Guido Reni The Coronation of the VirginGuido Reni St JosephGuido Reni St Jerome
Rincewind stirred the rubble with his toe.
There was only the one door into the Library. Then there were the cellars - he could see the stairs down to them, choked , but for a moment he thought he saw a movement up among the crumbling turrets.
He wondered how old the tower really was. Older than the University, certainly. Older than the city, which had formed about it like scree around a mountain. Maybe older than geography. There had been a time when the continents were different, Rincewind understood, and then they'd sort of shuffled more comfortably together like puppies in a basket. Perhaps the tower had been washed up on the with garbage - but you couldn't hide all the books down there. You couldn't teleport them out either, they would be resistant to such magic; anyone who tried something like that would end up wearing his brains outside his hat.There was an explosion overhead. A ring of orange fire formed about halfway up the tower of sourcery, ascended quickly and soared off towards Quirm.Rincewind slid around on his makeshift seat and stared up at the Tower of Art. He got the distinct impression that it was looking back at him. It was totally without windows
Friday, 10 April 2009
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
Jean Francois Millet The Walk to Work
Jean Francois Millet The Walk to WorkJean Francois Millet The AngelusJean Francois Millet Angelus
shouldn't think so,' said Rincewind. 'Wizardry isn't allowed to run in families.' He paused. He knew Cohen, he'd even been a guest at one of his weddings when he married a girl of Conina's age; you could say this about Cohen, he crammed every hour full of minutes. 'A lot of people would like to take after Cohen, I mean, he was the best fighter,on the subject of parents.
'Kleptomania? Recidivist?' he hazarded.
'Begins with an H.'
'Hedonism?' said Rincewind desperately.
'Herrydeterry,' said Conina. 'This witch explained it to me. My mother was a temple dancer for some mad god or other, and father rescued her, and - they stayed together for a while. They say I get my looks and figure from her.' the greatest thief, he-’'A lot of men would,' Conina snapped. She leaned against a wall and glared at him.'Listen,' she said, 'There's this long word, see, an old witch told me about it ...can't remember it ...you wizards know about long words.'Rincewind thought about long words. 'Marmalade?' he volunteered.She shook her head irritably. 'It means you take after your parents.'Rincewind frowned. He wasn't too good
shouldn't think so,' said Rincewind. 'Wizardry isn't allowed to run in families.' He paused. He knew Cohen, he'd even been a guest at one of his weddings when he married a girl of Conina's age; you could say this about Cohen, he crammed every hour full of minutes. 'A lot of people would like to take after Cohen, I mean, he was the best fighter,on the subject of parents.
'Kleptomania? Recidivist?' he hazarded.
'Begins with an H.'
'Hedonism?' said Rincewind desperately.
'Herrydeterry,' said Conina. 'This witch explained it to me. My mother was a temple dancer for some mad god or other, and father rescued her, and - they stayed together for a while. They say I get my looks and figure from her.' the greatest thief, he-’'A lot of men would,' Conina snapped. She leaned against a wall and glared at him.'Listen,' she said, 'There's this long word, see, an old witch told me about it ...can't remember it ...you wizards know about long words.'Rincewind thought about long words. 'Marmalade?' he volunteered.She shook her head irritably. 'It means you take after your parents.'Rincewind frowned. He wasn't too good
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
Amedeo Modigliani Nude Sdraiato
Amedeo Modigliani Nude SdraiatoAmedeo Modigliani Caryatid 1Alphonse Maria Mucha Winter
given that most prospective worshippers were impaled, squashed, poisoned or sliced by booby-traps even before making it as far as the little box and the jolly drawing of a thermometer’ outside the vestry. They were playing Cripple Mr Onion on the high altar, beneath the very shadow of the jewel-encrusted statue of Offler Himself, when they heard the distant creak of the main door.
The High .
‘Right.’ The High Priest peered at his cards.’OK, I’ll see your two peb-‘ There was the faint sound of footsteps.
‘Chap with a whip got as far as the big sharp spikes last week,’ said the low priest.
There was a sound like the flushing of a very old dry lavatory. The footsteps stopped.
The High Priest smiled to himself.
‘Right,’ he said.’See your two pebbles and raise you two pebblesPriest didn’t look up.“Lost Jewelled Temple Roof Repair Fund! Only 6,000 gold pieces to go!! ‘Heyup.’ he said. ‘Another one for the big rolling ball, then.’ There was a thump and a rumbling, grinding sound. And then a very final bang.‘Now,’ said the High Priest. ‘What was the stake?’‘Two pebbles,’ said the low priest
given that most prospective worshippers were impaled, squashed, poisoned or sliced by booby-traps even before making it as far as the little box and the jolly drawing of a thermometer’ outside the vestry. They were playing Cripple Mr Onion on the high altar, beneath the very shadow of the jewel-encrusted statue of Offler Himself, when they heard the distant creak of the main door.
The High .
‘Right.’ The High Priest peered at his cards.’OK, I’ll see your two peb-‘ There was the faint sound of footsteps.
‘Chap with a whip got as far as the big sharp spikes last week,’ said the low priest.
There was a sound like the flushing of a very old dry lavatory. The footsteps stopped.
The High Priest smiled to himself.
‘Right,’ he said.’See your two pebbles and raise you two pebblesPriest didn’t look up.“Lost Jewelled Temple Roof Repair Fund! Only 6,000 gold pieces to go!! ‘Heyup.’ he said. ‘Another one for the big rolling ball, then.’ There was a thump and a rumbling, grinding sound. And then a very final bang.‘Now,’ said the High Priest. ‘What was the stake?’‘Two pebbles,’ said the low priest
Monday, 6 April 2009
Caravaggio The Fortune Teller
Caravaggio The Fortune TellerCaravaggio The Conversion on the Way to DamascusCaravaggio The Annunciation
Miss Flitworth peered out of the window, and then flung herself dramatically against the wall on one side of it.
‘He’s gone!’
IT, said Bill Door. IT WON’T BE A HE YET.
‘It’s gone. It could be anywhere.’
IT CAN BECAUSE OF DRAMA, MISS FLITWORTH. THE KIND OF DEATH WHO POSES AGAINST THE SKYLINE AND GETS LIT UP BY LIGHTNING FLASHES, said Bill Door, disapprovingly, DOESN’T TURN UP AT FIVE. AND-TWENTY PAST ELEVEN IF HE CAN POSSIBLY TURN UP AT MIDNIGHT. She nodded, white-faced, and disappeared upstairs. After a minute or two she returned, with Sal wrapped up in a blanketCOME THROUGH THE WALL.She darted forward, and then glared at him.VERY WELL. FETCH THE CHILD. I THINK WE SHOULD LEAVE HERE. A thought struck him. He brightened up a little bit.WE DO HAVE SOME TIME. WHAT IS THE HOUR?‘I don’t know. You go around stopping the clocks the whole time.’BUT IT IS NOT YET MIDNIGHT?‘I shouldn’t think it’s more than a quarter past eleven.’THEN WE HAVE THREE-QUARTERS OF AN HOUR.‘How can you be sure?’
Miss Flitworth peered out of the window, and then flung herself dramatically against the wall on one side of it.
‘He’s gone!’
IT, said Bill Door. IT WON’T BE A HE YET.
‘It’s gone. It could be anywhere.’
IT CAN BECAUSE OF DRAMA, MISS FLITWORTH. THE KIND OF DEATH WHO POSES AGAINST THE SKYLINE AND GETS LIT UP BY LIGHTNING FLASHES, said Bill Door, disapprovingly, DOESN’T TURN UP AT FIVE. AND-TWENTY PAST ELEVEN IF HE CAN POSSIBLY TURN UP AT MIDNIGHT. She nodded, white-faced, and disappeared upstairs. After a minute or two she returned, with Sal wrapped up in a blanketCOME THROUGH THE WALL.She darted forward, and then glared at him.VERY WELL. FETCH THE CHILD. I THINK WE SHOULD LEAVE HERE. A thought struck him. He brightened up a little bit.WE DO HAVE SOME TIME. WHAT IS THE HOUR?‘I don’t know. You go around stopping the clocks the whole time.’BUT IT IS NOT YET MIDNIGHT?‘I shouldn’t think it’s more than a quarter past eleven.’THEN WE HAVE THREE-QUARTERS OF AN HOUR.‘How can you be sure?’
Friday, 3 April 2009
John William Waterhouse Waterhouse Narcissus
John William Waterhouse Waterhouse NarcissusJohn William Waterhouse The Lady of ShalottJohn William Waterhouse waterhouse Ophelia
that’s ridiculous.’
‘Maybe. Isn’t there a sort of cuckoo in the Ramtops that builds clocks to nest in?’ said the Bursar.
‘Yes, but that’s just courtship ritual,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes airily. ‘Besides, they keep lousy time.’
The ?’
‘It’s tempting, but no. Come on. After it.’
‘Yo!’
‘If you like.’
The wizards lumbered in pursuit. Behind them, as yet unnoticed, a whole flock of the Archchancellor’s swearwords fluttered and buzzed. And Windle Poons was leading a small deputation to the Library.
The Librarian of Unseen University knuckled his way hurriedly across the floor as the door trolley leapt for a gap in the wizards and would have made it except that the gap was occupied by the Bursar, who gave a scream and pitched forward into the basket. The trolley didn’t stop but rattled onwards, towards the gates.The Dean raised his staff. The Archchancellor grabbed it. ‘You might hit the Bursar,’ he said.‘Just one small fireball
that’s ridiculous.’
‘Maybe. Isn’t there a sort of cuckoo in the Ramtops that builds clocks to nest in?’ said the Bursar.
‘Yes, but that’s just courtship ritual,’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes airily. ‘Besides, they keep lousy time.’
The ?’
‘It’s tempting, but no. Come on. After it.’
‘Yo!’
‘If you like.’
The wizards lumbered in pursuit. Behind them, as yet unnoticed, a whole flock of the Archchancellor’s swearwords fluttered and buzzed. And Windle Poons was leading a small deputation to the Library.
The Librarian of Unseen University knuckled his way hurriedly across the floor as the door trolley leapt for a gap in the wizards and would have made it except that the gap was occupied by the Bursar, who gave a scream and pitched forward into the basket. The trolley didn’t stop but rattled onwards, towards the gates.The Dean raised his staff. The Archchancellor grabbed it. ‘You might hit the Bursar,’ he said.‘Just one small fireball
Thursday, 2 April 2009
Vincent van Gogh The Olive Trees
Vincent van Gogh The Olive TreesVincent van Gogh Fishing in SpringUnknown Artist Ranson Apple Tree with Red Fruit
There was a faint knocking at the barn door, below the hayloft. He heard it pushed open.
‘Are you decent, Bill Door?’ said Miss Flitworth’s voice in the darkness.
Bill Door an astronaut is aware of weather patterns below him; they’re all visible, all there, all laid out for study and all totally divorced from actual experience. THANK YOU, he said.
Miss Flitworth looked around.
‘You’ve really made yourself at home here,’ she said brightly.
YES.
She pulled the shawl around her shoulders.analysed the sentence for meaning within context.YES? he ventured.‘I’ve brought you a hot milk drink.’YES?‘Come on, quick now. Otherwise it’ll go cold.’Bill Door cautiously climbed down the wooden ladder. Miss Flitworth was holding a lantern, and had a shawl around her shoulders.‘It’s got cinnamon on it. My Ralph always liked cinnamon.’ She sighed. Bill Door was aware of undertones and overtones in the same way that
There was a faint knocking at the barn door, below the hayloft. He heard it pushed open.
‘Are you decent, Bill Door?’ said Miss Flitworth’s voice in the darkness.
Bill Door an astronaut is aware of weather patterns below him; they’re all visible, all there, all laid out for study and all totally divorced from actual experience. THANK YOU, he said.
Miss Flitworth looked around.
‘You’ve really made yourself at home here,’ she said brightly.
YES.
She pulled the shawl around her shoulders.analysed the sentence for meaning within context.YES? he ventured.‘I’ve brought you a hot milk drink.’YES?‘Come on, quick now. Otherwise it’ll go cold.’Bill Door cautiously climbed down the wooden ladder. Miss Flitworth was holding a lantern, and had a shawl around her shoulders.‘It’s got cinnamon on it. My Ralph always liked cinnamon.’ She sighed. Bill Door was aware of undertones and overtones in the same way that
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
Pino MOTHER'S LOVE
Pino MOTHER'S LOVEPino Morning DreamsPino LONG STEMMED LOVELIESPino DRESSING TABLEPino DAYDREAM
’ he suggested.
The chandelier dropped.
Bits of table and crockery smashed into the walls. Lumps of lethal tallow the size of a man’s head whirred through the windows. A whole candle, propelled out of the wreckage at a freak velocity, was driven several inches into a door.
The Archchancellor disentangled himself from the remains of his chair.
‘Bursar!’ he yelled.
The Bursar was exhumed from the fireplace.
‘Um, yes,Brandy. He was quite attached to his hat.
But it was no longer attached to him.
It drifted gently across the room. There was a faint but distinct gurgling noise.
The Archchancellor leapt to his feet.’Bugger that,’ he roared.’That stuff’s nine dollars a fifth!’ He made a leap for the hat, missed, and kept on going until he drifted to a halt several feet above the ground. The Bursar raised a hand, nervously.
‘Possibly woodworm?’ he said. Archchancellor?’ he quavered.‘What was the meanin’ of that?’Ridcully’s hat rose from his head.It was a basic floppy-brimmed, pointy wizarding hat, but adapted to the Archchancellor’s outgoing lifestyle. Fishing flies were stuck in it. A very small pistol crossbow was shoved in the hatband in case he saw something to shoot while out jogging, and Mustrum Ridcully had found that the pointy bit was just the right size for a small bottle of Bentinck’s Very Old Peculiar
’ he suggested.
The chandelier dropped.
Bits of table and crockery smashed into the walls. Lumps of lethal tallow the size of a man’s head whirred through the windows. A whole candle, propelled out of the wreckage at a freak velocity, was driven several inches into a door.
The Archchancellor disentangled himself from the remains of his chair.
‘Bursar!’ he yelled.
The Bursar was exhumed from the fireplace.
‘Um, yes,Brandy. He was quite attached to his hat.
But it was no longer attached to him.
It drifted gently across the room. There was a faint but distinct gurgling noise.
The Archchancellor leapt to his feet.’Bugger that,’ he roared.’That stuff’s nine dollars a fifth!’ He made a leap for the hat, missed, and kept on going until he drifted to a halt several feet above the ground. The Bursar raised a hand, nervously.
‘Possibly woodworm?’ he said. Archchancellor?’ he quavered.‘What was the meanin’ of that?’Ridcully’s hat rose from his head.It was a basic floppy-brimmed, pointy wizarding hat, but adapted to the Archchancellor’s outgoing lifestyle. Fishing flies were stuck in it. A very small pistol crossbow was shoved in the hatband in case he saw something to shoot while out jogging, and Mustrum Ridcully had found that the pointy bit was just the right size for a small bottle of Bentinck’s Very Old Peculiar
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