Thomas Moran Cliffs of the Upper Colorado riverThomas Moran Cliffs of Green RiverThomas Moran Autumn LandscapeThomas Moran Chicago World's FairThomas Moran A View of Venice
not made for two, Archchancellor!’
‘Can’t damn well aim with you weavin’ around the sky like this, man!’
The contagious spirit of Holy Wood, whipping across the city like a steel hawser with one end suddenly cut free, sliced once again through the Archchancellor’s mind.
‘We and the wizards.
Who burst into flame.
The Dean burned with a particularly pretty blue colour.
‘Don’t worry, young lady,’ said the Chair from the heart of don’t leave our people in there,’ he muttered.‘Apes, Archchancellor,’ said the Bursar automatically. The Thing lurched towards Victor. It moved uneasily, fighting against the forces of reality that tugged at it. It flickered as it tried to maintain the shape it had climbed into the world with, so that images of Ginger alternated with glimpses of something that writhed and coiled.It needed magic.It eyed Victor and the sword, and if it was capable of something so sophisticated as knowledge, it knew that it was vulnerable.It turned, ant bore down on Ginger
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Henri Matisse La moulade
Henri Matisse La mouladeHenri Matisse Interior with PhonographHenri Matisse Decorative Figure on an Ornamental BackgroundHenri Matisse Blue Still LifeGeorges Seurat The Island of La Grande Jatte
Keep going! Keep going!’
They half‑fell, half ran down the steps, skidded unpleasantly on the seaweed at the bottom, and headed for the little archway that led to the wonderful prospect of living air and bright daylight. The torch was beginning to scorch Victor’s hand. He let it go. At least there had been no problems in the passage; if they kept to one wall and didn’t do anything stupid they couldn’t help but reach the door. And it must be dawn by now, which meant that it heap. Several large roof slabs had come down, bringing tons of broken rock with them. He pulled and pushed at one or two pieces, but this produced only further falls.
‘Perhaps there’s another way out?’ he said. ‘Perhaps you dogs could go and‑‘
‘Forget it, pal,’ said Gaspode. ‘Anyway, the only other way must be down those shouldn’t be long before they could see the light.Victor straightened up. This was pretty heroic, really. There hadn’t been any monsters to fight, but probably even monsters would have rotted away centuries ago. Of course it had been creepy, but really it was only, well, archaeology. Now it was all behind him it didn’t seem so bad at all . . .Laddie, who had been running ahead of them, barked sharply.‘What’s he saying?’ said Victor.‘He’s saying’, said Gaspode, ‘that the tunnel’s blocked.’‘Oh, no!’‘It was prob’ly your organ recital that did it.’‘Really blocked?’Really blocked. Victor crawled over the
Keep going! Keep going!’
They half‑fell, half ran down the steps, skidded unpleasantly on the seaweed at the bottom, and headed for the little archway that led to the wonderful prospect of living air and bright daylight. The torch was beginning to scorch Victor’s hand. He let it go. At least there had been no problems in the passage; if they kept to one wall and didn’t do anything stupid they couldn’t help but reach the door. And it must be dawn by now, which meant that it heap. Several large roof slabs had come down, bringing tons of broken rock with them. He pulled and pushed at one or two pieces, but this produced only further falls.
‘Perhaps there’s another way out?’ he said. ‘Perhaps you dogs could go and‑‘
‘Forget it, pal,’ said Gaspode. ‘Anyway, the only other way must be down those shouldn’t be long before they could see the light.Victor straightened up. This was pretty heroic, really. There hadn’t been any monsters to fight, but probably even monsters would have rotted away centuries ago. Of course it had been creepy, but really it was only, well, archaeology. Now it was all behind him it didn’t seem so bad at all . . .Laddie, who had been running ahead of them, barked sharply.‘What’s he saying?’ said Victor.‘He’s saying’, said Gaspode, ‘that the tunnel’s blocked.’‘Oh, no!’‘It was prob’ly your organ recital that did it.’‘Really blocked?’Really blocked. Victor crawled over the
Friday, March 27, 2009
Salvador Dali Maelstrom
Salvador Dali MaelstromSalvador Dali Les trois sphinx de bikiniSalvador Dali Enchanted Beach with Three Fluid GracesMark Rothko Untitled 1960Mark Rothko Violet Green and Red
they had gone silence poured back into the hollow.
A little later, the sun set. Its long light hit the door, turning the merest scratches into deep relief. With the help of Ruby damped down the fires under the vats, put the benches on the tables, and prepared to shut the Blue Lias. But just before blowing out the last lamp she hesitated in front of the mirror.
He’d be waiting out there again tonight. Just like every
night. He’d been in during the evening, grinning to himself. He was planning something.
Ruby had been taking advice from some of the girls who worked in the clicks, and in addition to her feather boa she’d now invested in a broad-rimmed hat with some sort of oograah, cherries she imagination, they might just have formed the image of a man. With a sword. There was the faintest of noises as, grain by grain, sand trickled away from the door. By midnight it had opened by at least a sixteenth of an inch. Holy Wood dreamed. It dreamed of waking up.
they had gone silence poured back into the hollow.
A little later, the sun set. Its long light hit the door, turning the merest scratches into deep relief. With the help of Ruby damped down the fires under the vats, put the benches on the tables, and prepared to shut the Blue Lias. But just before blowing out the last lamp she hesitated in front of the mirror.
He’d be waiting out there again tonight. Just like every
night. He’d been in during the evening, grinning to himself. He was planning something.
Ruby had been taking advice from some of the girls who worked in the clicks, and in addition to her feather boa she’d now invested in a broad-rimmed hat with some sort of oograah, cherries she imagination, they might just have formed the image of a man. With a sword. There was the faintest of noises as, grain by grain, sand trickled away from the door. By midnight it had opened by at least a sixteenth of an inch. Holy Wood dreamed. It dreamed of waking up.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Tom Thomson the jack pine
Tom Thomson the jack pineTom Thomson Jack PineRodney White Nothing to DreamSung Kim PointSung Kim Paradise
Holy Wood, you weren’t quite the same person.
Well, Holy Wood was Holy Wood, and Ankh was Ankh, and Ankh was solid and proof, in Throat’s opinion, against any Holy Wood weirdness.
He splashed what the Night Watch was best at, which was keeping warm and dry and staying out of trouble.
They were the only witnesses to the manic figure which splashed down the dripping street, pirouetted through the puddles, grabbed a drainpipe to swing around the corner through the puddles, listening to the rain. After a while he noticed, for the first time in his life, that it had a rhythm. Funny. You could live in a city all your life, and you had to go away and come back again before you noticed the way the rain dripping off the gutters had a rhythm all its own: DUMdi-dim-dim, dumdi-dumdiDUM-DUM . . . A few minutes later Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs of the Night Watch were sharing a friendly roll-up in the shelter of a doorway and doing
Holy Wood, you weren’t quite the same person.
Well, Holy Wood was Holy Wood, and Ankh was Ankh, and Ankh was solid and proof, in Throat’s opinion, against any Holy Wood weirdness.
He splashed what the Night Watch was best at, which was keeping warm and dry and staying out of trouble.
They were the only witnesses to the manic figure which splashed down the dripping street, pirouetted through the puddles, grabbed a drainpipe to swing around the corner through the puddles, listening to the rain. After a while he noticed, for the first time in his life, that it had a rhythm. Funny. You could live in a city all your life, and you had to go away and come back again before you noticed the way the rain dripping off the gutters had a rhythm all its own: DUMdi-dim-dim, dumdi-dumdiDUM-DUM . . . A few minutes later Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs of the Night Watch were sharing a friendly roll-up in the shelter of a doorway and doing
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Carl Fredrik Aagard Lodge on Lake Como
Carl Fredrik Aagard Lodge on Lake ComoCarl Fredrik Aagard Amalfi dia CappucciniSalvador Dali The Enigma of DesireSalvador Dali Morphological EchoSalvador Dali Dali at the Age of Six
Mrs Marietta Cosmopilite of 3 Quirm Street, Ankh-Morpork, would have believed it, too. But she believed the world was round, that a sprig of garlic in her underwear drawer kept away vampires, that it did you good to get out and Nevertheless, there was a town there . . . just. Wooden shacks had been built wherever someone had dropped a load of timber, and they were crude, as if the builders had resented the time taken from something more important that they’d much rather be doing. They were square plank boxes.
Except for the front. have a laugh occasionally, that there was niceness in everyone if you only knew where to look, and that three horrible little dwarfs peered in at her undressing every night.[4] Holy Wood! . . . . . . was nothing very much, yet. Just a hill by the sea, and on the other side of the hill, a lot of sand dunes. It was that special sort of beautiful area which is only beautiful if you can leave after briefly admiring its beauty and go somewhere else where there are hot tubs and cold drinks. Actually staying there for any length of time is a penance.
Mrs Marietta Cosmopilite of 3 Quirm Street, Ankh-Morpork, would have believed it, too. But she believed the world was round, that a sprig of garlic in her underwear drawer kept away vampires, that it did you good to get out and Nevertheless, there was a town there . . . just. Wooden shacks had been built wherever someone had dropped a load of timber, and they were crude, as if the builders had resented the time taken from something more important that they’d much rather be doing. They were square plank boxes.
Except for the front. have a laugh occasionally, that there was niceness in everyone if you only knew where to look, and that three horrible little dwarfs peered in at her undressing every night.[4] Holy Wood! . . . . . . was nothing very much, yet. Just a hill by the sea, and on the other side of the hill, a lot of sand dunes. It was that special sort of beautiful area which is only beautiful if you can leave after briefly admiring its beauty and go somewhere else where there are hot tubs and cold drinks. Actually staying there for any length of time is a penance.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Edward Hopper Hotel Room
Edward Hopper Hotel RoomEdward Hopper Hotel LobbyEdward Hopper Girlie ShowEdward Hopper Early Sunday MorningJuan Gris The Guitar
'That's for the eelecting, then?'
He shrugged. It might be, for all he knew. 'The point is, though, that everyone can do it. They're very proud of it. Everyone has-' he hesitated again, certain now that things were amiss - 'the vet. Except for women, of course. And children. And criminals. And slaves. And stupid people. And people of foreign extraction. And people The light was wrong. It had a flat quality, like water left in a glass for weeks. There was no joy to it. It illuminated, but without life; like bright moonlight rather than the light of day.
But Ptaclusp was more worried about his son.
'Do you know what's wrong with him?' he said.disapproved of for, er, various reasons. And lots of other people. But everyone apart from them. It's a very enlightened civilisation.' Ptraci gave this some consideration. 'And that's a mocracy, is it?' 'They invented it in Ephebe, you know,' said Teppic, feeling obscurely that he ought to defend it. 'I bet they had trouble exporting it,' said Ptraci firmly. The sun wasn't just a ball of flaming dung pushed across the sky by a giant beetle. It was also a boat. It depended on how you looked at it.
'That's for the eelecting, then?'
He shrugged. It might be, for all he knew. 'The point is, though, that everyone can do it. They're very proud of it. Everyone has-' he hesitated again, certain now that things were amiss - 'the vet. Except for women, of course. And children. And criminals. And slaves. And stupid people. And people of foreign extraction. And people The light was wrong. It had a flat quality, like water left in a glass for weeks. There was no joy to it. It illuminated, but without life; like bright moonlight rather than the light of day.
But Ptaclusp was more worried about his son.
'Do you know what's wrong with him?' he said.disapproved of for, er, various reasons. And lots of other people. But everyone apart from them. It's a very enlightened civilisation.' Ptraci gave this some consideration. 'And that's a mocracy, is it?' 'They invented it in Ephebe, you know,' said Teppic, feeling obscurely that he ought to defend it. 'I bet they had trouble exporting it,' said Ptraci firmly. The sun wasn't just a ball of flaming dung pushed across the sky by a giant beetle. It was also a boat. It depended on how you looked at it.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Jack Vettriano Along Came A Spider
Jack Vettriano Along Came A SpiderJack Vettriano All Systems GoJack Vettriano After The Thrill Is GoneJack Vettriano After MidnightJack Vettriano Ae Fond Kiss
the kind of calculated beauty that is achieved by a team of skilled artists, manicurists, plasterers, corsetiers and dressmakers and three hours' solid work every morning. When she walked there was a faint squeak of whalebone under incredible stress.
The boys were learning. As she talked they didn't watch her figure. They watched her fingers.
'And thus,' 'Clearly there was a need for an extreme yet responsible means of settling irreconcilable differences,' she went on, 'and thus was laid the groundwork for the Guild. What bliss - ' the sudden peak in her voice guiltily jerked several dozen young men out of their private reveries - 'it must have been to have been present in those early days, when men of stout moral purpose set outshe said, 'let us consider the position before the founding of the Guild. In this city, and indeed in many places elsewhere, civilisation is nurtured and progresses by the dynamic interplay of interests among many large and powerful advantage cartels. 'In the days before the founding of the Guild the seeking of advancement among these consortia invariably resulted in regrettable disagreements which were terminated with extreme prejudice. These were extremely deleterious to the common interest of the city. Please understand that where disharmony rules, commerce flags. 'And yet, and yet.' She clasped her hands to her bosom. There was a creak like a galleon beating against a gale.
the kind of calculated beauty that is achieved by a team of skilled artists, manicurists, plasterers, corsetiers and dressmakers and three hours' solid work every morning. When she walked there was a faint squeak of whalebone under incredible stress.
The boys were learning. As she talked they didn't watch her figure. They watched her fingers.
'And thus,' 'Clearly there was a need for an extreme yet responsible means of settling irreconcilable differences,' she went on, 'and thus was laid the groundwork for the Guild. What bliss - ' the sudden peak in her voice guiltily jerked several dozen young men out of their private reveries - 'it must have been to have been present in those early days, when men of stout moral purpose set outshe said, 'let us consider the position before the founding of the Guild. In this city, and indeed in many places elsewhere, civilisation is nurtured and progresses by the dynamic interplay of interests among many large and powerful advantage cartels. 'In the days before the founding of the Guild the seeking of advancement among these consortia invariably resulted in regrettable disagreements which were terminated with extreme prejudice. These were extremely deleterious to the common interest of the city. Please understand that where disharmony rules, commerce flags. 'And yet, and yet.' She clasped her hands to her bosom. There was a creak like a galleon beating against a gale.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
George Bellows Both Members of This Club
George Bellows Both Members of This ClubGeorge Bellows Anne in WhiteCaravaggio The Crowning with ThornsCaravaggio St. John the BaptistCaravaggio Martha and Mary Magdalene
'Good idea,' said Granny firmly, and stood up. 'Come, Nanny Ogg,' she snapped. 'It's been a long day and we're all rather tired.'
Magrat heard them bickering as they wandered down the path.
She sat rather sadly amidst the coloured is what he ought to have,' she said.
'He'll always remember the words.'
And Granny Weatherwax, striding home alone through the midnight forest, wrapped her shawl around her and considered. It had been a long day, and a trying one. The theatre had been the worst part. All people pretending to be other people, things happening. Four men rode through the woods near Granny's cottage, tethered the horses out of earshot, and crept very cautiously through the mists.
The sergeant in charge was not happy in his work. He was a Ramtops man, and wasn't at all certain about how you went about arresting a witch. He was pretty
'Good idea,' said Granny firmly, and stood up. 'Come, Nanny Ogg,' she snapped. 'It's been a long day and we're all rather tired.'
Magrat heard them bickering as they wandered down the path.
She sat rather sadly amidst the coloured is what he ought to have,' she said.
'He'll always remember the words.'
And Granny Weatherwax, striding home alone through the midnight forest, wrapped her shawl around her and considered. It had been a long day, and a trying one. The theatre had been the worst part. All people pretending to be other people, things happening. Four men rode through the woods near Granny's cottage, tethered the horses out of earshot, and crept very cautiously through the mists.
The sergeant in charge was not happy in his work. He was a Ramtops man, and wasn't at all certain about how you went about arresting a witch. He was pretty
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Claude Monet Monet's Garden at argenteuil
Claude Monet Monet's Garden at argenteuilPaul Gauguin Woman with a FlowerPaul Gauguin The Seed of AreoiPaul Gauguin The Moon and the EarthPaul Gauguin The Loss of Virginity
just that you mentioned it,' said Hwel.
'Well, it isn't important. Lawks. I expect you're looking for Lancre,' said Granny testily, in a hurry to get to the point.
'Well, yes,' said Tomjon. 'All day.'
'You've come too far,' said Granny. 'Go back about two miles, and take the track on the right, past the stand of pines.'
Wimsloe tugged at Tomjon's shirt.
'When you m-meet a m-mysterious old lady in the road,' he said, 'you've got to offer to s-share your lunch. Or help her across the r-river.'
'You have?'
'It's t-terribly t-they help you.'
'Perhaps we should have asked her to wait while we went and looked for one,' said Hwel sourly.
They found the turning. It led into a forest criss-crossed with as many tracks as a marshalling yard, the sort of forest where the back of your head tells you the trees are turning around to watch you as you go past and the b-bad luck not to.'Tomjon gave Granny a polite smile.'Would you care to share our lunch, good mo – old wo – ma'am?'Granny looked doubtful.'What is it?''Salt pork.'She shook her head. 'Thanks all the same,' she said graciously. 'But it gives me wind.'She turned on her heel and set off through the bushes.'We could help you across the river if you like,' shouted Tomjon after her.'What river?' said Hwel. 'We're on the moor, there can't be a river in miles.''Y-you've got to get them on y-your side,' said Wimsloe. 'Then
just that you mentioned it,' said Hwel.
'Well, it isn't important. Lawks. I expect you're looking for Lancre,' said Granny testily, in a hurry to get to the point.
'Well, yes,' said Tomjon. 'All day.'
'You've come too far,' said Granny. 'Go back about two miles, and take the track on the right, past the stand of pines.'
Wimsloe tugged at Tomjon's shirt.
'When you m-meet a m-mysterious old lady in the road,' he said, 'you've got to offer to s-share your lunch. Or help her across the r-river.'
'You have?'
'It's t-terribly t-they help you.'
'Perhaps we should have asked her to wait while we went and looked for one,' said Hwel sourly.
They found the turning. It led into a forest criss-crossed with as many tracks as a marshalling yard, the sort of forest where the back of your head tells you the trees are turning around to watch you as you go past and the b-bad luck not to.'Tomjon gave Granny a polite smile.'Would you care to share our lunch, good mo – old wo – ma'am?'Granny looked doubtful.'What is it?''Salt pork.'She shook her head. 'Thanks all the same,' she said graciously. 'But it gives me wind.'She turned on her heel and set off through the bushes.'We could help you across the river if you like,' shouted Tomjon after her.'What river?' said Hwel. 'We're on the moor, there can't be a river in miles.''Y-you've got to get them on y-your side,' said Wimsloe. 'Then
Monday, March 16, 2009
Edvard Munch Girls on a Bridge
Edvard Munch Girls on a BridgeUnknown Artist Brent Heighton After the RainAlbert Moore silverAlbert Moore DreamersAlbert Moore A Venus
here, Esme. I mean, Black Aliss was one of the best. I mean, you're very good at, well, headology and thinking and that. I mean, Black Aliss, well, she just upped and went at it.'
'You saying I couldn't do it, are you?'
'Excuse me,' said Magrat.
'No. No. Of course not,' said Nanny, ignoring her.
'Right.'
'Only . . . mind.'
'But the biggest thing she ever did,' said Nanny, ignoring the interruption, 'was to send a whole palace to sleep for a hundred years until. . .' She hesitated. 'Can't remember. Was there rose bushes involved, or was it spinning wheels in that one? I think some princess had to finger . . . no, there was a prince. That was it.'
'Finger a prince?' said Magrat, uneasily.well, she was a, you know, a hoyden of witches, like the king said.''Doyenne,' said Granny, who had looked it up. 'Not hoyden.''Excuse me,' said Magrat, louder this time. 'Who was Black Aliss? And,' she added quickly, 'none of this exchanging meaningful glances and talking over my head. There's three witches in this coven, remember?''She was before your time,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Before mine, really. She lived over Skunid way. Very powerful witch.''If you listen to rumour,' said Granny.'She turned a pumpkin into a royal coach once,' said Nanny.'Showy,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'That's no help to anyone, turning up at a ball smelling like a pie. And that business with the glass slipper. Dangerous, to my
here, Esme. I mean, Black Aliss was one of the best. I mean, you're very good at, well, headology and thinking and that. I mean, Black Aliss, well, she just upped and went at it.'
'You saying I couldn't do it, are you?'
'Excuse me,' said Magrat.
'No. No. Of course not,' said Nanny, ignoring her.
'Right.'
'Only . . . mind.'
'But the biggest thing she ever did,' said Nanny, ignoring the interruption, 'was to send a whole palace to sleep for a hundred years until. . .' She hesitated. 'Can't remember. Was there rose bushes involved, or was it spinning wheels in that one? I think some princess had to finger . . . no, there was a prince. That was it.'
'Finger a prince?' said Magrat, uneasily.well, she was a, you know, a hoyden of witches, like the king said.''Doyenne,' said Granny, who had looked it up. 'Not hoyden.''Excuse me,' said Magrat, louder this time. 'Who was Black Aliss? And,' she added quickly, 'none of this exchanging meaningful glances and talking over my head. There's three witches in this coven, remember?''She was before your time,' said Nanny Ogg. 'Before mine, really. She lived over Skunid way. Very powerful witch.''If you listen to rumour,' said Granny.'She turned a pumpkin into a royal coach once,' said Nanny.'Showy,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'That's no help to anyone, turning up at a ball smelling like a pie. And that business with the glass slipper. Dangerous, to my
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Edgar Degas Song of the Dog
Edgar Degas Song of the DogEdgar Degas Beach SceneEdgar Degas Ballerina and Lady with a FanEdgar Degas At the MillinersFrida Kahlo Without Hope
Granny concentrated harder, until her mind was full of the tiny chittering of the insects in the thatch and the woodworm in the beams. Nothing of interest there.
She snuggled down and let herself drift out into the forest, which was silent except for the occasional muffled forlorn. Something lost. And . . .
Feelings were never simple, Granny knew. Strip them away and there were others underneath . . .
Something that, if it didn't stop feeling lost and forlorn very soon, was going to get angry.
And still she couldn't find it. She could feel the tiny minds of chrysalises down under the frozen leafmould. She thump as snow slid off a tree. Even in midwinter the forest was full of life, usually dozing in burrows or hibernating in the middle of trees.All as usual. She spread herself further, to the high moors and secret passes where the wolves ran silently over the frozen crust; she touched their minds, sharp as knives. Higher still, and there was nothing in the snowfields but packs of was as it should be, with the exception that nothing was right. There was something – yes, there was something alive out there, something young and ancient and . . .Granny turned over the feeling in her mind. Yes. That was it. Something
Granny concentrated harder, until her mind was full of the tiny chittering of the insects in the thatch and the woodworm in the beams. Nothing of interest there.
She snuggled down and let herself drift out into the forest, which was silent except for the occasional muffled forlorn. Something lost. And . . .
Feelings were never simple, Granny knew. Strip them away and there were others underneath . . .
Something that, if it didn't stop feeling lost and forlorn very soon, was going to get angry.
And still she couldn't find it. She could feel the tiny minds of chrysalises down under the frozen leafmould. She thump as snow slid off a tree. Even in midwinter the forest was full of life, usually dozing in burrows or hibernating in the middle of trees.All as usual. She spread herself further, to the high moors and secret passes where the wolves ran silently over the frozen crust; she touched their minds, sharp as knives. Higher still, and there was nothing in the snowfields but packs of was as it should be, with the exception that nothing was right. There was something – yes, there was something alive out there, something young and ancient and . . .Granny turned over the feeling in her mind. Yes. That was it. Something
Friday, March 13, 2009
George Inness Early Moonrise Florida
George Inness Early Moonrise FloridaGeorge Inness Coast ScenePierre Auguste Renoir Au bord de la mer
MAYBE. WHO KNOWS? Mort took the hourglass out of an inner pocket and inspected it by the gleam of the sword. He seemed to be counting to himself, and then with a sudden movement tossed the glass over his shoulder Ysabell sharply. The girl turned to her, wide-eyed.
'Oh, but I must. I've been training for it,' she said, as she faded from view. 'I've only managed to be a handmaiden up till now.'
She vanished. Ysabell stared with dark disapproval at the space she had occupied.
'Well!' she said, and, 'Did you see what she had on?'and brought the sword down with his other hand.The girl's shade sat up and stretched, with a clink of ghostly jewellery. She caught sight of Mort, and bowed her head.'My lord!'NO-ONE'S LORD, said Mort. NOW RUN ALONG TO WHEREVER YOU BELIEVE YOU'RE GOING.'I shall be a concubine at the heavenly court of King Zetesphut, who will dwell among the stars forever,' she said firmly.'You don't have to be,' said
MAYBE. WHO KNOWS? Mort took the hourglass out of an inner pocket and inspected it by the gleam of the sword. He seemed to be counting to himself, and then with a sudden movement tossed the glass over his shoulder Ysabell sharply. The girl turned to her, wide-eyed.
'Oh, but I must. I've been training for it,' she said, as she faded from view. 'I've only managed to be a handmaiden up till now.'
She vanished. Ysabell stared with dark disapproval at the space she had occupied.
'Well!' she said, and, 'Did you see what she had on?'and brought the sword down with his other hand.The girl's shade sat up and stretched, with a clink of ghostly jewellery. She caught sight of Mort, and bowed her head.'My lord!'NO-ONE'S LORD, said Mort. NOW RUN ALONG TO WHEREVER YOU BELIEVE YOU'RE GOING.'I shall be a concubine at the heavenly court of King Zetesphut, who will dwell among the stars forever,' she said firmly.'You don't have to be,' said
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Joseph Mallord William Turner Caernarvon Castle
Joseph Mallord William Turner Caernarvon CastleJoseph Mallord William Turner The Slave ShipJoseph Mallord William Turner The fighting Temeraire tugged to her last berth to be broken up
THERE'S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT THERE, LAD —
'— Mort —'
— YOU SHOULD HAVE WORKED OUT BY NOW THAT EVERYONE GETS WHAT THEY THINK IS COMING TO THEM. IT'S SO MUCH NEATER THAT WAY.
'I know, sir. But that means bad people who think they're going to some sort of paradise actually do get there. And good people who fear they're going to some kind of horrible place really suffer. It doesn't seem like justice.'he added. AT LEAST THE THIRD ONE SHOULDN'T HAVE GIVEN YOU ANY TROUBLE.
This was the moment. Mort had thought about it for a long tune. There was no sense in concealing it. He'd upset the whole future course of history. Such things tend WHAT is IT I'VE SAID YOU MUST REMEMBER, WHEN YOU'RE OUT ON THE DUTY?'Well, you —'HMM?Mort stuttered into silence.THERE'S NO JUSTICE. THERE'S JUST YOU.'Well, I —'YOU MUST REMEMBER THAT.'Yes, but —'I EXPECT IT ALL WORKS OUT PROPERLY IN THE END. I HAVE NEVER MET THE CREATOR, BUT I'M TOLD HE'S QUITE KINDLY DISPOSED TO PEOPLE. Death snapped the thread and started to unwind the vice.PUT SUCH THOUGHTS OUT OF YOUR MIND,
THERE'S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT THERE, LAD —
'— Mort —'
— YOU SHOULD HAVE WORKED OUT BY NOW THAT EVERYONE GETS WHAT THEY THINK IS COMING TO THEM. IT'S SO MUCH NEATER THAT WAY.
'I know, sir. But that means bad people who think they're going to some sort of paradise actually do get there. And good people who fear they're going to some kind of horrible place really suffer. It doesn't seem like justice.'he added. AT LEAST THE THIRD ONE SHOULDN'T HAVE GIVEN YOU ANY TROUBLE.
This was the moment. Mort had thought about it for a long tune. There was no sense in concealing it. He'd upset the whole future course of history. Such things tend WHAT is IT I'VE SAID YOU MUST REMEMBER, WHEN YOU'RE OUT ON THE DUTY?'Well, you —'HMM?Mort stuttered into silence.THERE'S NO JUSTICE. THERE'S JUST YOU.'Well, I —'YOU MUST REMEMBER THAT.'Yes, but —'I EXPECT IT ALL WORKS OUT PROPERLY IN THE END. I HAVE NEVER MET THE CREATOR, BUT I'M TOLD HE'S QUITE KINDLY DISPOSED TO PEOPLE. Death snapped the thread and started to unwind the vice.PUT SUCH THOUGHTS OUT OF YOUR MIND,
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Thomas Kinkade Victorian Christmas
Thomas Kinkade Victorian ChristmasThomas Kinkade Lamplight bridgeThomas Kinkade Stillwater CottageVincent van Gogh Wheat Fields
Most importantly, do you approach the world as if it were full of value?
No matter how much we try, we just can’t pay attention to everything – which means we sometimes miss things that are, of approaching our world with the right attitude. As a general rule, if you don’t intend to find value, you’re more likely than not to miss it. While it’s no guarantee, if you intend to discover value, you’ll find it – or at least greatly up your chances.
How do we do this?
Instilling an attitude isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world, right? I mean, it’s hard to literally change your mind to make it more sensitive to things that are valuable to you. But intention can be thought of important. This is partially a matter of focus – we’re usually either bouncing around so much that we fail to pay adequate attention to any particular thing (the curse of the multitasker) or we’re so focused in on one thing that we fail to notice anything outside of the task at hand.But it’s also a matter of intention
Most importantly, do you approach the world as if it were full of value?
No matter how much we try, we just can’t pay attention to everything – which means we sometimes miss things that are, of approaching our world with the right attitude. As a general rule, if you don’t intend to find value, you’re more likely than not to miss it. While it’s no guarantee, if you intend to discover value, you’ll find it – or at least greatly up your chances.
How do we do this?
Instilling an attitude isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world, right? I mean, it’s hard to literally change your mind to make it more sensitive to things that are valuable to you. But intention can be thought of important. This is partially a matter of focus – we’re usually either bouncing around so much that we fail to pay adequate attention to any particular thing (the curse of the multitasker) or we’re so focused in on one thing that we fail to notice anything outside of the task at hand.But it’s also a matter of intention
Monday, March 9, 2009
Edward Hopper Hotel Lobby
Edward Hopper Hotel LobbyEdward Hopper Girlie ShowEdward Hopper Early Sunday Morning
of tobacco.
"What?"
"It's not finished!"
"What?"
"She can't use the staff, of course," said Granny, standing up.
"But you said she swept the floors with it and it protects her and -" Cutangle began.
"Nonono," said Granny. "That means the staff uses itself or it uses her, but she's never been able to use it, d'you seeBut it's against the I-"
He began to say "lore", but the word mumbled into silence.
"Where does it say it?" said Granny triumphantly. "Where does it say women can't be wizards?"
The following thoughts sped through Cutangle's mind:
. . . It doesn't say it anywhere, it says it everywhere.
. . . But young Simon seemed to say that everywhere is so much like nowhere ?" Cutangle stared at the two quiet bodies. "She should be able to use it. It's a proper wizard's staff." "Oh," said Granny. "So she's a proper wizard, is she?" Cutangle hesitated. "Well, of course not. You can't ask us to declare her a wizard. Where's the precedent?" "The what?" asked Granny, sharply. "It's never happened before." "Lots of things have never happened before. We're only born once." Cutangle gave her a look of mute appeal. "
of tobacco.
"What?"
"It's not finished!"
"What?"
"She can't use the staff, of course," said Granny, standing up.
"But you said she swept the floors with it and it protects her and -" Cutangle began.
"Nonono," said Granny. "That means the staff uses itself or it uses her, but she's never been able to use it, d'you seeBut it's against the I-"
He began to say "lore", but the word mumbled into silence.
"Where does it say it?" said Granny triumphantly. "Where does it say women can't be wizards?"
The following thoughts sped through Cutangle's mind:
. . . It doesn't say it anywhere, it says it everywhere.
. . . But young Simon seemed to say that everywhere is so much like nowhere ?" Cutangle stared at the two quiet bodies. "She should be able to use it. It's a proper wizard's staff." "Oh," said Granny. "So she's a proper wizard, is she?" Cutangle hesitated. "Well, of course not. You can't ask us to declare her a wizard. Where's the precedent?" "The what?" asked Granny, sharply. "It's never happened before." "Lots of things have never happened before. We're only born once." Cutangle gave her a look of mute appeal. "
John William Waterhouse Pandora
John William Waterhouse PandoraJohn William Waterhouse LamiaVincent van Gogh The Yellow House
Right," she said, in a tone of voice that suggested the whole universe had just better watch out.
There was another brilliant flash of lightning, which shows that even the weather gods have a well-developed sense of theatre.
"It rather suits you," said Cutangle.
"Excuse me," said Trestle, "but isn't she the w-"
"Never mind that," said Cutangle, taking Granny's hand and helping her up the steps. He flourished the staff.
"But it's against the lore to allow w-"
He , with Cutangle hopping along behind. He turned.
"You heard the lady," he said.
Treatle watched them go, with his mouth hanging open. When their footsteps had died away in the distance he stood silently for a his could have gone wrong.stopped and stared as Granny reached out and touched the damp wall by the door. Cutangle tapped him on the chest. "Show me where it's written down," said Cutangle. "They're in the Library," Granny interrupted. "It was the only dry place," said Treatle, "but -" "This building is frightened of thunderstorms," said Granny. "It could do with comforting." "But the lore -"repeated Treatle desperately. Granny was already striding down the passage
However, he wasn't going to be accused of disobedience.
Very carefully, without knowing exactly why, he reached out and gave
Right," she said, in a tone of voice that suggested the whole universe had just better watch out.
There was another brilliant flash of lightning, which shows that even the weather gods have a well-developed sense of theatre.
"It rather suits you," said Cutangle.
"Excuse me," said Trestle, "but isn't she the w-"
"Never mind that," said Cutangle, taking Granny's hand and helping her up the steps. He flourished the staff.
"But it's against the lore to allow w-"
He , with Cutangle hopping along behind. He turned.
"You heard the lady," he said.
Treatle watched them go, with his mouth hanging open. When their footsteps had died away in the distance he stood silently for a his could have gone wrong.stopped and stared as Granny reached out and touched the damp wall by the door. Cutangle tapped him on the chest. "Show me where it's written down," said Cutangle. "They're in the Library," Granny interrupted. "It was the only dry place," said Treatle, "but -" "This building is frightened of thunderstorms," said Granny. "It could do with comforting." "But the lore -"repeated Treatle desperately. Granny was already striding down the passage
However, he wasn't going to be accused of disobedience.
Very carefully, without knowing exactly why, he reached out and gave
Henri Matisse Le bonheur de vivre
Henri Matisse Le bonheur de vivreGeorges Seurat The CircusGeorges Seurat Le Chahut
particularly boring place and now that it was becoming interesting Esk wasn't about to act ungrateful.
The distant whistler was joined by a barking dog. Esk lay back in the wool and reached out until she found the animal's mind, and Borrowed it gently. From its inefficient and disorganised brain she learned that there were at least The oilcloth over her head was pulled aside swiftly and a big bearded head beamed down at her.
"Well, well," it said. "What have we here, then? A stowaway, yesno?"
Esk gave it a stare. "Yes," she said. There seemed no sense in denying it. "Could you help me out please?"
"Aren't you afraid I shall throw you to the - the pike?" said the head. It noticed her perplexed look. "Big freshwater fish," it added helpfully. "Fast. Lot of teeth. Pike."four people on this barge, and many more on the others that were strung out in line with it on the river. Some of them seemed to be children. She let the animal go and looked out at the scenery again for a long time - the barge was passing between high orange cliffs now, banded with so many colours of rock it looked as though some hungry God had made the all-time record club sandwich - and tried to avoid the next thought. But it persisted, arriving in her mind like the unexpected limbo dancer under the or later she would have to go out. It wasn't her stomach that was pressing the point, but her bladder brooked no delay. Perhaps if she
particularly boring place and now that it was becoming interesting Esk wasn't about to act ungrateful.
The distant whistler was joined by a barking dog. Esk lay back in the wool and reached out until she found the animal's mind, and Borrowed it gently. From its inefficient and disorganised brain she learned that there were at least The oilcloth over her head was pulled aside swiftly and a big bearded head beamed down at her.
"Well, well," it said. "What have we here, then? A stowaway, yesno?"
Esk gave it a stare. "Yes," she said. There seemed no sense in denying it. "Could you help me out please?"
"Aren't you afraid I shall throw you to the - the pike?" said the head. It noticed her perplexed look. "Big freshwater fish," it added helpfully. "Fast. Lot of teeth. Pike."four people on this barge, and many more on the others that were strung out in line with it on the river. Some of them seemed to be children. She let the animal go and looked out at the scenery again for a long time - the barge was passing between high orange cliffs now, banded with so many colours of rock it looked as though some hungry God had made the all-time record club sandwich - and tried to avoid the next thought. But it persisted, arriving in her mind like the unexpected limbo dancer under the or later she would have to go out. It wasn't her stomach that was pressing the point, but her bladder brooked no delay. Perhaps if she
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Vincent van Gogh The Yellow House
Vincent van Gogh The Yellow HouseLeonardo da Vinci Virgin of the RocksLeonardo da Vinci St John the Baptist
wizard who let things get on top of him,' he said.
Unsteadily, with his arms screaming at him, Rincewind let himself be helped back onto the roof of the tower.
'How did He noticed that Twoflower was trying to set up his picture box.
Cohen was looking at the seven senior wizards.
'Funny place to put statues,' he said. 'No-one can see them. Mind you, I can't say they're up to much. Very poor work.'
Rincewind staggered across and tapped Wert gingerly on the chest. He was solid stone.
This is it, he thought. I just want to go Home.you get here?' he added.Cohen pointed to the Luggage, which had trotted over 203 to Twoflower and opened its lid like a dog that knows it's been bad and is hoping that a quick display of affection may avert the rolled-up newspaper of authority.'Bumpy but fast,' he said admiringly. 'I'll tell you this, no-one tries to stop you.'Rincewind looked up at the sky. It was indeed full of moons, huge cratered discs now ten times bigger than the Disc's tiny satellite. He looked at them without much interest. He felt washed out and stretched well beyond breaking point, as fragile as ancient elastic.
wizard who let things get on top of him,' he said.
Unsteadily, with his arms screaming at him, Rincewind let himself be helped back onto the roof of the tower.
'How did He noticed that Twoflower was trying to set up his picture box.
Cohen was looking at the seven senior wizards.
'Funny place to put statues,' he said. 'No-one can see them. Mind you, I can't say they're up to much. Very poor work.'
Rincewind staggered across and tapped Wert gingerly on the chest. He was solid stone.
This is it, he thought. I just want to go Home.you get here?' he added.Cohen pointed to the Luggage, which had trotted over 203 to Twoflower and opened its lid like a dog that knows it's been bad and is hoping that a quick display of affection may avert the rolled-up newspaper of authority.'Bumpy but fast,' he said admiringly. 'I'll tell you this, no-one tries to stop you.'Rincewind looked up at the sky. It was indeed full of moons, huge cratered discs now ten times bigger than the Disc's tiny satellite. He looked at them without much interest. He felt washed out and stretched well beyond breaking point, as fragile as ancient elastic.
Thomas Moran Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone
Thomas Moran Grand Canyon of the YellowstoneThomas Moran Cresheim Glen, Wissahickon, AutumnThomas Moran Colburn's Butte, South UtahThomas Moran Cliffs of the Upper Colorado river
move with the times. All they really needed to enter was one head.
His eyes were empty holes.
Knowledge speared into Rincewind's mind like a knife of ice. The Dungeon Dimensions would be a playgroup compared to what the Things could do in a universe of order. People were craving order, and order they would getaccording its victims the dignity of hatred. It wouldn't even notice them.
Trymon held out his hand.
'The eighth spell,' he said. 'Give it to me.'
Rincewind backed away.
'This is disobedience, Rincewind. I am your superior, after all. In fact, I have been voted the supreme head of all the Orders.' – the order of the turning screw, the immutable law of straight lines and numbers. They would beg for the harrow . . .Trymon was looking at him. Something was looking at him. And still the others hadn't noticed. Could he even explain it? Trymon looked the same as he had always done, except for the eyes, and a slight sheen to his skin.Rincewind stared, and knew that there were far worse things than Evil. All the demons in Hell would torture your very soul, but that was precisely because they valued souls very highly; evil would always try to steal the universe, but at least it considered the universe worth stealing. But the grey world behind those empty eyes would trample and destroy without even
move with the times. All they really needed to enter was one head.
His eyes were empty holes.
Knowledge speared into Rincewind's mind like a knife of ice. The Dungeon Dimensions would be a playgroup compared to what the Things could do in a universe of order. People were craving order, and order they would getaccording its victims the dignity of hatred. It wouldn't even notice them.
Trymon held out his hand.
'The eighth spell,' he said. 'Give it to me.'
Rincewind backed away.
'This is disobedience, Rincewind. I am your superior, after all. In fact, I have been voted the supreme head of all the Orders.' – the order of the turning screw, the immutable law of straight lines and numbers. They would beg for the harrow . . .Trymon was looking at him. Something was looking at him. And still the others hadn't noticed. Could he even explain it? Trymon looked the same as he had always done, except for the eyes, and a slight sheen to his skin.Rincewind stared, and knew that there were far worse things than Evil. All the demons in Hell would torture your very soul, but that was precisely because they valued souls very highly; evil would always try to steal the universe, but at least it considered the universe worth stealing. But the grey world behind those empty eyes would trample and destroy without even
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Jack Vettriano The Temptress
Jack Vettriano The TemptressJack Vettriano The Road to NowhereJack Vettriano The Railway StationJack Vettriano The Picnic Party
sorry,' said Rincewind. 'I never really met trolls before.'
'We're a dying race,' said Kwartz sadly, as the party set off under the stars. 'Young Jasper's the only pebble in our tribe. We suffer from philosophy, you know.'
'Yes?' said aunt. I don't know what's she's thinking about, but she hasn't moved for two hundred years.'
'Gosh, I'm sorry.'
'Oh, it's no problem with us around to look after them,' aid Kwartz. 'Not many humans around here, you see. I know it's not your fault, but you don't seem to be able to spot the difference between a thinking troll and an ordinary rock. My great-uncle was actually quarried, you know.'
'That's terrible!'Rincewind, trying to keep up. The troll band moved very quickly, but also very quietly, big round shapes moving like wraiths through the night. Only the occasional flat squeak of a night creature who hadn't heard them approaching marked their passage.'Oh, yes. Martyrs to it. It comes to all of us in the end. One evening, they say, you start to wake up and then you think "Why bother?" and you just don't. See those boulders over there?'Rincewind saw some huge shapes lying in the grass.'The one on the end's my
sorry,' said Rincewind. 'I never really met trolls before.'
'We're a dying race,' said Kwartz sadly, as the party set off under the stars. 'Young Jasper's the only pebble in our tribe. We suffer from philosophy, you know.'
'Yes?' said aunt. I don't know what's she's thinking about, but she hasn't moved for two hundred years.'
'Gosh, I'm sorry.'
'Oh, it's no problem with us around to look after them,' aid Kwartz. 'Not many humans around here, you see. I know it's not your fault, but you don't seem to be able to spot the difference between a thinking troll and an ordinary rock. My great-uncle was actually quarried, you know.'
'That's terrible!'Rincewind, trying to keep up. The troll band moved very quickly, but also very quietly, big round shapes moving like wraiths through the night. Only the occasional flat squeak of a night creature who hadn't heard them approaching marked their passage.'Oh, yes. Martyrs to it. It comes to all of us in the end. One evening, they say, you start to wake up and then you think "Why bother?" and you just don't. See those boulders over there?'Rincewind saw some huge shapes lying in the grass.'The one on the end's my
Monday, March 2, 2009
Unknown Artist Mary Magdalene in the Desert
Unknown Artist Mary Magdalene in the DesertLeroy Neiman World Class SkierJuan Gris Violin and EngravingJuan Gris The Violin
is ridiculous,' he told Twoflower. 'Rocks don't fly. They're noted for not doing it.'
'Maybe they would if they could,' said Twoflower. 'Perhaps this one just found out how.'
'Let's just hope it doesn't forget again,' said Rincewind. He huddled up in his soaking robe and looked glumly at the cloud around him. He supposed there were some people somewhere who had some control over their lives; they .
'I hope it's bacon,' said Rincewind, 'because I'm going to eat it.' He stood up on the trembling stone and tottered forward into the clouds, peering through the wet gloom.
At the front or leading edge of the rock a small druid was sitting crosslegged in front of a small fire. A square of oilskin was tied across his head and knotted under his chin. He was poking at a pan of bacon with an ornamental sickle.
'Um,' said Rincewind. The druid looked up, and dropped the pan into the fire. He leapt to got up in the mornings, and went to bed at night in the reasonable certainty of not falling over the edge of the world or being attacked by lunatics or waking up on a rock with ideas above its station. He dimly remembered leading a .Rincewind sniffed. This rock smelt of frying. The smell seemed to be coming from up ahead, and appealed straight to his stomach.'Can you smell anything?' he said.'I think it's bacon,' said Twoflower
is ridiculous,' he told Twoflower. 'Rocks don't fly. They're noted for not doing it.'
'Maybe they would if they could,' said Twoflower. 'Perhaps this one just found out how.'
'Let's just hope it doesn't forget again,' said Rincewind. He huddled up in his soaking robe and looked glumly at the cloud around him. He supposed there were some people somewhere who had some control over their lives; they .
'I hope it's bacon,' said Rincewind, 'because I'm going to eat it.' He stood up on the trembling stone and tottered forward into the clouds, peering through the wet gloom.
At the front or leading edge of the rock a small druid was sitting crosslegged in front of a small fire. A square of oilskin was tied across his head and knotted under his chin. He was poking at a pan of bacon with an ornamental sickle.
'Um,' said Rincewind. The druid looked up, and dropped the pan into the fire. He leapt to got up in the mornings, and went to bed at night in the reasonable certainty of not falling over the edge of the world or being attacked by lunatics or waking up on a rock with ideas above its station. He dimly remembered leading a .Rincewind sniffed. This rock smelt of frying. The smell seemed to be coming from up ahead, and appealed straight to his stomach.'Can you smell anything?' he said.'I think it's bacon,' said Twoflower
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Juan Gris The Painter's Window
Juan Gris The Painter's WindowJuan Gris The Open WindowJuan Gris The Mountain Le CanigouJuan Gris The Guitar 1918
eyes should be. They glowed disconcertingly.
"Craft, indeed," said the astronomer, and smiled
"I would the Arch astronomer appeared not to have noticed it.
"Continue," he said.
"There are some essential skills that I lack. Yet I am Goldeneyes Silverhand Dactylos," said the craftsman. "I made the Metal Warriors that guard the Tomb of Pitchiu, I designed the Light Dams of the Great Nef, I built the Palace of the Seven Deserts. And yet-" he reached imagine that there is no greater craftsman on the entire disc than you, Goldeneyes. Would I be right?"The craftsman paused, his naked body - naked at least, were it not for a toolbelt, a wrist abacus and a deep tan - tensing as he considered the implications of this last remark. The golden eyes appeared to be looking into some other world."The answer is both yes and no," he said at last Some of the lesser astronomers behind the throne gasped at this lack of etiquette, but
eyes should be. They glowed disconcertingly.
"Craft, indeed," said the astronomer, and smiled
"I would the Arch astronomer appeared not to have noticed it.
"Continue," he said.
"There are some essential skills that I lack. Yet I am Goldeneyes Silverhand Dactylos," said the craftsman. "I made the Metal Warriors that guard the Tomb of Pitchiu, I designed the Light Dams of the Great Nef, I built the Palace of the Seven Deserts. And yet-" he reached imagine that there is no greater craftsman on the entire disc than you, Goldeneyes. Would I be right?"The craftsman paused, his naked body - naked at least, were it not for a toolbelt, a wrist abacus and a deep tan - tensing as he considered the implications of this last remark. The golden eyes appeared to be looking into some other world."The answer is both yes and no," he said at last Some of the lesser astronomers behind the throne gasped at this lack of etiquette, but
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