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".'
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
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
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
Monday, April 27, 2009
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
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
Friday, April 24, 2009
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
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
Thursday, April 23, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Pop art coltrane on rust
Pop art coltrane on rustPop art Bruce Springsteen - The BOSSPop art booker t & the mgs on green
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?”
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?”
Monday, April 20, 2009
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
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
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