Salvador Dali Living Still Life

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Do you think he saw where we’d taken out the bricks?’
‘No, I was standing in front of the holes,’ said the Chair.
‘Come on, then. Where were we?’
‘Look, I , and as far as he was concerned it was to be pushed everywhere and generally pandered to.
It was wide and long and steered by means of a little front wheel and a long cast‑iron handle. Cast iron, in fact, featured largely in its construction. Bits of baroque ironwork adorned its frame, which seemed to have been made of iron drainpipes welded together. The rear wheels did not in fact have blades affixed to them, but looked as though these were optional extras. There were various dread levers which only really think this is most unwise,’ said the Dean.‘Just shut up, old chap, and hold this brick.’‘Very well, but tell me this; how do you propose to get the wheelchair over?’They looked at Poons’ wheelchair.There are wheelchairs which are lightweight and built to let their owners function fully and independently in modern society. To the thing inhabited by Poons, they were as gazelles to a hippopotamus. Poona was well aware of his function in modern society

George Bellows The Picnic

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it would have to wait, because of the row that was going on.
It was over the third major part in Blown Away. Victor was of course the dashing but dangerous hero, Ginger was the only possible choice for the female lead, but the second male role ‑the dull but dutiful one ‑ was causing trouble.
Victor had never seen anyone stamp their foot in anger before. He’d always thought it was something they did only to get elementalist about this?’
Now it was Ginger’s turn to wave her hands. ‘I like trolls,’ she said. ‘As trolls, that is. But you can’t seriously mean me to do a romantic scene with a, a, a cliff face.’
‘Now look here,’ said Rock, his voice winding up like a pitcher’s arm. ‘What you’re saying is, is OK for trolls to be shown bashing people with clubs, is not OK to show trolls have in books. But Ginger was doing it.‘Because I’d look an idiot, that’s why!’ she was saying.Soll, who was by now feeling like a lightning rod on a stormy day, waved his hand frantically.‘But he’s ideal for the role!’ he said. ‘It calls for a solid character‑‘‘Solid? Of course he’s solid! He’s made of stone!’ shouted Ginger. ‘He might have a suit of chain mail and a false moustache but he’s still a troll!’Rock, looming monolithically over the pair of them, cleared his throat noisily.‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘I hope we’re not going

Alphonse Maria Mucha Dance

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you tell Dibbler everything I told you?’ he said.
‘Yes. He was very upset when I mentioned about going to Untied Alchemists.’
Gaspode sniggered.
‘An’ you told him what I said about a verbal contract not being worth the paper it’s printed on?’
‘Yes. He ‘Now, there’s some new words I want you to learn,’ said Gaspode. ‘Think you can?’
‘I hope so.’
‘ "Per-cent-age of the gross" ‘, said Gaspode. ‘There. Think you can remember it?’
‘ "Per-cent-age of the gross",’ said Victor.
‘Good lad.’
‘What does it mean?’ said he didn’t understand what I meant. But he gave me a cigar. And he said he’d pay for me and Ginger to go to AnkhMorpork soon. He said he’s got a really big picture planned.’ ‘What is it?’ said Gaspode suspiciously. ‘He didn’t say.’ ‘Listen, lad,’ said Gaspode, ‘Dibbler’s making a fortune. I counted it. There were five thousand, two hundred and seventy-three dollars and fifty-two pence on Son’s desk. And you earned it. Well, you and Ginger did.’ ‘Gosh!’

Salvador Dali Equestrian Fantasy - Portrait of Lady Dunn

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off and fight the Balgrog, and you,’ he pointed to the girl, ‘you, you, you just follow him and look as, as rescued as you possibly can, OK?’
‘I’m good at that,’ she said, resignedly.
‘No, no, no,’ said Dibbler, putting his head in his hands. ‘Not that again!’
‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’ said Silverfish. ‘Fights and rescues?’
‘There’s got to be more to it than that!’ said Dibbler.
‘Like what?’ Silverfish.
‘They’re meant to! That’s what people expect!’
‘And I’m giving them what they expect, too,’ said Silverfish. ‘People like to see more of what they expect. Fights and chases, that sort of thing–’
‘ ‘Scuse me, Mister Silverfish,’ said the handleman, above the angry chattering of the demons.
‘Yes?’ snapped Dibbler. Silverfish demanded. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Razzmatazz. Oomph. The old zonkaroonie.’ ‘Funny noises? We haven’t got sound.’ ‘Everyone makes clicks about people running around and fighting and falling over,’ said Dibbler. ‘There should be something more. I’ve been looking at the things you make here, and they all look the same to me.’ ‘Well, all sausages look the same to me,’ snapped
‘ ‘Scuse me, Mister Dibbler, but I got to feed ‘em ina quarter of a hour.’

Piet Mondrian Composition with Red Blue Yellow 2

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he had a thin moustache, which in a certain light made him look debonair and, in another, made him look as though he had been drinking a thick chocolate milk shake.
He was quite proud of it. When you became a wizard you were expected to stop shaving and grow a beard like a gorse bush, student wizards had quietly got around, or more precisely climbed over, Unseen University’s curfew restrictions.
The plaza wasn’t on the route.
He turned to amble back the way he had come, and then stopped. There was something unusual going on.
Usually there’d be a storyteller there, or some musicians, or an entrepreneur looking for prospective buyers of such surplus Ankh-Morpork landmarks as the Tower of Art or the Brass . Very senior wizards looked capable of straining nourishment out of the air via their moustaches, like whales. It was now half-past one. He was ambling back from the Mended Drum, the most determinedly disreputable of the city’s taverns. Victor Tugelbend always gave the impression of ambling, even when he was running. He was also quite sober and a bit surprised, therefore, to find himself in the Plaza of Broken Moons. He’d been heading for the little alley behind the University and the piece of wall with the conveniently spaced removable bricks where, for hundreds and hundreds of years

Sandro Botticelli Venus and Mars

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the sea,' said Teppic. 'I told you, remember. Waves and things.'
'You said it was all green and rough.'
zipping overhead. You Bastard glanced up at it briefly and then turned his head and stared fixedly at a very small area of sand.
A second later the arrow thudded into it.
Then he tested the weight on his feet and did a small calculation which revealed that two people had been subtracted from his back. Further summation indicated that they had been added to the dune.
'What did you do that for?' said Ptraci, spitting out sand.
'Someone fired at us!'
'I shouldn't think so. I mean, they didn't know we were here, did the'Sometimes it is.' 'Hmm.' The tone of voice suggested that she disapproved of the sea but, before she could explain why, they heard the sound of voices raised in anger. They were coming from behind a nearby sand dune. There was a notice on the dune. It said, in several languages: AXIOM TESTING STATION. Below it, in slightly smaller writing, it added: CAUTION - UNRESOLVED POSTULATES. As they read it, or at least as Teppic read it and Ptraci didn't, there was a twang from behind the dune, followed by a click, followed by an arrow y? You needn't have

Jack Vettriano Models in the Studio

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think so. We've never really discussed it. Anyway, she died when I was young.
'How dreadful,' said Chidder cheerfully.
'She went for a moonlight swim in what turned out to be a crocodile.' Teppic tried politely not to be hurt at the boy's reaction.
'My , 'and lots of servants.'
'Bit old fashioned, this kingdom of yours?'
Teppic nodded. 'It's the pyramids,' he said. 'They take all the money.'
'Expensive things, I should imagine.'
'Not particularly. They're just made of stone.' Teppic sighed. 'We've got lots of stone,' he father's in commerce,' said Chidder, as they passed through the archway. 'That's fascinating,' said Teppic dutifully. He felt quite broken by all these new experiences, and added, 'I've never been to Commerce, but I understand they're very fine people.' Over the next hour or two Chidder, who ambled gently through life as though he'd already worked it all out, introduced Teppic to the various mysteries of the dormitories, the classrooms and the plumbing. He left the plumbing until last, for all sorts of reasons. 'Not any?' he said. 'There's buckets and things,' said Teppic vaguely

Alphonse Maria Mucha The Judgement of Paris

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Lord Felmet sat back in his throne and beamed madly at the world, which was looking good right at the moment. Things were working out better than he had dared to hope. He could feel the past melting behind him, like ice in the spring thaw.
On an impulse he called the footman back.
'Call the captain of the guard,' he said, 'and tell him to find the witches and arrest them.'
The duchess snorted.
'Remember what happened last time, foolish man?'
'We left two of them loose,' said the duke. 'This time . . . all three. The tide of public feeling is on our side. That sortI am Death, 'Gainst Whom No . . . no . . . no . . . Hwel, 'gainst whom no?'
'Oh, good grief, Dafe. " 'Gainst whom no lock will hold nor fasten'd portal bar", I really don't see why you have difficulty with . . . not that way up, you idiots!' Hwel strode off through the backstage melee in pursuit of a pair of importunate scene shifters. of thing affects witches, depend upon it.'The duchess cracked her knuckles to indicate her view of public opinion.'You must admit, my treasure, that the experiment seems to be working.''It would appear so.''Very well. Don't just stand there, man. Before the play ends, tell him. Those witches are to be under lock and key.' Death adjusted his cardboard skull in front of the mirror, twitched his cowl into a suitable shape, stood back and considered the general effect. It was going to be his first speaking part. He wanted to get it right.'Cower now, Brief Mortals,' he said. 'For

William Bouguereau Jeune Bergere Debout

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Hwel pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted wearily at the wax-spattered paper.
The play a Cab then leave yn a Huff. Iffthates too soone, thenn leave yn a minute and a Huff. Say, have you Gott a Pensil? A crayon?—
Hwel stared at this in horror. On the page it looked nonsensical, ridiculous. And yet, and yet, in the thronged auditorium of his mind . . .wasn't going at all well.He'd sorted out the falling chandelier, and found a place for a villain who wore a mask to conceal his disfigurement, and he'd rewritten one of the funny bits to allow for the fact that the hero had been born in a handbag. It was the clowns who were giving him trouble again. They kept changing every time he thought about them. He preferred them in twos, that was traditional, but now there seemed to be a third one, and he was blowed if he could think of any funny lines for him.His quill moved scratchily over the latest sheet of paper, trying to catch the voices that had streamed through his dreaming mind and had seemed so funny at the time.His tongue began to stick out of the corner of his mouth. He was sweating.This iss My Little Study, he wrote. Hey, with a Little Study youe could goe a Long Way. And I wishe youed start now. Iffe You can't leave yn

Vincent van Gogh Wheat Field with Cypresses

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'Have it your way,' said Nanny. 'But maybe one day he'll come back. Destiny again. And you said we should hide the crown. It'll all come back, mark my words. Hurry up with that tea, Magrat.'
'What are you going to do about the burghers?' said Granny.
'I told them they'll have to sort it out themselves. Once we use magic, I said, it'd never stop. You know that.'
'Right,' said Nanny Ogg, whose knowledge of the genealogy of Lancre was legendary. 'Bit of a beauty when she was younger. Broke many a heart, she did. Bit of a scandal there, I did hear. Granny's right, though. At the end of the day, a Fool's a Fool.'
'Why d'you want to know, Magrat?' said Granny Weather-wax.
'Oh . . . one of the girls in the village was asking me,' said Magrat, crimson to the ears.
Nanny cleared her throat, and grinned at Granny Weatherwax, who sniffed aloofly.
'It's a steady job,' said Nanny. 'I'll grant you that.'Granny, but there was a hint of wistfulness in her voice.'I'll tell you this, though,' said Nanny. 'They didn't like it much. They was muttering when they left.'Magrat blurted out, 'You know the Fool, who lives up at the castle?''Little man with runny eyes?' said Nanny, relieved that the conversation had returned to more normal matters.'Not that little,' said Magrat. 'What's his name, do you happen to know?''He's just called Fool,' said Granny. 'No job for a man, that. Running around with bells on.''His mother was a Beldame, from over Blackglass way,' said

Alexandre Cabanel Cleopatra

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said Granny irritably. 'And nor have you. Anyway, he might want it back. If it's rightfully his, that is. Kings set a lot of store by crowns. Really, Gytha, sometimes you say the most—'
'I'll just makeour own enchantment in them days.'
'Ah, well, we've all passed a lot of water since then,' said Nanny Ogg sagely. She gave the baby a comforting jiggle.
Granny Weatherwax sniffed. Nanny Ogg had been married three times and ruled a tribe of children and some tea, shall I?' said Magrat brightly, and disappeared into the scullery.The two elderly witches sat on either side of the table in polite and prickly silence. Finally Nanny Ogg said, 'She done it up nice, hasn't she? Flowers and everything. What are them things on the walls?''Sigils,' said Granny sourly. 'Or some such.''Fancy,' said Nanny Ogg, politely. 'And all them robes and wands and things too.''Modern,' said Granny Weatherwax, with a sniff. 'When I was a gel, we had a lump of wax and a couple of pins and had to be content. We had to make

Edward Hopper New York Restaurant

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'Agatean Empire! Counterweight Continent!'
He pointed downward.
He wasn't triangle and tried to remember when he last had a meal. Some time beyond the reach of a clock, anyway – he'd need a calendar to calculate it. He took the sandwich.
'Thanks,' he said, as graciously as he could manage.forcing Binky at the moment, knowing the miles that lay ahead, and the big white horse was currently running at an easy gallop out over the ocean. Ysabell looked down at roaring green waves topped with white foam, and clung tighter to Mort.Mort peered ahead at the cloudbank that marked the distant continent and resisted the urge to hurry Binky along with the flat of his sword. He'd never struck the horse and wasn't at all confident about what would happen if he did. All he could do was wait.A hand appeared under his arm, holding a sandwich.'There's ham or cheese and chutney,' she said. 'You might as well eat, there's nothing else to do.'Mort looked down at the soggy

John Constable Weymouth Bay

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landscape, chequered with cabbage fields from edge to edge. There are many things to be said about cabbages. One may talk at length about their high vitamin content, their vital iron contribution, the valuable roughage and wasn't what he'd volunteered for; he'd expected excitement and challenge and a crossbow and a uniform that didn't go rusty in the rain.
He stepped forward, ready to defend the city against people who didn't respect commands given by duly authorised civic employees. Mort considered the pike blade hovering a few inches from his face. There was getting to be too much of this.commendable food value. In the mass, however, they lack a certain something; despite their claim tomoral superiority over, say, daffodils, they have never been a sight to inspire the poet's muse. Unless he was hungry, of course. It was only twenty miles to Sto Lat, but in terms of meaningless human experience it seemed like two thousand.There were guards on the gates of Sto Lat, although compared to the ones that patrolled Ankh they had a sheepish, amateurish look. Mort trotted past and one of them, feeling a bit of a fool, asked him who went there.'I'm afraid I can't stop,' said Mort.The guard was new to the job, and quite keen. Guarding wasn't what he'd been led to expect. Standing around all day in chain mail with an axe on a long pole

Jim Dine Hearts

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had already watched the staff lift itself gently from Esk and land on Simon.
Now it had floated up into the air again.
Other wizards had crowded into the room. The librarian was sitting under the table.
"If only we had some idea what is going on," said Cutangle. "It's the suspense I can't stand."
"turned their faces towards Cutangle, expectantly.
He fire coruscated along its length.
There should be a word for words that sound like things would sound like if they made a noise, he thought. The word "glisten" does indeed gleam oily, and if there was ever a word that sounded exactly the way sparks look as they creep across burned paper, or the way the lights of cities would took the smouldering mess out of his mouth and, with a glare that none of the assembled wizards cared to meet, trod it underfoot. "Probably time I gave it up anyway," he said. "That goes for the rest of you, too. Worse than an ashpit in this place, sometimes." Then he saw the staff. It was The only way Cutangle could describe the effect was that it seemed to be going very fast while staying in exactly the same place. Streamers of gas flared away from it and vanished, if they were gas. It blazed like a comet designed by an inept special effects man. Coloured sparks leapt out and disappeared somewhere. It was also changing colour, starting with a dull red and then climbing through the spectrum until it was a painful violet. Snakes of white

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Necklace

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Granny vanished. Where she had been standing was a large wicker basket.
The snake became a giant reptile from the mists of time.
The basket became the snow wind of the Ice Giants, coating the struggling monster with ice.
The reptile became a sabre-toothed tiger, crouched to spring.
The gale became a bubbling tar pit.
The tiger coming now!"
She scrambled out from behind the table where she had taken refuge from the magical duel and tried to reach Granny. A gust of raw magic lifted her off her feet and bowled her into a chair.
The buzzing was louder now, so that the air roared like a three-week corpse managed to become an eagle, stooping. The tar pits became a tufted hood. Then the images began to flicker as shape replaced shape. Stroboscope shadows danced around the hall. A magical wind sprang up, thick and greasy, striking octarine sparks from beards and fingers. In the middle of it all Esk, peering through streaming eyes, could just make out the two figures of Granny and Cutangle, glossy statues in the midst of the hurtling images. She was also aware of something else, a high-pitched sound almost beyond hearing. She had heard it before, on the cold plain - a busy chittering noise, a beehive noise, an anthill sound .... "They're coming!" she screamed about the din. "They're

Johannes Vermeer Mistress and Maid

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can't be a witch?"
"I don't know what you can be. Hold the staff."
"What?"
"Hold the staff. Now, I've laid the fire in the grate. Light it."
"The tinderbox is -" Esk began.
"You once told me there were better ways of lighting fires. Show me."
Granny stoodsizzling on the stones, which cracked and then flowed. The iron fireback resisted bravely for a few seconds before melting like wax; it made a final appearance as a red smear across the fireball and then vanished. A moment later the kettle went the same way.
Just when it seemed that the chimney would follow them the ancient hearthstone gave up, and with a final splutter the fireball sank from view. up. In the dimness of the kitchen she seemed to grow until she filled it with shifting, ragged shadows, shot with menace. Her eyes glared down at Esk. "Show me," she commanded, and her voice had ice in it. "But -"said Esk desperately, clutching the heavy staff to her and knocking her stool over in her haste to back away. "Showme." With a scream Esk spun around. Fire flared from her fingertips and arced across the room. The kindling exploded with a force that hurled the furniture around the room and a ball of fierce green light spluttered on the hearth. Changing patterns sped across it as it spun

Henri Matisse Odalisques

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wizard?"
"There's witches," said the smith uncertainly. "And enchantresses too, I've heard."
"Witches is a different thing altogether," snapped Granny Weatherwax. "It's magic out of the ground, not out of the sky, and men never could get the hang of it. As for enchantresses," she added. "They're no better than they should be. You take it from me, just burn the staff, bury the body and don't let on it ever happened."
Smith nodded reluctantly, crossed over to the forge, and pumped the bellows until the sparks flew. He went back for and said, "I see. That's the way of it, is it?"
"The way of what?" said Smith, totally bewildered.
"Help me up, you fool. And fetch me a chopper."
The tone of her voice suggested that it would be a very good idea not to disobey. Smith rummaged desperately among the junk at the back of the forge until he found an old double-headed axe.the staff. It wouldn't move. "It won't move!" Sweat stood out of his brow as he tugged at the wood. It remained unco-operatively immobile. "Here, let me try," said Granny, and reached past him. There was a snap and a smell of scorched tin. Smith ran across the forge, whimpering slightly, to where Granny had landed upside down against the opposite wall. "Are you all right?" She opened two eyes like angry diamonds

William Beard Phantom Crane

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They ought to have rushed him. Instead one of them, secure in the knowledge that he had a broadsword and Cohen didn't, sidled crabwise towards him.
'Oh, no,' said Cohen, waving his hands. 'Oh, come on, lad, not like that.'
The man looked sideways at him.
'Not like what?' he asked suspiciously.
'You never held a sword before?'
The man As the man screamed and clutched at his foot Cohen kicked his remaining leg away and turned to the room at large.
'This is getting fiddly,' he said. Why don't you rush me?'
'That's right,' said a voice by his waist. The jeweller had produced a very large and dirty axe, guaranteed to add tetanus to all the other terrors of warfare.half-turned to his colleagues for reassurance.'Not a lot, no,' he said. 'Not often.' He waved his sword menacingly.Cohen shrugged. 'I may be going to die, but I should hope I could be killed by a man who could hold his sword like a warrior,' he said.The man looked at his hands. 'Looks all right,' he said, doubtfully.'Look, lad, I know a little about these things. I mean, come here a minute and – do you mind? – right, your eft hand goes here, around the pommel, and your right hand goes – that's right, just here — and the blade goes right into your leg.'

Cassius Marcellus Coolidge Waterloo

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Luggage would follow its owner anywhere.
Rincewind looked across the tent to Twoflower, a pale shape on a pile of horsehides.
'He's really dead?' he said. Cohen translated for the old woman, who shook her head. She reached down to a small wooden chest beside her and rummaged around in a collection of bags and bottles until she found a tiny green bottle which she tipped into Rincewind's beer. He looked at it suspiciously.
'She shays it's. 'I should drink it if I were you, theshe people get a bit upshet if you don't accshept hoshpitality.'
'It's not were not grinning at all. They were becoming aware that they were confronted with something entirely new and fearsome: a young man on the make.
Actually none of them were quite sure how old Trymion really was, but his sparse hair was still black and his skin had a waxy look to it that could be taken, in going to blow my head off?' said Rincewind.'She shays it's esshential you drink it.''Well, if you're sure it's okay. It can't make the beer taste any worse.'He took a swig, aware of all eyes on him.'Um,' he said. 'Actually, it's not at all ba—' Something picked him up and threw him into the air. Except that in another .sense he was still sitting by the fire – he could see himself there, a dwindling figure in the circle of firelight that was rapidly getting smaller. The toy figures around it were looking intently at his body. Except for the old woman. She was looking right up at , him, and grinning. The Circle Sea's senior wizards

William Bouguereau Love Takes Flight

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what made the trouble even worse was that no-one could figure out why all the locks had temporarily become unlocked.
The spell wasnt;sa demanding lodger. It just sat there like an old toad at the bottom of a pond. But whenever Rincewind was feeling really tired or very afraid it tried to get itself said. No-one:knew what would happen if one of the spell wanted to keep him alive.
'Suits me,' he thought.
He sat up and looked at the trees. Rincewind was a city wizard and, although he was aware that there were various differences among types of tree by which their nearest and dearest could tell them apart, the only thing he knew for certain was that the end without the the Eight Great Spells was said by itself, but the general Agreement was that the best place from which to watch the effects would be the next universe.It was a weird thought to have, lying on a heap of pine needles after just falling off the edge of the world, but Rincewind had a feeling that

Edward Hopper Office in a Small City

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Her sentence terminated in a tremendous crash from the rear of the plane. Several passengers screamed. A sudden gale of air swept every loose magazine and newspaper into a screaming whirlwind that twisted madly down the aislesuddenly gaped open.
There were no jewels. But there were lots of big square teeth, white as sycamore, and a pulsating tongue, red as mahogany.
An ancient suitcase was coming to eat him.
Rjinswand clutched at the unconscious Zweiblumen for what little comfort there was there, and gibbered. He wished fervently that he was somewhere else....Something else was coming up the aisle. Something big and oblong and wooden and brassbound. It had hundreds of legs. If it was what it seemed - a walking chest of the kind that appeared in pirate stories brim full of ill-gotten gold and jewels - then what would have been its lid