Tamara de Lempicka Two Girls

Tamara de Lempicka Two GirlsTamara de Lempicka The Musician in BlueTamara de Lempicka Reclining NudeTamara de Lempicka Portrait of MadameTamara de Lempicka Kizette on the Balcony
They watched him politely and expectantly, like people awaiting the punch line.
‘Good grief, do I have to spell it out?’ he said.
‘He means sexual magnetism,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, happily. ‘The lure of wanton soft bosoms and huge ‘I was saying’, he said loudly, ‘that we didn’t know the meaning of the word "sex" when we were young.’
‘That’s true. That’s very true,’ said Poons. He stared reflectively at the flames. ‘Did we ever, mm, find out, do you remember?’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Say what you like, she’s a fine figure of a young womanpulsating thighs, and the forbidden fruits of desire which‑‘A couple of wizards carefully moved their chairs away from him.‘Ah, sex,’ said the Dean of Pentacles, interrupting the Lecturer in Recent Runes in mid‑sigh. ‘Far too much of it these days, in my opinion.’‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. He looked wistful.The noise woke up Windle Poons, who had been dozing in his wheelchair by the fire. There was always a roaring fire in the Uncommon Room, summer or winter.‘Wassat?’ he said.The Dean leaned towards an ear.

Thomas Moran Cliffs of Green River

Thomas Moran Cliffs of Green RiverThomas Moran Autumn LandscapeThomas Moran Chicago World's FairThomas Moran A View of VeniceHerbert James Draper Prospero Summoning Nymphs and Deities
, people,’ said Soll. ‘This is the scene near the end where Victor meets Ginger after all they’ve been through together, and on the card he’ll be saying‑‘ He stared at the big black oblong handed to him. ‘Yes, he’ll be saying "Frankly, my dear, I’d give anything for one of . . . Harga’s . . . prime . . . pork . . . ribs . . . in . . . special . . . curry . . . sauce. . . " ‘
Soll’s voice Royalist soldier’s last words are "What I wouldn’t give right now for a $1 Eat‑Till‑It‑Hurts special at . . . Harga’s . . . House . . . of . . . Ribs . . . Mother!" ‘
‘I think it’s very moving,’ said Dibbler, behind him. ‘There won’t be a dry eye in the slowed and stopped. When he breathed in, it was like a whale surfacing.‘Who wrote THIS?’One of the artists cautiously raised a hand.‘Mr Dibbler told me to,’ he said quickly.Soll leafed through the big heap of cards that represented the dialogue for a large part of the click. His lips tightened. He nodded to one of the people with clipboards and said, ‘Could you just run ever to the office and ask my uncle to stroll over here, if he’s got a moment?’Soll pulled a card out of the stack and read, ‘ "I sure miss the old mine but for a taste of real country cooking I always . . . go . . . to . . .Harp’s . . .House . . . Of . . ." I see.’He selected another at random. ‘Ah. I see here a wounded

Peter Paul Rubens Virgin and Child

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Well, it’d be dreadful if they were crooks and professional.’
Gaspode nodded. Nice one. Nice one.
There was the sound of footsteps hurrying around a desk. When Dibbler spoke next, you could have sunk a well in his voice and sold it at ten dollars a barrel.
‘Victor! Vic‘How much was it?’
‘Sixty dollars.’
‘For a dog? We’re in the wrong business.’
‘It can do all kinds of tricks, the breeder said. Bright as a button, he said. Just ! Haven’t I been like an uncle to you?’ Well, yes, thought Gaspode. He’s like an uncle to most people here. That’s because they’re his nephews. He stopped listening, partly because Victor was going to get his day off and was very likely going to get paid for it as well, but mainly because another dog had been led into the room. It was huge and glossy. Its coat shone like honey. Gaspode recognized it as pure-bred Ramtop hunting dog. When it sat down beside him, it was as if a beautifully sleek racing yacht had slipped into a berth alongside a coal barge. He heard Soll say, ‘So that is Uncle’s latest idea, is it? What’s it called?’ ‘Laddie,’ said the handler.

George Frederick Watts Watts Choosing

George Frederick Watts Watts ChoosingFrancisco de Zurbaran Rest on the flight to EgyptClaude Lorrain Seaport with the Embarkation of the Queen of ShebaFrancisco de Zurbaran The Immaculate ConceptionArthur Hughes La Belle Dame Sans Merci
looked like a large, ornate pot, almost as high as a man of large pot height. Around its rim eight pottery elephants hung from little bronze chains; one of them swung backwards and forwards at the Bursar’s touch.
The see-’
‘She hwas dusting,’ said Mrs Whitlow, helpfully. When Mrs Whitlow was in the grip of acute class consciousness she could create aitches where nature never intended them to be.
‘–and then it started me’king a noise–’
‘Hit made hay hnoise,’ said Mrs Whitlow. ‘So she come and told me, your lordship, h’as hper my instructions.’ Archchancellor peered down inside. ‘It’s all levers and bellows,’ he said, distastefully. The Bursar turned to the University housekeeper. ‘Well, now, Mrs Whitlow,’ he said, ‘what exactly happened?’ Mrs Whitlow, huge, pink and becorseted, patted her ginger wig and nudged the tiny maid who was hovering beside her like a tugboat. ‘Tell his lordship, Ksandra,’ she ordered. Ksandra looked as though she was regretting the whole thing. ‘Well, sir, please, sir, I was dusting, you

Jean Beraud La Rue de la Paix 1907

Jean Beraud La Rue de la Paix 1907Unknown Artist tango dancersUnknown Artist sweet breathUnknown Artist red backgroundUnknown Artist flower carrier
An accident in the Library, yes. Magical explosion. One minute a human, next minute an orang-utan. And you mustn’t call him a monkey, Master. He’s an ape.’
‘Same damn difference, surely?’
‘Apparently him.’
‘Good grief, no! He’s the best Librarian we’ve ever had. And tremendous value for money.’
‘Why? What d’we pay him?’
‘Peanuts,’ said the Bursar promptly. ‘Besides, he’s the only one who knows how the Library actually works.’
‘Turn him back, then. No life for a man, bein’ a monkey.’ not. He gets very, er, aggressive if you call him a monkey.’ ‘He doesn’t stick his bottom at people, does he?’ The Bursar closed his eyes and shuddered. ‘No, Master. You’re thinking of baboons.’ ‘Ah.’ The Archchancellor considered this. ‘Haven’t got any of them workin’ here, then?’ ‘No, Master. Just the Librarian, Master.’ ‘Can’t have it. Can’t have it, yer know. Can’t have damn great hairy things shambling around the place,’ said the Archchancellor firmly. ‘Get rid of

Henri Matisse Odalisques

Henri Matisse OdalisquesHenri Matisse OdalisqueHenri Matisse MusicHenri Matisse Le bonheur de vivreGeorges Seurat The Circus
threateningly over the palace and whirred off towards the mountains.
Koomi mopped his forehead.
'Bit of a close shave there,' he said. His colleagues nodded, staring at the fading ripples. Suddenly, Djeibeybi was no place , as the sacred crocodiles homed in like submarines.
Koomi raised his hands, imploring. It is said that the hour brings forth the man. He was the kind of man that is brought forth by devious and unpleasant hours, and underneath his bald head certain conclusions were beginning to unfold, like things imprisoned for years inside stones. He wasn't yet sure what they were, but they were broadly on the subject of gods, the new age, the need for a firm hand on the helm, and possibly for honest doubt. Honest doubt could get you seriously picked up and your arms and legs torn off. 'Er,.' said one of them. 'Cephut's going to be a bit upset, though, isn't he?' 'All hail Cephut,' they chorused. Just in case. 'Don't see why,' grumbled an elderly priest at the back of the crowd. 'Bloody knife and fork artist.' They grabbed him, still protesting, and hurled him into the river. 'All hail-' They paused. 'Who was he high priest of, anyway?' 'Bunu, the Goat-headed God of Goats? Wasn't he?' 'All hail Bunu, probably,' they chorused

Jack Vettriano The Cocktail Shaker

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. Perhaps we'd just better let him get it out of his system.'
King Teppicymon XXVII nodded gloomily, and went by himself to wave goodbye to his son. He was less certain than his could go to his rest satisfied that he had been annulled by someone of taste and discretion.
And, after all, what was there for him at home? A kingdom two miles wide and one hundred sister about the unpleasantness of assassination; he'd been reluctantly in politics for a long time, and felt that while assassination was probably worse than debate it was certainly better than war, which some people tended to think of as the same thing only louder. And there was no doubt that young Vyrt always had plenty of money, and used to turn up at the palace with expensive gifts, exotic suntans and thrilling tales of the interesting people he'd met in foreign parts, in most cases quite briefly. He wished Vyrt was around to advise. His majesty had also heard that only one student in fifteen actually became an assassin. He wasn't entirely certain what happened to the other fourteen, but he was pretty sure that if you were a poor student in a school for assassins they did a bit more than throw the chalk at you, and that the school dinners had an extra dimension of uncertainty. But everyone agreed that the assassins' school offered the best all-round education in the world. A qualified assassin should be at home in any company, and able to play at least one musical instrument. Anyone inhumed by a graduate of the Guild school

Frida Kahlo Two Nudes in the Forest

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' she said grimly. 'Let's do the show right here.' Nanny squinted sullenly after Hwel. 'Break your own leg,' she muttered.
Hwel stood in the wings and gave the signal for the curtains. And for the thunder.
It didn't come.
'Thunder!' he hissed, in a voice heard by half the audience. 'Get on with it!'
A voice like a bell.
Hwel looked up at the sky. Great black clouds were blowing across the castle, blotting out the stars.
The storm was back.
It had spent ages learning its craft. It had spent years lurking in distant valleys. It from behind the nearest pillar wailed, 'I went and bent the thunder, Hwel! It just goes clonk-clonk!'Hwel stood silent for a moment, counting. The company watched him, awestruck but not, unfortunately, thunderstruck.At last he raised his fists to the open sky and said, 'I wanted a storm! Just a storm. Not even a big storm. Any storm. Now I want to make myself absolutely CLEAR! I have had ENOUGH! I want thunder right NOW!'The stab of lightning that answered him turned the multi-hued shadows of the castle into blinding white and searing black. It was followed by a roll of thunder, on cue.It was the loudest noise Hwel had ever heard. It seemed to start inside his head and work its way outwards.It went on and on, shaking every stone in the castle. Dust rained down. A distant turret broke away with balletic slowness and, tumbling end over end, dropped gently into the hungry depths of the gorge.When it finished it left a silence that rang

Leroy Neiman Elephant Nocturne

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my shawl back there. I'm a bit chilly. Look, we're nearly there.'
Granny glared ahead, her mind a maze of suspicions. She was going to get to the bottom of this. When she had time.
The damp logs of Lancre's main link to the outside world drifted gently underneath them. From the chicken farm half a mile away came a chorus of strangled squawks and a thud.
'And that? What was that, then?' demanded Granny.
'Fowl pest. Careful, I'm bringing us down.'
'Are you laughing at me?'
'Just pleased for you, Esme. You'll go down in history for this, you know.'
They drifted between the timbers of the bridge. Granny Weatherwax alighted cautiously on the greasy planking and adjusted her dress.
'Yes. Welluse a calendar with lots of pages blowing off, or a clock with hands moving faster and faster until they blur, or trees bursting into blossom and fruiting in a matter of seconds . . .
Well, you know. Or the sun becomes a fiery streak across the sky, and days and nights flicker past jerkily like a bad zoetrope, and the fashions visible in the clothes shop across the road whip on and off faster ,' she added, nonchalantly.'Better than Black Aliss, everyone'll say,' Nanny Ogg went on.'Some people will say anything,' said Granny. She peered over the parapet at the foaming torrent far below, and then up at the distant outcrop on which stood Lancre Castle.'Do you think they will?' she added, nonchalantly.'Mark my words.''Hmm.''But you've got to complete the spell, mind.'Granny Weatherwax nodded. She turned to face the dawn, raised her arms, and completed the spell. It is almost impossible to convey the sudden passage of fifteen years and two months in words.It's a lot easier in pictures, when you just

Titian Emperor Charles

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several sizes too big for him. Lancre is a poor kingdom, and over the centuries the chain mail of the palace guards has had to be handed down from one generation to another, often on the end of a long stick. This one made him look like a bulletproof bloodhound.
She stepped and our—'
'Wait a moment.'
'Oh, Mss Magrat, suppose they try to torture her? You know what a tongue she's got on her when she gets angry—'
'I'm thinking,' said Magrat.out in front of him.'Is that you, Mss Magrat?' said Shawn, raising the flap of mail that covered his eyes. 'It's mam!''What's happened to her?''He's locked her up! Said she was coming to poison him! And I can't get down to the dungeons to see because there's all new guards! They say she's been put in chains—' Shawn frowned – 'and that means something horrible's going to happen. You know what she's like when she loses her temper. We'll never hear the last of it, miz.''Where were you going?' demanded Magrat.To fetch our Jason and our Wane and our Darron

Thomas Moran Entrance to the Grand Canal, Venice

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Lancre Castle was built on an outcrop of rock by an architect who had heard about Gormenghast but hadn't got the budget. He'd done his best, though, with a tiny confection of cut-price turrets, bargain basements, buttresses, crenellations, gargoyles, towers, courtyards, keeps and dungeons; in fact, just about everything a castle needs except maybe reasonable foundations and the kind of mortar that doesn't wash away in a light shower.He growled and stood up. 'There is a knocking without,' he said.
'Without what?' said the Fool.
'Without the door, idiot.'
The Fool gave him a worried look. 'A knocking without a door?' he said suspiciously. 'This isn't some kind of Zen, is it?'The castle leaned vertiginously over the racing white water of the Lancre river, which boomed darkly a thousand feet below. Every now and again a few bits fell in.Small as it was, though, the castle contained a thousand places to hide a crown.The duchess swept out to find someone else to berate, and left Lord Felmet looking gloomily at the landscape. It started to rain.It was on this cue that there came a thunderous knocking at the castle door. It seriously disturbed the castle porter, who was playing Cripple Mister Onion with the castle cook and the castle's Fool in the warmth of the kitchen.

Juan Gris Guitar and Music Pape

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much for prediction, he thought. And if they thought so much of him they could at least have hired a decent sculptor. It was disgraceful. The nose was all wrong. Call that a leg? People had been carving their names on it, too. He start.
There was the pedestal, empty. There was a cloud of marble dust over everything. And striding out of it, muttering to himself, was Albert.
The wizards at the back of the crowd started to have it away as quickly and quietly as possible. There wasn't one of them that hadn't, at some time in his jolly youth, put a common bedroom utensil on old Albert's wouldn't be seen dead in a hat like that, either. Of course, if he could help it, he wouldn't be seen dead at all.Albert aimed an octarine thunderbolt at the ghastly thing and grinned evilly as it exploded into dust.'Right,' he said to the Disc at large, 'I'm back.' The tingle from the magic coursed all the way up his arm and started a warm glow in his mind. How he'd missed it, all these years.Wizards came hurrying through the big double doors at the sound of the explosion and cleared the wrong conclusion from a standing

Diego Rivera Night of the Rich

Diego Rivera Night of the RichLeroy Neiman FemlinUnknown Artist Abstract Autumn by Dougall
walked across it. It was hard to drown in the Ankh, but easy to suffocate.
Mort , which he waved in little circles in the air. He advanced slowly towards Mort, while the other two hung back to provide immoral support.
'Give us the money,' he rasped.
Mort's hand went to the bag on his belt.
'Hang on a minute,' he said. 'What happens then?'
'What?'looked at the surface doubtfully. It seemed to be moving. There were bubbles in it. It had to be water.He sighed, and turned away.Three men had appeared behind him, as though extruded from the stonework. They had the heavy, stolid look of those thugs whose appearance in any narrative means that it's time for the hero to be menaced a bit, although not too much, because it's also obvious that they're going to be horribly surprised.They were leering. They were good at it.One of them had drawn a knife

Vincent van Gogh field of poppies

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What on?"
Cutangle groped for a subject.
"Herbs?" he hazarded. "We're not very good on herbs here. And headology. Esk told me a lot about headology. It sounds fascinating."
The sugar lump disappeared through a crack in a nearby wall with a final jerk. Cutangle nodded towards it.
"They're very heavy on the sugar," he said, "but we haven't got the heart to do anything about it."
Granny frowned, and then nodded across the haze over the city to the distant glitter of the snow on the Ramtops.
"It's a long way," she said. "I can't be keeping on going
"We could buy you a much better broomstick," said Cutangle. "One you don't have to bump start. And you, you could have a flat here. And all the old clothes you can carry," he added, using the secret weapon. He had wisely invested intiles needed fixing.
"Practical things?" she said, thoughtfully.
"Absolutely," said Cutangle.
"Mmph. Well, I'll think about it," said Granny, dimly aware that one should never go too far on a first date.
"Perhaps you would care to dine with me this evening and let me know?" said some conversation with Mrs Whitlow. "Mmph," said Granny, "Silk?" "Black and red," said Cutangle. An image of Granny in black and red silk trotted across his mind, and he bit heavily into his scone. "And maybe we can bring some students out to your cottage in the summer," Cutangle went on, "for extra-mural studies." "Who's Extra Muriel?" "I mean, there's lots they can learn, I'm sure." Granny considered this. Certainly the privy needed a good seeing-to before the weather got too warm, and the goat shed was ripe for the mucking-out by spring. Digging over the Herb bed was a chore, too. The bedroom ceiling was a disgrace, and some of the

Pierre-Auguste Cot Le Printemps

Pierre-Auguste Cot Le PrintempsGeorge Frederick Watts CharityFrancisco de Goya Nude Maja
At the far end of the hall she could see the most senior wizards at their high table, which in fact bobbed a few feet off the floor. They were staring.
A medium-and find me an important wizard, please. Quickly."
Esk tapped her on the back. A couple of wizards with a rather greater presence of mind had nipped smartly out of the door behind them, and now several their lodge, but now she felt a pang of sympathy for them.
Two of them reached out hairy hands and grabbed Granny's shoulders. Her arm disappeared behind her back and there was a brief flurry of movement that ended with the men hopping away, clutching grade wizard - Esk recognised him as a lecturer in Applied Astrology - rushed towards them, waving his hands. "Nononono," he shouted. "Wrong door. You must go away." "Don't mind me," said Granny calmly, pushing past him. "Nonono, it's against the lore, you must go away now. Ladies are not allowed in here!" "I'm not a lady, I'm a witch," said Granny. She turned to Esk. "Is he very important?" "I don't think so," said Esk. "Right." Granny turned to the lecturer: "Go

Edward Hopper Hotel Room

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And you know where it is?"
"Yes," lied Granny, whose grasp of geography was slightly worse than her knowledge of sub-atomic physics.
Smith looked from her to his daughter, who was sulking.
"And witch further along the hills, who had also promised to keep an Eye on the cottage. Bad Ass would just have to manage without a witch for a while.
Granny was vaguely aware that you didn't find the Unseen University unless it wanted you to, and the only place to start looking was the town of Ohulan Cutash, a sprawl of a hundred or so houses about fifteen miles away. It was where you went to once or twice a year if you were a really cosmopolitan Bad Assian: Granny had only been once before in her entire and hadn't approved of it at all. It had smelt all wrong, she'd got lost, and she distrusted city folk with their flashy ways.
They got a lift on the cart that came out periodically with metal for the smithy. It was gritty, but better

Franz Marc Zwei Katzen

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wizard would sigh, pick it up, and continue his squelchy progress.
The storm walked around the hills on legs of lightning, shouting and grumbling.
The wizardincredibly ordinary place where something extraordinary started to happen. Often there is no more than a little plaque to reveal that, against all ecological probability, someone very famous was born halfway up a wall.
Mist curled between the houses as the wizard crossed a narrow bridge over the swollen stream and made his way to the village smithy, although the two facts had nothing to do with one another. The mist would have curled anyway: it was experienced mist and had got curling down to a fine art. disappeared around the bend in the track and the goats went back to their damp grazing. Until something else caused them to look up. They stiffened, their eyes widening, their nostrils flaring. This was strange, because there was nothing on the path. But the goats still watched it pass by until it was out of sight. There was a village tucked in a narrow valley between steep woods. It wasn't a large village, and wouldn't have shown up on a map of the mountains. It barely showed up on a map of the village. It was, in fact, one of those places that exist merely so that people can have come from them. The universe is littered with them: hidden villages, windswept little towns under wide skies, isolated cabins on chilly mountains, whose only mark on history is to be the

Andy Warhol Diamond Dust Shoes Lilac Blue Green

Andy Warhol Diamond Dust Shoes Lilac Blue GreenAndy Warhol Daisy Double PinkAndy Warhol ButtonsAndy Warhol Basket of Flowers
One of the star people, a woman, pushed her hair out of her eyes with a soot-blackened hand, gazed intently t Cohen's left ear, and said, 'Ridding the disc of wickedness.'
Two menhe said to one of the star men, who had gripped his arm.
'All books of magic must be burned,' said the man, but a little uncertainly, because something about Cohen's teeth was giving him a nasty feeling of sanity.
'Why?' said Cohen.
'It has been revealed to us.' Now Cohen's smile was as wide as all outdoors, and rather more dangerous.
'I think we ought to be getting along,' said Lackjaw nervously. A party of star people had turned into the street behind them. came out of the building and glared at Cohen, or at least at his ear.Cohen reached out and took the heavy book the woman was carrying. Its cover was crusted with strange red and black stones that spelled out what Cohen was sure was a word. He showed it to Lackjaw.'The Necrotelecomnicon,' said the dwarf. 'Wizards use it. It's how to contact the dead, I think.''That's wizards for you,' said Cohen. He felt a page between finger and thumb; it was thin, and quite soft. The rather unpleasant organic-looking didn't worry him at all. Yes, a book like this could be a real friend to a man —'Yes? You want something?'

Paul Cezanne Leda with Swan

Paul Cezanne Leda with SwanPaul Cezanne House and TreesPaul Cezanne A Modern OlympiaLaurie Maitland Autumn Song
'Yesh,' said Cohen, and sighed. Thatsh right, boy. I'm a in my own legend.'
'Gosh,' said Rincewind. 'How old are you, exactly?'
'Eighty-sheven.'
'But you were the greatest!' said Bethan. 'Bards still sing songs about you.'
Cohen shruggedyou have there, boy.'
Rincewind looked away, unable to look Bethan in the face. Then his heart sank. Twoflower was still leaning against the tree, peacefully unconscious, and looking as reproachful as was possible in the circumstances.
Cohen appeared to remember him, too. He got unsteadily to his feet and shuffled over to the tourist. He humbed both eyes open, examined the graze, felt the pulse.
'He'sh gone,' he said., and gave a little yelp of pain.'I never get any royaltiesh,' he said. He looked moodily at the snow. That'sh the shaga of my shoop. Shoop! I hate shoop!'Bethan's forehead wrinkled. 'Shoop?''Soup,' explained Rincewind.Yeah, shoop,' said Cohen, miserably. 'It'sh my teeths, you shee. No-one takes you sheriously when you've got no teeths, they shay "Shit down by the fire, grandad, and have sHome shoo—" Cohen looked sharply at Rincewind. That'sh a nashty cough

William Beard So You Wanna Get Married

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falling branch, and the whispering of the trees discussing religion and the trouble with squirrels. Rincewind began to feel very lonely. He imagined himself living in the woods forever, sleeping on leaves and eating . . . and eating . . . whatever there was to eat in woods. Trees, he supposed, and nuts and berries. He would have to . . .
'Rincewind!'
There, coming wet and cold rain. Rincewind and Twoflower sat under a tree and watched it.
'Rincewind?'
'Um?'
'Why are we here?'
'Well, some say that the Creator of the Universe made the Disc and everything on it, others say that its all a very complicated story involving the testicles of the Sky God and the milk of up the path, was Twoflower – dripping wet, but beaming with delight. The Luggage trotted along behind him (anything made of the wood would follow its owner anywhere and it was often used to make luggage for the grave goods of very rich dead kings who wanted to be sure of starting a new life in the next world with clean underwear).Rincewind sighed. Up to now, he'd thought the day couldn't possibly get worse. It began to rain a particularly

Thomas Kinkade The Edge of Wilderness

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Rincewind decided, it must be an amulet. The swarthy man backed into the corner.
"That was a very brave thing you did," said Amulet-holder to Rincewind. "You know that?
"What?"that Twoflower was wearing new clothes. Strange clothes. His britches now ended just above his knees. Above that he wore some sort of vest of brightly-striped material. On his head was a ridiculous little straw hat. With a feather in it.
An awkward feeling around the leg regions made Rincewind look down. His clothes had changed too. Instead of the comfortable old robe, so marvellously well-adapted for speed into action in all possible contingencies"What's the matter with your friend?""Friend?"Rincewind looked down at Twoflower, who was still slumbering peacefully. That was no surprise. What was really surprising was