Rembrandt Bathsheba at Her Bath

Rembrandt Bathsheba at Her BathLord Frederick Leighton WeddedLord Frederick Leighton The Fisherman and the SyrenJean Auguste Dominique Ingres Perseus and AndromedaGuido Reni The Coronation of the Virgin
'Hmm?' said the dwarf, his mind wrestling with ways of building thunder-and-lightning machines.
'There's no crown, Hwel. I've got to wear a crown.'
'Of course there's a crown. The big one with the red glass, very impressive, we used it in that place with the big square—'
'I think we left it there.'
There was another tinny roll of thunder but, even so, the part of Hwel that was living the play heard a faltering voice on stage. He darted to the wings.
'—I have It would be nice to say it tingled under his hand. Perhaps it did.

Granny was sitting as still as a statue, and almost as cold. The horror of realisation was stealing over her.
'That's us,' she said. 'Round that silly cauldron. That's meant to be us, Gytha.'smother'd many a babe—' he hissed, and sprinted back.'Well, just find another one, then,' he said vaguely. 'In the props box. You're the Evil King, you've got to have a crown. Get on with it, lad, you're on in a few minutes. Improvise.'Tomjon wandered back to the box. He'd grown up among crowns, big golden crowns made of wood and plaster, studded with finest glass. He'd cut his teeth on the hat-brims of Authority. But most of them had been left in the Dysk now. He pulled out collapsible daggers and skulls and vases, the strata of the years and, right at the bottom, his fingers closed on something thin and crown shaped, which no-one had ever wanted to wear because it looked so uncrownly.

Vincent van Gogh Olive grove I

Vincent van Gogh Olive grove IVincent van Gogh Madhouse garden of St-RemyVincent van Gogh Landscape at Auvers in the RainVincent van Gogh The Plain at AuversVincent van Gogh The Night Cafe in the Place Lamartine in Arles
Just hereafter, girl, it's what you're supposed to say in these circumstances, you might try and make an effort", and 'No, but I mean, last night, I had this dream about a little bandy-legged man walking down a road,' said Hwel. 'He had a little black hat on, and he walked as though his boots were full of water.'
Tomjon nodded politely.
'Yes?' he said. 'And—?'
'Well, that was it. And nothing. He had this little cane which he twirled and, you know, it was incredibly . . .'then they all peered closer, and one of the others said, "He looks a bit peaky, I reckon it's all that foreign food", and then the youngest one said, "Nanny, I've told you already, there's no such place as Thespia", and then they bickered a bit, and one of the old ones said, "He can't hear us, can he? He's tossing and turning a bit", and the other one said, "You know I've never been able to get sound on this thing, Esme", and then they bickered some more, and it went cloudy, and then . . . I woke up . . .' he finished lamely. 'It was horrible, because every time they came close to the bowl it sort of magnified everything, so all you could see was eyes and nostrils.'Hwel hoisted himself on to the edge of the narrow bed.'Funny old things, dreams,' he said.'Not much funny about that one.'

Gustav Klimt Malcesine on Lake Garda

Gustav Klimt Malcesine on Lake GardaDaniel Ridgway Knight WaitingClaude Monet Vase Of FlowersClaude Monet The women in the GardenClaude Monet The Picnic
had earned him the biggest thrashing of his life, which even then must have presented the old joker with a bit of a challenge.
'You will learn, my lad—' he recalled, with every sentence punctuated by jingling cracks – 'that there is nothing more serious than jesting. From now on you will never—' the old man paused to change hands – 'never, . There was a whole circular world out there, full of weird places and people doing interesting things, like . . .
Singing. He could hear singing.
He raised his head cautiously, and jumped at the tinkle of the bells on his cap. He gripped the hated things hurriedly.
The singing went on. The Fool peeped cautiously through the drift of meadowsweet that was providing never, ever utter a joke that has not been approved by the Guild. Who are you to decide what is amusing? Marry, let the untutored giggle at unskilled banter; it is the laughter of the ignorant. Never. Never. Never let me catch you joculating again.'After that he'd gone back to learning the three hundred and eighty-three Guild-approved jokes, which was bad enough, and the glossary, which was a lot bigger and much worse.And then he'd been sent to Ankh, and there, in the bare, severe rooms, he'd found there were books other than the great heavy brass-bound Monster Fun Book

Paul Cezanne Still Life with Kettle

Paul Cezanne Still Life with KettlePaul Cezanne Still Life with FruitPaul Cezanne Still Life with Flowers and FruitPaul Cezanne Still Life with Apples and OrangesPaul Cezanne Still Life with a Skull
Granny, feeling in some obscure way that they had scored a minor triumph over the purveyors of untruth and artifice, helped herself to an apple from the bag and began to take a fresh interest. Magrat's nerves started to unknot, about the conventions of the theatre. She had been dreading this bit. Granny Weatherwax had Views.
'Yes, but,' she said wretchedly, 'it's the Theatre, see. All the women are played by men.'
'Why?'
'They don't allow no women on the stage,' said Magrat in a small voice. She shut her eyes.and she began to settle down to enjoy the play. But not, as it turned out, for very long. Her willing suspension of disbelief was interrupted by a voice saying:'What's this bit?'Magrat sighed. 'Well,' she hazarded, 'he thinks that he is the prince, but he's really the other king's daughter, dressed up as a man.'Granny subjected the actor to a long analytical stare.'He is a man,' she said. 'In a straw wig. Making his voice squeaky.'Magrat shuddered. She knew a little

Vincent van Gogh The good Samaritan Delacroix

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life have you got left?'
'Ninety-one days, three hours and five minutes,' said Albert promptly. 'I knew he was on my trail, see? But I'm safe here and he's not such a bad master. Sometimes I don't know what he'd do without me.'
'Yes, no-one dies in Death's own kingdom. And you're pleased with that?' said Mort.
'I'm more than two thousand years old, I am. I've lived longer than anyone in the world.'
Mort shook his head.
'You haven't, you know,' he said. 'You've just stretched things out more. No-one really lives here. The time in this place is just a sham. It's not real. Nothing changes. I'd rather die and see what happens next than spend eternity here.'Albert pinched his nose reflectively. 'Yes, well, you might,' he conceded, 'but I was a wizard, you know. I was pretty good at it. They put up a statue to me, you know. But you don't live a long life as a wizard without making a few enemies, see, ones who'll . . . wait on the Other Side.'He sniffed. They ain't all got two legs, either. Some of them ain't got legs at all. Or faces. Death don't frighten me. It's what comes after.''Help me, then.''What good will that do me?''One day you might need some friends on the Other Side,' said Mort. He thought for a few seconds and added, 'If I were you, it wouldn't do any harm to give my soul a bit of a last-minute polish. Some of those waiting for you might not like the taste of that.'
Albert shuddered and shut his eyes.