go fertilize themselves.The bees headed toward the Dancers.284LQRQ6 ft/YQ Lft0f£8Granny Weatherwax dropped to her knees, clutching at her head.“No—““Oh, but yes,” said the Queen.Esme Weatherwax raised her hands. The fingers were curled tightly with effort and pain.Magrat found she could move her eyes. The rest of her felt weak and useless, even with chain-mail and the breast-plates. So this was it. She could feel the ghost of

Frederic Edwin Church Sunset

Frederic Edwin Church SunsetFrederic Edwin Church AutumnLorenzo Lotto St Catherine of AlexandriaTitian Emperor Charles
swung back and forth across the scale.
Shawn leaned his rusty pike against the wall and drew his sword. He knew how to use it. He practiced for ten min-utes every day, and it was one sorry hanging sack of straw when he’d finished with it.
204
LQRQ6 ftWO Lft0/£6
He slipped into the keep by the back door and sidled along the passages toward the dungeon. There was no one else around. Of course, everyone was at the Entertainment.
And they’d be back any time now, carousing all over the
place.
The castle felt big, and old, and cold.
Any time now.
Bound to.
The noise stoppedwhite-clad figure next to it.
Shawn blinked.
“Aren’t you Miss Tockley?”
.Shawn peered around the comer. There were the steps, there was the open doorway to the dungeons.“Stop!” shouted Shawn, just in case.The sound echoed off the stones.“Stop! Or ... or ... or ... Stop!”He eased his way down the steps and looked through thearchway“I warn you! I’m learning the Path of the Happy JadeLotus!”There was the door to the cell, standing ajar. And a
She smiled at him. Her eyes glowed in the dim light.

Pop art coltrane on rust

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thought that sort of thing was, you know,” the king grinned sickly, “folklore?”
“Of course it’s folklore, you stupid man!”
“I do happen to be king, you know,” said Verence reproachfully.
“You stupid king, your majesty,”
“Thank you“Hah! Right, but no.”
“Muscle? Mucus? Mystery?”
“No. No. No. Means like . . . seein’ the other person’s point of view.”
Verence tried to see the world from a Granny Weatherwax perspective, and suspicion dawned.
132
LQR06 fiNQ LfiQIEQ.”“I mean it doesn’t mean it’s not true! Maybe it gets a lit-tle muddled over the years, folks forget details, they forget why they do things. Like the horseshoe thing.”“I know my granny had one over the door,” said the king.“There you are. Nothing to do with its shape. But if you lives in an old cottage and you’re poor, it’s probably the nearest bit of iron with holes in it that you can find.”“Ah.”“The thing about elves is they’ve got no ... begins with m,” Granny snapped her fingers irritably.“Manners?”

Mark Spain Flamenco I

Mark Spain Flamenco IMark Spain Eternal FlameMark Spain Encore
Hehheh!”
From somewhere in the distance came the scream of Hodgesaargh as nature got close to him.
Crop circles opened everywhere.
Now the universes swung into line. They ceased their boiling spaghetti dance and, to pass through this chicane of history, charged Terry Pratchett
Not knowing the future was bad enough, but at least she understood why. Now she was getting flashes of deja vu. It had been going on all week. But they weren’t her deja vus. She was getting them for the first time, as it were—flashes of memory that couldn’t have existed. Couldn’t have existed. She was Esme Weatherwax, sane as a brick, always had been, she’d never been—
There was a knock at the door.forward neck and neck in their race across the rubber sheet of incontinent Time.At such time, as Ponder Stibbons dimly perceived, they had an effect on one another—shafts of reality crackled back and forward as the universes jostled for position.If you were someone who had trained their mind to be the finest of receivers, and were running it at the moment with the gain turned up until the knob broke, you might pick up some very strange signals indeed .. .The clock ticked.Granny Weatherwax sat in front of the open box, read-ing. Occasionally she stopped and closed her eyes and pinched her nose.103

Cao Yong LILY POND

Cao Yong LILY PONDCao Yong KOI PONDCao Yong GIRL WITH MUSICIAN
assorted grails and crucibles, and a box full of
29
Terry Pratchett
rings, necklaces, and bracelets heavy with the hermetic sym-bols of a dozen religions. She tipped them all into a sack.
Then there were the books. Goodie Whemper had been something of a bookworm among witches. There were almost a dozen. She -bles, or even a hiss. But it just sank. Just as if it wasn’t any-thing very important.
Another world, another castle .. .
The elf galloped over the frozen moat, steam billowing from its black horse and from the thing it carried over its neck.
It rode up the steps and into the hall itself, where the Queen sat amidst her dreams .. .
“My lord Lankin?”
“A stag!”
It was still alive. Elves were skilled at leaving things alivehesitated about the books, and finally she let them stay on the shelves.There was the statutory pointy hat. She’d never liked it anyway, and had always avoided wearing it. Into the sack with it.She looked around wild-eyed until she spotted the small cauldron in the inglenook. That’d do. Into the sack with that, and then tie the neck with string.On the way up to the palace she crossed the bridge over Lancre Gorge and tossed the sack into the river.It bobbed for a moment in the strong current, and then sank.She’d secretly hoped for a string of multicolored bub

John William Waterhouse Miranda - The Tempest

John William Waterhouse Miranda - The TempestJohn William Waterhouse My Sweet RoseJohn William Waterhouse Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
feeling of rushing wind in Brutha's mind, and a voice . . .
-obuggerbuggerbuggerhelpaarghnoNoNoAarghBuggerNONOAARGH-
Even Vorbis got a grip of himself. There had been just a moment, when he'd seen the eagle-but, no . . .
He extended his arms and smiled beatifically at the sky.
"I'm sorry," said The Great God rose over the Temple, billowing and changing as the belief of thousands of people flowed into him. There were shapes there, of eagle-headed men, and bulls, and golden horns, but they tangled and flamed and fused into one another.
Four bolts of fire whirred out of the cloud and burst the chains holding Brutha.
II. He Is Cenobiarch And Prophet of Prophets.Brutha.One or two people, who had been watching Vorbis closely, said later that there was just time for his expression to change before two pounds of tortoise, traveling at three meters a second, hit him between the eyes.It was a revelation.And that does something to people watching. For a start, they believe with all their heart. Brutha was aware of feet running up the steps, and hands pulling at the chains.And then a voice:I. He is Mine.

Leroy Neiman Michael Jordan

Leroy Neiman Michael JordanGeorge Frederick Watts The Recording AngelGeorge Frederick Watts She shall be called womanGeorge Frederick Watts Creation
You can remember them just by looking?" said Urn.
"Yes."
"The whole scroll?"
"Yes.". He shut his eyes. For a moment the jagged outline glowed against the inside of his eyelids, and then he felt them settle into his mind. They were still there somewhere-he could bring them back at any time. Urn unrolled another scroll. Pictures of animals. This one, drawings of plants and lots of writing. This one, just writing. This one, triangles and things. They settled down in his memory. After a while, he wasn't even aware of the scroll unrolling. He just had to keep looking."I don't believe you.""The word LIBRVM outside this building has a chip in the top of the first letter,' said Brutha. "Xeno wrote Reflections, and old Aristocrates wrote Platitudes, and Didactylos thinks Ibid's Discourses are bloody stupid. There are six hundred paces from the Tyrant's throne room to the Library. There is a-”"He's got a good memory, you've got to grant him that," said Didactylos. "Show him some more scrolls.""How will we know he's remembered them?" Urn demanded, unrolling a scroll of geometrical theorems. "He can't read! And even if he could read, he can't write! ""We shall have to teach him."Brutha looked at a scroll full of maps

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres Ingres The Source

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres Ingres The SourcePeter Paul Rubens Samson and DelilahJohn William Waterhouse Waterhouse Narcissus
little over seventy-nine minutes."
Vorbis laughed. Brutha wondered why. The puzzle wasn't why he remembered, it was why everyone else seemed to forget.
"Did your fathers have this remarkable faculty?"
There was a . There was a cloud of dust about a mile behind them on the road.
"Here come the rest of the soldiers," he said conversationally.
This seemed to shock Vorbis. Perhaps it was the first time in years that anyone had innocently addressed a remark to him.
"The rest of the soldiers?" he said.
"Sergeant Aktar and his men, on ninety-eight camels with many water-bottles," said Brutha. "I saw them before we left."pause."Could they do it as well?" said Vorbis patiently."I don't know. There was only my grandmother. She had-a good memory. For some things." Transgressions, certainly. "And very good eyesight and hearing." What she could apparently see or hear through two walls had, he remembered, seemed phenomenal.Brutha turned gingerly in the saddle

Vincent van Gogh Reaper

Vincent van Gogh ReaperEdmund Blair Leighton OffFord Madox Brown Work
vermin?"
The tortoise continued to stare. Practically nothing can stare like a tortoise.
Brutha felt obliged to do something.
"There's grapes," he said. "Probably it's not sinful to give you one grape. How would you like a grape, little tortoise?"
"How would you like to be an abomination in the nethermost pit of chaos?" said the tortoise.
The crows, who had fled to the outer walls, took off again to a rendering of The Way of the Infidel Is A Nest Of Thorns.my lips."
Brutha looked closer.
"You haven't got lips," he said.
"No, nor proper vocal chords," agreed the tortoise. "I'm doing it straight into your head, do you understand?"
"Gosh!"Brutha opened his eyes and took his fingers out of his ears again.The tortoise said, "I'm still here."Brutha hesitated. It dawned on him, very slowly, that demons and succubi didn't turn up looking like small old tortoises. There wouldn't be much point. Even Brother Nhumrod would have to agree that when it came to rampant eroticism, you could do a lot better than a one-eyed tortoise."I didn't know tortoises could talk," he said."They can't," said the tortoise. "Read
"You do understand, don't you?"
"No."
The tortoise rolled its eye.

Guido Reni Joseph and Potiphars' Wife

Guido Reni Joseph and Potiphars' WifeFrancois Boucher Shepherd and Shepherdess ReposingFrancois Boucher Brown Odalisk
waves of rock, from somewhere else. Maybe it had been there before' the Disc itself, but Rincewind didn't like to consider that, because it raised uncomfortable questions about who built it and what for.
He examined his conscience.
It said: walls.'
'Where are we?' said Conina.
'And is there any alcohol?' said Creosote. 'Probably not,' he added.
'And why is it rocking?' said Conina. 'I've never been anywhere with metal walls before.' She sniffed. 'Can you smell oil?' she added, suspiciously.
The genie reappeared, although this time without the smoke and erratic trapdoor I'm out of options. Please yourself.Rincewind stood up and brushed the dust and ash off his robe, removing quite a lot of the moulting red plush as well. He removed his hat, made a preoccupied attempt at straightening the point, and replaced it on his head.Then he walked unsteadily towards the Tower of Art.There was a very old and quite small door at the base. He wasn't at all surprised when it opened as he approached. 'Strange place,' said Nijel. 'Funny curve to the

Jean Francois Millet Harvesters Resting

Jean Francois Millet Harvesters RestingJean Francois Millet GardenHerbert James Draper Ulysses and the Sirens
blushed. 'Yes, well, but from him I got sinews you could moor a boat with, reflexes like a snake on a hot tin, a terrible urge to steal things and this dreadful sensation every time I meet someone that I should be throwing a knife through his eye at ninety feet. I can, too,' she added with a trace of pride.
'Gosh.'
'It tends to put men off.'
Well, it would,Conina sighed.
'Not much call for a barbarian hairdresser, I expect,' said Rincewind. 'I mean, no-one wants a shampoo-and-beheading.'
'It's just that every time I see a manicure set I get this terrible ' said Rincewind weakly.'I mean, when they find out, it's very hard to hang on to a boyfriend.''Except by the throat, I imagine,' said Rincewind.'Not what you really need to build up a proper relationship.''No. I can see,' said Rincewind. 'Still, pretty good if you want to be a famous barbarian thief.'But not,' said Conina, 'if you want to be a hairdresser.''Ah.'They stared into the mist.'Really a hairdresser?' said Rincewind.

Amedeo Modigliani Seated Nude

Amedeo Modigliani Seated NudeAmedeo Modigliani Red NudeAmedeo Modigliani Portrait of Jeanne Hebuterne
ARE ANY OF THESE FRIENDLY? he said.
‘Sir, I think I can say, without fear of contradiction, that we have never based our purchasing policy on the amiability of a priest in the Lost Jewelled Temple of Doom of Offler the Crocodile God was that you got to go home early most afternoons. This was because it was lost. Most worshippers never found their way there. They were the lucky ones.
Traditionally, only two people ever went into the innermost sanctuary. They were the High Priest and the other priest who wasn’t High. They had been there the stones in question,’ said the merchant. He was uncomfortably aware that things were wrong, and that somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what was wrong with them, and that somehow his mind was not letting him make that final link. And it was getting on his nerves.WHERE IS THE BIGGEST DIAMOND IN THE WORLD?‘The biggest? That’s easy. It’s the Tear of Offler, it’s in the innermost sanctuary of the Lost Jewelled Temple of Doom of Offler the Crocodile God in darkest Howandaland, and it weighs eight hundred and fifty carats. And, sir, to forestall your next question, I personally would go to bed with it.’One of the nice things about being for years, and took turns at being the high one. It was an