Mark Spain Contemplation

Mark Spain ContemplationMark Spain CastillaMark Spain CarmenMark Spain Burning DesireMark Spain Blue Dress On Gold
meant clockwork to power my flying machine. But it won't work.'
'Oh.'
'There's a limit to the power of a spring, no matter how tightly one winds it.'
'Oh, yes. Yes. places. Their silicon brains were used to operating at low temperatures. But down on the muggy plains the heat build-up slowed them down and made them dull. It wasn't that only stupid trolls came down to the city. Trolls who decided to come down to And you hope that if you wind a spring one way, all its energies will unwind the other way. And sometimes you have to wind the spring as tight as it will go,' said Vetinari, 'and pray it doesn't break.'His expression changed.'Oh dear,' he said.'Pardon?' said Leonard.'He didn't thump the wall. I may have gone too far.' Detritus sat and steamed. Now he felt hungry – not for food, but for things to think about. As the temperature sank, the efficiency of his brain increased even more. It needed something to do.He calculated the number of bricks in the wall, first in twos and then in tens and finally in sixteens. The numbers formed up and marched past his brain in terrified obedience. Division and multiplication were discovered. Algebra was invented and provided an interesting diversion for a minute or two. And then he felt the fog of numbers drift away, and looked up and saw the sparkling, distant mountains of calculus.Trolls evolved in high, rocky and above all in cold

Rene Magritte The Ignorant Fairy

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idea of a good time. The Patrician's Palace was a darker shape in the dusk, with one lighted window high up. It was the centre of a well-lit area,
He'd faced trolls and dwarfs and dragons, but now he was having to meet an entirely new species. The rich.

It was always hard to remember, afterwards, how the world looked when she was dans une certaine condition, as her mother had delicately called it.
For example, she remembered seeing smells. The actual streets and which got darker and darker as the view widened and began to take in those parts of the city where you didn't light a candle because that was wasting good food. There was red torchlight around Quarry Lane . . . well, Trolls' New Year, understandable. And a faint glow over the High Energy Magic building at Unseen University; Vimes would arrest all wizards on suspicion of being too bloody clever by half. But more lights than you'd expect to see around Cable and Sheer, the part of the city that people like Captain Quirke referred to as 'tinytown' . . .'Samuel!'Vimes adjusted his cravat as best he could.

Paul Gauguin Yellow Christ

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Swallow!, there! Who's a good boy then? You can let him go now.'
The sack slipped from Vimes' arms.
'Bad case of Flameless Gripe,' said Lady Ramkin. 'Hope we've got it in time—'
The dragon ripped its way out of the sack and looked around for something to incinerate. Everyone tried to get out of the way.
Then its eyes crossed, you go to see Havelock?'
Vimes nodded. Never in his life, he thought, would he get used to the idea of the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork having a first name, or that anyone could ever know him well enough to call him by it.
'I've been thinking about this dinner tomorrow night.' he said desperately. 'You know, I really don't think I can—'
'Don't be silly,' said Lady Ramkin. 'You'll enjoy it. It's time you met the Right People. You know that.'
He nodded mournfully.and it hiccuped.The limestone tablet pinged off the opposite wall.'Everybody down!'They leapt for such cover as was provided by a watertrough and a pile of clinkers.The dragon hiccuped again, and looked puzzled.Then it exploded.They stuck their heads up when the smoke had cleared and looked down at the sad little crater.Lady Ramkin took a handkerchief out of a pocket of her leather overall and blew her nose.'Silly little bugger,' she said. 'Oh, well. How are you, Sam? Did

Cao Yong Day of Love

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they’re /as(. We can’t outrun ‘em, even if we lost some weight.”
“I think I’m losing a tiny bit,” said Casanunda, as the broomstick dived toward the trees.
246
LQR06 fiND LftQf£6
Leaves scraped on Nanny Ogg’s boots. Moonlight glinted briefly off ash-blond hair, away to her left. “Bugger, bugger, buggerThe broomstick zigzagged over the silent forest. One of the elves drew its sword and swung down. Knock them down into the trees, leave them alive as long as possible . ..
The broomstick went into reverse. Nanny Ogg’s head and legs went forward, so that partly she was sitting on her hands but mainly she was sitting on nothing. The elf swooped toward her, laughing—
Casanunda stuck out the crowbar..”Three elves were keeping station with the broomstick. That was the thing about elves. They chased you till you dropped, until your blood was curdling with dread; if a dwarf wanted you dead, on the other hand, they’d simply cut you in half with an axe first chance they got. But that was because dwarfs were a lot nicer than elves.“They’re gaming on us!” said Casanunda.“Got the crowbar?”“Yes!”“Right...”

Rembrandt Christ Driving The Money Changers From The Temple

Rembrandt Christ Driving The Money Changers From The TempleRembrandt Bathsheba at Her BathLord Frederick Leighton Wedded
around the room until her eye lit on the little still-life by the door. There was a folded nightshirt, a candle-stick, and a small pillow.
As far as she technically shouldn’t be, Magrat blew her nose and explored further. A heap of discarded garments by the bed suggested that Verence had mastered the art of hanging up clothes as practiced by half the population of the world, and also that he had equally had difficulty with the complex topological maneuvers necessary to turn his socks the right way out.
There was a tiny dressing table and a mirror. Stuck to the mirror frame was a dried and faded flower that looked, to Magrat, very like the ones she habitually wore in her hair.Verence had been concerned, a crown merely changed which side of the door you slept.Oh, gods. He’d always slept in front of the door of his*In the case of the a-£l Street Mappe of Ankh-Morpork, this would be The Sunshine Home for Sick Dragons in Morphic Street, Please Leave Donations of Coal by Side Door. Remember, A Dragon is For Life, Not Just for Hogswatchnight.LQRQ8 ft/YD LftQ/£6master. And now he was king, he slept in front of the door to his kingdom.Magrat felt her eyes fill with tears.You couldn’t help loving someone as soppy as that.Fascinated, and aware that she was where

Pop art miles on yellow

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you reading my mind?”
“Yours?” Granny’s attention snapped back, and her voice lost its distant quality. “Hah! Flowers and suchlike. Dancing about without yer drawers on. Mucking about with cards and bits of string. And it worked, I expect. She gave you power, for a while. Oh, she must have laughed. And then there is less power and more price. And then no power, and you’re payin’ every day. They always take more than they give. And what they give has less than no value. And they end up taking everything. What they like to get from us is our fear. What they want from us most of all is our belief. If you call them, they will come. You’ll give them a channel if you call them here, at circle time, where the world’s thin Granny slapped her face, hard.
“Even you knows that’s stupid and childish,” she said.
“Now you listen to me. If you stay here, there’s to be none of
this stuff anymore. Or you can go somewhere else and find a
future, be a great lady, you’ve got the mind for it. And maybe
you’ll come back in ten years loaded down with jewels andenough to hear. The power in the Dancers is weak enough now as it is. And I’m not having the ... the Lords and Ladies back.”Diamanda opened her mouth.“I ain’t finished yet. You’re a bright girl. Lots of things you could be doing. But you don’t want to be a witch. It’s not an easy life.”“You mad old woman, you’ve got it all wrong! Elvesaren’t like that—““Don’t say the word. Don’t say the word. They come when called.”“Good! Elf, elf, elf! Elf—“

Andy Warhol One Blue Pussy

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mean, he must have been human, I suppose. Always thought of him as an ape, really. It’s more him.”
And indeed it had been an accident among the potent and magical books of the University library that had as it were bounced the the table.
“Dried frog pills,” said the Archchancellor. “Someone fish ‘em out of his pocket.”
/The wizards didn’t rush this. You could find anything in a wizard’s pocket—peas, unreasonable things with legs, small experimental universes, anything ...
Terry Pratehett
The Reader in Invisible Writings craned to see what had unglued his colleague.Librarian’s genotype down the evolutionary tree and back up a different branch, with the significant difference that now he could hang on to it upside down with his feet.“Oh, all right,” said the Archchancellor. “But he’s got to wear something during the ceremony,’ if only for the sake of the poor bride.”There was a whimper from the Bursar.All the wizards turned toward him.His spoon landed on the floor with a small thud. It was wooden. The wizards had gently prevented him from having metal cutlery since what was now known as the Unfortunate Incident At Dinner.“A-a-a-a,” gurgled the Bursar, trying to push himself away from

Pop art nina on yellow

Pop art nina on yellowPop art miles on yellowPop art miles on orange
robin’s nest in the kettle, too. The birds had got in through a broken window pane. She carefully took the kettle outside and wedged it over the door so’s to be safe from weasels, and boiled up some water in a saucepan.
Then she wound up the clock. Witches didn’t have much use for clocks, but she kept it for the tick . . . well, mainly for the tick. It made a see.
Time to think about that sort of thing, now. Time to think about the past...
The clock ticked. The water boiled. Granny Weatherwax fished a bag of tea from the meager luggage on her broom-stick, and swilled out the teapot.
The fire settled down. The clamminess of a room unlived-in for months was place seem lived in. It had belonged to her mother, who’d wound it up every day.It hadn’t come as a surprise to her when her mother died, firstly because Esme Weatherwax was a witch and witches have an insight into the future and secondly because she was already pretty experienced in medicine and knew the signs. So she’d had a chance to prepare herself, and hadn’t cried at all until the day afterward, when the clock stopped right in the middle of the funeral lunch. She’d dropped a tray of ham rolls and then had to go and sit by herself in the privy for a while, so that no one would

Vincent van Gogh Le Moulin de la Galette

Vincent van Gogh Le Moulin de la GaletteVincent van Gogh Farmhouse in ProvenceVincent van Gogh Wheat Field with Cypresses
him, today, if he walked out. Today they would be looking for unwanted people walking in.
He could just walk away. The wilderness had seemed quite pleasant, apart from the thirst and hunger. St. Ungulant with his madness and his mushrooms seemed to have life exactly right. It didn't matter if you fooled yourself provided you didn't let and then, without warning, launched himself at him with violent intent.
Brutha rolled across the cobbles and raised his hands frantically as he saw the gleam of metal. One filthy hand clamped against his mouth. A knifeblade made a dramatic and very final silhouette against the light-
"No! "
"Why not? We said the first thing we'll do, we'll kill all the priests!"
"Not that one!"yourself know it, and did it well. Life was so much simpler, in the desert.But there were a dozen guards by the gate. They had an unsympathetic look. He went back to his seat, which was tucked away in a corner, and stared gloomily at the ground.If Om was alive, surely he could send a sign?A grating by Brutha's sandals lifted itself up a few inches and slid aside. He stared at the hole.A hooded head appeared, stared back, and disappeared again. There was a subterranean whispering. The head reappeared, and was followed by a body. It pulled itself on to the cobbles. The hood was pushed back. The man grinned conspiratorially at Brutha, put his finger to his lips

Albert Moore Dreamers

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you're not dead," he managed.
"Next best thing," said Om. "And you know what? No other small god is trying to usurp me. Did I ever tell you about old Ur-Gilash? No? He was the god back in what's now Omnia before me. Not much of one. Basically a weather god. Or a snake god. Some­thing, anyway. It took years to get rid of him, though. Wars and everything. So I've been thinking . . ."
Brutha chosen," he said.
"The great prophets had vision," said Brutha. "Even if they . . . even if you didn't talk to them, they had something to say. What could I say? I haven't got anything to say to anyone. What could I say?"
"Believe in the Great God Om," said the tortoise.
"And then what?"said nothing."Om still exists," said the tortoise. "I mean the shell. All you'd have to do is get people to under­stand."Brutha still said nothing."You can be the next prophet," said Om."I can't! Everyone knows Vorbis will be the next prophet!""Ah, but you'll be official. " "No.""No? I am your God!""And I am my me. I'm not a prophet. I can't even write. I can't read. No one will listen to me."Om looked him up and down."I must admit you're not the chosen one I would have

Andy Warhol Shadows I

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And they say that the God-”
"-me-”
"-is sending us a fair wind."
"I am? ," he said. "It stands up all by itself."
"The sea . . . the waves . . ." murmured Brutha carefully, although there was nothing left to throw up.
The sailor spat thoughtfully.
"Aye," he said. "They got to be that shape, see, so's to fit into the sky."
"But the boat's creaking!"
"Aye. It does that."
"You mean this isn't a storm?"
The sailor sighed, and walked away.Oh. Yes. Trust me for a fair wind. Flat as a mill-race the whole way, don't you worry." "I meant mill-pond! I meant mill-pond!"Brutha clung to the mast.After a while a sailor came and sat down on a coil of rope and looked at him interestedly."You can let go, Father
After a while, Brutha risked letting go. He had never felt so ill in his

Andy Warhol Gun 1982

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really,' he said at last. 'It sort of kills people but leaves buildings standing.'
Rincewind's mind was operating at the speed of conti­nental drift. Parts of it were telling him that he was confronting the stating the way the future had to be. It sounded quite impossible to ignore.
Coin half-raised his arm, and hesitated.
'Why?' he said.
You do not disobey me.
'You don't have to,' said Rincewind hurriedly. 'It's only a thing.'sourcerer, but they were in direct conflict with other parts. Rincewind had heard quite a lot about the power of the sourcerer, the staff of the sourcerer, the wickedness of the sourcerer and so on. The only thing no-one had mentioned was the age of the sourcerer.He glanced towards the staff.'And what does that do?' he said slowly.And the staff said, You must kill this man.The wizards, who had been cautiously struggling upright, flung themselves flat again.The voice of the hat had been bad enough, but the voice of the staff was metallic and precise; it didn't sound as though it was offering advice but simply

Andrea Mantegna The Madonna of the Cherubim

Andrea Mantegna The Madonna of the CherubimAndrea Mantegna The Adoration of the ShepherdsAndrea Mantegna St George
since I was new it would be my turn, and then, you'll never guess what he wanted me to do. The girls said it's the only thing he's interested in.'
'Er.'
'Are you all right?'
'Fine, fine,' Rincewind muttered.
'Your face has gone all shiny.'
'No, Conina, and sighed. 'That's why you mustn't tell him about me you see? I'm just not cut out for a normal life.'
'Telling stories in a harem isn't bloody normal,' said Rincewind. 'It'll never catch on.'
'He's looking at us again!' Conina grabbed Rincewind's arm.
He shook her off. 'Oh, good grief,' he said, and hurried across the room to Nijel, who grabbed his other arm.
'You haven't been telling her about me, have you?' he I'm fine, fine.''He asked me to tell him a story.''What about?' said Rincewind suspiciously.'The other girls said he prefers something with rabbits in it.''Ah. Rabbits.''Small fluffy white ones. But the only stories I know are the ones father taught me when I was little, and I don't think they're really suitable.''Not many rabbits?''Lots of arms and legs being chopped off,' said

Thomas Kinkade The Edge of Wilderness

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who isn't under the-’
Spelter stopped. His face froze. He turned around very slowly, without willing it, because something was gently stood there, catching his breath.
'You don't frighten me,' he lied, and turned on his heel and marched off in a different direction, snapping his fingers to produce a torch that burned with a fine white flame (only its penumbra of octarine proclaimed it to be of magical origin).
Once again, the staff was in front of him. The light of his torch was sucked into spinning him.He knew the University was empty. The wizards had all moved into the New Tower, where the lowliest stu­dent had a suite more splendid than any senior mage had before.The staff hung in the air a few feet away. It was surrounded by a faint octarine glow.He stood up very carefully and, keeping his back to the stonework and his eyes firmly fixed on the thing, slithered gingerly along the wall until he reached the end of the corridor. At the corner he noted that the staff, while not moving had revolved on its axis to follow him.He gave a little cry, grasped the skirts of his robe, and ran.The staff was in front of him. He slid to a halt and

Diego Rivera The Flower Seller

Diego Rivera The Flower SellerGustav Klimt The MusicGustav Klimt The Friends
made this, you know,' he said. 'They all said you couldn't make a staff out of metal, they said they should only be of wood, but they were wrong. I put a lot of myself into it. I shall give it to him.'
He ran his EIGHTH SON OF AN EIGHTH SON, said Death, unhelpfully. The wind whipped at his robe, driving the black clouds overhead.
'What does that make him?'
A SOURCERER, AS YOU ARE WELL AWARE.
Thunder rolled, on cue.
'What is his destiny?' shouted Ipslore, above the rising gale.
Death shrugged again. He was good at it.hands lovingly along the staff, which gave off a faint tone.He repeated, almost to himself, 'I put a lot of myself into it.'IT IS A GOOD STAFF, said Death.Ipslore held it in the air and looked down at his eighth son, who gave a gurgle.'She wanted a daughter,' he said.Death shrugged. Ipslore gave him a look compounded of bewilderment and rage.'What is he?'THE EIGHTH SON OF AN

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Braid

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Windle Poons did know exactly what irony meant, and he could spot sarcasm too.
‘It’s all very well for you,’ he mumbled.
PERHAPS.
Windle looked down at the river again.
‘It’s been great,’ he said.’After all this time. Being needed is important.’
YES. BUT WHY?
Windle looked surprised.
‘I don’t know. How should I know? Because we’re all in this together, I suppose. Because we don’t leave our people in ?there?. Because you’re a long time dead. Because anything is better than being alone. Because humans are cold universe out there.’
YOU’D BE AMAZED.
‘One lifetime just isn’t enough.’
OH, I DON’T KNOW.
‘Hmm?’
WINDLE POONS?
‘Yes?’human.’AND SIXPENCE IS SIXPENCE. BUT CORN IS NOT JUST CORN.‘It isn’t?’NO.Windle leaned back. The stone of the bridge was still warm from the day’s heat.To his surprise, Death leaned back as well.BECAUSE YOU’RE ALL YOU’VE GOT, said Death.‘What? Oh. Yes. That as well. It’s a great big
THAT WAS YOUR LIFE.

Claude Monet Cliffs near Dieppe 2

Claude Monet Cliffs near Dieppe 2Claude Monet ZaandamClaude Monet Woman Seated under the Willows
Then hang on tight and change back.’
‘No!’
‘We’ll catch you.’
‘No!’
‘Arthur!’ screamed Doreen, prodding an advancing trolley with her makeshift club.
‘Oh, all right.’
There was a momentary vision of Arthur Winkings clinging desperately to the ceiling, and then he dropped on Windle and Reg, the disc clasped to his chest.
music ‘that we’d better get out of here now.’
The floor trembled. Steam gushed from the fountain.
‘If not sooner,’ Windle added.
There was a ?graah? from the Archchancellor. The Dean slumped forward. The other wizards remained upright, but only just. ‘They’re coming out of it,’ said Ludmillastopped abruptly. Pink tubing poured out of the ravaged hole above them and coiled upon Arthur, making him look like a very cheap plate of spaghetti and meatballs. The fountains seemed to operate in reverse for a moment, and then dried up.The trolleys halted. The ones at the back ran into the ones at the front, and there was a chorus of pathetic clanking noises. Tubing still poured out of the hole. Windle picked up a bit. It was an unpleasant pink, and sticky.‘What do you think it is?’ said Ludmilla.‘I think,’ said Windle,

Thomas Kinkade venice

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Who did you speak to?’
‘The big one with the red dress and a moustache like he’s trying to swallow a cat.’
‘Ah. The Archchancellor, ‘ said Windle, positively.
‘And there was a huge fat one. Walks like a duck.’
‘He does, doesn’t he? That was the Dean,’ said Windle.
‘They Cake? You can tell me. I may be a wizard, but I ‘m a dead one.’
‘Schleppel told me it was all due to life force.’
‘It’s buildin’ up, see?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘There’s more’f it than there should be. You get’ called me their good woman, ‘ said Mrs Cake. ‘They told me to be about my business. Don’t see why I should go around helpin’ wizards who call me a good woman when I was only trying to help.’ ‘I’m afraid wizards don’t often listen,’ said Windle. ‘I never listened for one hundred and thirty years.’‘Why not?’expect. What’s happening, Mrs

Thomas Kinkade Bridge of Hope

Thomas Kinkade Bridge of HopeEdward Hopper SummertimeEdward Hopper Night Windows
Godless tinkerers,’ said a small acolyte, peering out from behind the Chief Priest’s bully.
‘Gullible idiots !’
‘Atheistic from a safe distance and strolled nonchalantly towards a comparatively quiet part of the room where, beside a statue of one of the Patrician’s predecessors, they turned and faced one another again.
‘So . . . how are things in the godbothering business?’ said Ridcully. ‘We do our humble best. How is the dangerous meddling with things man was not meant to understand?’
‘Pretty fair. Pretty fair.’ Ridcully removed his hat and fished inside the pointy bit.’Can I offer you a drop of something?’scum!’‘Servile morons !’‘Childish conjurors!’‘Bloodthirsty priests!’‘Interfering wizards!’Ridcully raised an eyebrow. The Chief Priest nodded very slightly. They left the two groups hurling imprecations at each other

Andy Warhol Guns

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Senior wizards did not often get out and about on what Welkome to Ankh-Morporke probably called the thronged highways and intimate byways of the city, but it was instantly obvious that something was wrong. It wasn’t a frightened animal with five pointed heads and ten legs, wondering who was going to be the first to comment. ‘That’s bloody amazing!’ said the Archchancellor. ‘Hmm?’ said the Dean, trying to imply that he saw more amazing things than that all the time, and that in drawing attention to mere clothing running around by itself the Archchancellor was letting down the whole tone of wizardry.
‘Oh, come on. I don’t know many tailors round herethat cobblestones didn’t sometimes fly through the air. but usually someone had thrown them. They didn’t normally float by themselves. A door burst open and a suit of clothes came out, a pair of shoes dancing along behind it, a hat floating a few inches above the empty collar. Close behind them came a skinny man endeavouring to do with a hastily-snatched flannel what normally it took a whole pair of trousers to achieve. ‘You come back here!’ he screamed, as they rounded the corner.’I still owe seven dollars for you!’A second pair of trousers scurried out into the street and hurried after them.The wizards clustered together like

Jean Beraud Symphony in Red and Gold

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clump said: ‘He just went! Just like that! One day he was here, next he was gone!’
If the other trees had been humans, they would have shuffled their feet. ‘It happens, lad,’ said one of them, carefully.’He’s been taken to a Better Place,’ you can be sure of that. He was a good tree.’ The young tree, which was a, it wasn’t long before you found you’d arrived with your return ticket already punched. But wizards really knew. Not if death involved violence or murder, of course, but if the cause of death was simply a case of running out of life then . . . well, you knew. You generally got the premonition in time to return your library books and make sure your best ‘In this case, three better places. The front gates of Nos 31, 7, and 34 Elm Street. Ankh-Morpork. mere five thousand, one hundred and eleven years old, said: ‘What sort of Better Place?’‘We’re not sure, ‘ said one of the clump. It trembled uneasily in a week-long gale.’But we think it involves . . . sawdust.’ Since the trees were unable even to sense any event that took place in less than a day, they never heard the sound of axes.Windle Poons, oldest wizard in the entire faculty of Unseen University - home of magic, wizardry and big dinners - was also going to die. He knew it, in a frail and shaky sort of way.Of course, he mused, as he wheeled his wheel-chair over the flagstones towards his ground-floor study, in a general sort of way everyone knew they were going to die, even the common people. No-one knew where you were before you were born, but when you were born