Jack Vettriano And So to Bed

Jack Vettriano And So to BedJack Vettriano an Imperfect pastJack Vettriano An Imperfect Past II
skinny one's wearing a flared robe,' said Noddy.
'He must be old.'
'And they've all got guitars! Do you reckon they've come to see us?'
'Bound to have,' what Music With Rocks In is about!'
Asphalt, Cliff and Glod sat in one corner of the dressing room. The roar of the crowd could be heard from here.
'Why's he not saying anything?' Asphalt whispered.
'Dunno,' said Glod.
Buddy was staring at nothing, with the guitar cradled in his arms. Occasionally he'd slap the casing, very gently, in time with whatever thoughts were sluicing through his head.
'He goes like that sometimes,' said Cliff. 'Just sits and looks at the air–’
'Hey, they're shouting something out there,' said Glod. 'Listen.'
The roar had a rhythm to it.said Noddy.'That's a bodacious audience,' said Jimbo.'Yeah, that's right, bodacious,' said Scum. 'Er. What's bodacious mean?''Means . . . means it bodes,' said Jimbo.'Right. It looks like it's boding all right.'Crash thrust aside his doubts.'Let's get out there,' he said, 'and really show them

Jack Vettriano Winter Light and Lavender

Jack Vettriano Winter Light and LavenderJack Vettriano Welcome To My WorldJack Vettriano We Can't Tell Right from Wrong
The old music shop was right up against the University, after all, and magic did leak out despite what the wizards always said about the talking rats and walking trees just being statistical flukes. But this didn't feel like magic. It felt a lot older than that. It felt like music.
Glod 'Door's too narrow.'
Buddy, coming up the stairs behind the troll, heard the crunch of woodwork.
'Try it again.'
'Fits perfectly.'
There was a piano‑shaped hole around the doorway. Glod was standing next to it, holding his axe. Buddy looked at the wreckage all over the landing.
'What the hell are you doing?' he said. 'That's someone else's wall !'
'Well? It's someone else's piano.'
'Yes, but . . . you can't just hack holes in the wall–’
'What's more important? Some wall or getting the sound right?' said ‑Glod.
Buddy hesitated. Part of him thought: that's ridiculous, it's

Thomas Cole Kaaterskill Falls

Thomas Cole Kaaterskill FallsClaude Monet Vetheuil In SummerClaude Monet The LuncheonClaude Monet Sunflowers
bald towel dropped off the rail and skipped across the floor, until it fell away to reveal the Death of Rats.
SQUEAK?
'Oh, all right,' said Susan. 'Where do you want me to go now?'
The rat scurried to the ‘'Snot my fault! [spray] I was against it from the start but, oh no, he has to go and [recover piece of ballistic sausage from table] start gettin' involved, I told him, i's'not as if you're not involved [stab unidentified fried object], oh no, that's not his way [spray, jab fork at the air], once you get involved like that, I said, how're you getting out, tell me that [make temporary egg‑and‑ketchup sanopen door and disappeared into the hall.Susan followed it to yet another door. She turned yet another handle.Another room within a room lay beyond. There was a tiny area of lighted tiling in the darkness, containing the distant vision of a table, a few chairs, a kitchen dresser––and someone. A hunched figure was sitting at the table. As Susan cautiously approached she heard the rattle of cutlery on a plate.An old man was eating his supper, very noisily. In between forkfuls, he was talking to himself with his mouth full. It was a kind of auto bad manners.dwich] but, oh no–'

Andy Warhol Shadows I

Andy Warhol Shadows IAndy Warhol OxidationAndy Warhol NeuschwansteinAndy Warhol Knives black and white
No‑one knows why Death started to take a practical interest in the human beings he had worked with for so long. It was probably just curiosity. Even the most efficient rat‑catcher will sooner or later take an interest in rats. They might watch rats live and die, and record every detail of rat existence, although they may never themselves actually know what it is Actually, it's only thirty‑three per cent, but it could be worse.

Where to finish?
A dark, stormy night. A coach, horses gone, plunging through the rickety, useless fence and dropping, tumbling into the gorge below. It doesn't even strike an outcrop of rock before it hits the dried river‑bed far below, and erupts into fragmentslike to run the maze.But if it is true that the act of observing changes the thing which is more true that it changes the observer.Mort and Ysabell got married.They had a child.This is also a story about sex and drugs and Music With Rocks In.Well . . .. . . one out of three ain't bad.

Piet Mondrian Mill in Sunlight

Piet Mondrian Mill in SunlightPiet Mondrian Avond Evening Red TreeMichael Austin The Black DrapeTalantbek Chekirov Tender Passion
clothes brush would be something.'
They froze as the door creaked open.
Carrot walked in. He didn't notice them in the gloom, but trudged to the table. There was a flare and a reek of sulphur as he lit first a match and then a candle.
He removed his helmet, and then sagged as if he'd finally allowed a weight to drop on his shoulders.
They heard him say: 'It can't be right!'
'What can't?' said Angua.
Carrot 'Shut up!' said Angua.
'What?' said Carrot.
'I found out about the room,' said Angua quickly. 'Someone called—'
'Edward d'Eath?' said Carrot, sitting down on the bed. The ancient springs went groing-groing-grink.
'How did you know that?'spun around.'What're you doing here?''Your uniform got stolen while you were spying in the Assassins' Guild,' Gaspode prompted.'My uniform got stolen,' said Angua, 'while I was in the Assassins' Guild. Spying.' Carrot was still staring at her. 'There was some old bloke who kept muttering all the time,' she went on desperately.'Buggrit? Millennium hand and shrimp?''Yes, that's right—''Foul Ole Ron.' Carrot sighed. 'Probably sold it for a drink. I know where he lives, though. Remind me to go and have a word with him when I've got time.''You don't want to ask her what she was wearing when she was in the Guild,' said Gaspode, who had crept under the bed.

Cao Yong GARDEN BEAUTIES

Cao Yong GARDEN BEAUTIESCao Yong FreedomCao Yong Day of Love
O. T. Dibbler's Genuine Authentic Soggy Mountain Dew,' she read. 'He's going to die! It says, "One hundred and fifty per cent proof"!'
'Nah, that's just old m' drun' if I was sober!'
'Get him some coffee,' said Angua.
'I reckon he's beyond our coffee,' said Colon. 'Nobby, nip along to Fat Sally's in Squeezebelly Alley and get a jug of their special Klatchian stuff. Not a metal jug, mind.'
Vimes blinked as they manhandled him into a chair.
All go 'way,' he said. 'Bang! Bang!'
'Lady Sybil's going to be really mad,' said Nobby. 'You know he promised to leave it alone.'
'Captain Vimes?' said Carrot.

Pierre Auguste Renoir After The Bath

Pierre Auguste Renoir After The BathPierre Auguste Renoir After The Bath 1888Thomas Kinkade The old fishing hole
Lightning lemons? If 11 be men with wings next!
And you know what he said? You know what he said? He said: Funny you should say that . . . Poor old chap.'
Even Cuddy joined in the laughter.
'And did you try it?' he .'
'I thought it was some alchemy thing,' said Cuddy. 'It looks a bit like a crossbow without the bow. And this word Ennogeht. What does that mean?'
'Search me. Sounds barbarian to me. Anyway . . . if that's all, officer . . . we've got some serious research to do,' said Silverfish, tossing the fake ivory ball up in the air and catching it again. 'We're not all daydreamers like poor old Leonard.'
'Ennogeht,' said Cuddy, turning the paper round andsaid, afterwards.'Try what?' said Silverfish.'Har. Har. Har,' said Detritus, toiling behind the others.'Putting the metal rods in the lemons?''Don't be a damn: fool.''What dis letter mean?' said Detritus, pointing at the paper.They looked.'Oh, that's not a symbol,' said Silverfish. 'That's just old Leonard's way. He was always doodling in margins. Doodle, doodle, doodle. I told him: you should call yourself Mr Doodle

Thomas Kinkade Pinocchio Wishes Upon a Star

Thomas Kinkade Pinocchio Wishes Upon a StarCao Yong CatalinaUnknown Artist Lazlo Emmerich KenyaDiego Rivera Night of the Rich
old chap,' said Sergeant Colon. 'OK. What else have we got. . . yes, Carrot?'
'Now, they've got to take the King's Shilling,' said Carrot.
'Right. Yes. OK.' Colon'Yeah? From ambush,' grunted Detritus, glowering at the dwarf.
'What? It was the trolls—' Cuddy began.
'Shut up,' said Colon. 'Look, it says here. . . says here they're marching. . . says here they're marching up Short Street.' He turned the paper over. 'Is this right?' fished in his pocket, and took out three sequin-sized Ankh-Morpork dollars, which had about the gold content of seawater. He tossed them one at a time to the recruits.'This is called the King's Shilling,' he said, glancing at Carrot. 'Dunno why. You gotta get give it when you join. Regulations, see. Shows you've joined.' He looked embarrassed for a moment, and then coughed. 'Right. Oh, yeah. Loada roc—some trolls,' he corrected himself, 'got some kind of march down Short Street. Lance-Constable Detritus – don't let him salute! Right. What's this about, then?''It Troll New Year,' said Detritus.'Is it? S'pose we got to learn about this sort of thing now. And says here there's this gritsuc—this dwarf rally or something—''Battle of Koom Valley Day,' said Constable Cuddy. 'Famous victory over the trolls.' He looked smug, insofar as anything could be seen behind the beard.

Joseph Mallord William Turner Mortlake Terrace

Joseph Mallord William Turner Mortlake TerraceJoseph Mallord William Turner Rain, Steam and Speed - The Great Western RailwayGustave Courbet MarineGustave Courbet Woman with a Parrot.
Pratchett
queen was crowned, by the king, as part of the ceremony. It
wasn’t technically difficult for any king who knew which
end of a queen was which, which even the most inbred king
figured out in two goes.
But it seemed to Ponder Stibbons that the ritual wob-bled a bit at this point.
It seemed, in fact,“Ook!”
“Thank you.”
“Nail it to the counter, Lord Ferguson, and damn the
cheesemongers!”
“Thank you.”
“Can I kiss the bride?” that just as he was about to lower the crown on the bride’s head he glanced across the hall to where the skinny old witch was standing. And nearly every-one else did too, including the bride.The old witch nodded very slightly.Magrat was crowned.Wack-fol-a-diddle, etc.The bride and groom stood side by side, shaking hands with the long line of guests in that dazed fashion normal at this point in the ceremony.“I’m sure you’ll be very happy—““Thank you.”

Pop art miles davis no.8

Pop art miles davis no.8Pop art miles 1960Pop art miles 1960, on rust
The skirt tore. A dozen lace roses unraveled.
Shawn had never been privy to what queens wore under
230
LORDS ftffQ Lft0/£6
their clothesmethodically, using strips of silk as bandages. Diamanda was less easy. Magrat cleaned and stitched and bandaged, while Shawn sat and watched, trying to ignore the insistent hot-ice pain from his arm.
He kept repeating, “They just laughed and stabbed her.
She didn’t even try to run away. It was like they were playing.”
For some reason Magrat shot a glance at Greebo, who had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Pointy ears and hair you want to stroke,” she said, vaguely. “And they can fascinate you. And when , but even starting with certain observations concerning Millie Chillum and working his way up, he’d never considered metal underwear.Magrat thumped the breastplate.“Fairly good fit,” she said, defying Shawn to point out that in certain areas there was quite a lot of air between the metal and Magrat. “Not that a few tucks and a rivet here and there wouldn’t help. Don’t you think it looks good?”“Oh, yes,” said Shawn. “Uh. Sheet iron is really you.”“You really think so?”“Oh, yes,” said Shawn, inventing madly. “You’ve got the figure for it.”She set and splinted his arm and fingers, working

Thomas Gainsborough Evening Landscape Peasants and Mounted Figures

Thomas Gainsborough Evening Landscape Peasants and Mounted FiguresThomas Gainsborough Conversation in a ParkSandro Botticelli Madonna with the Child
Yeah, but she probably meant . . . you know . . . with magical intent,” said Carter. “Nothing magical about pranc-ing around in wigs and stuff.”
“Right,” said Thatcher. “And it’ll be really private.”
“And,” said Weaver, “if any young women fancies sneak-ing back up there to dance around without their drawers on, we’ll be sure to see ‘em.”
There was a moment of absolute, introspective silence.
“I reckon,” “Oh, all right,” said Jason, clearly outnumbered. “Can’t see it can do any harm. We’re only actin’. It’s . . . it’s make-believe. It’s not as if it’s anything real. But no one’s to do any dancing. Especially, and I want everyone to be absolutely defnite about this, the Stick and Bucket dance.”
“Oh, we’ll be acting all right,” said Weaver. “And keep-ing watch as well, o’course.”
“It’s our duty to the community,” said Thatcher, again.
“Make-believe is bound to be all right,” said Jason, uncertainly.said Thatcher, voicing the unspoken views of nearly all of them, “we owes it to the community.”“We-ell,” said Jason, “me mam said ...”“Anyway, your mum’s a fine one to talk,” said Weaver.“My dad said that when he was young, your mum hardlyever had—“l i.e., having a lot of bosk. 142LORQ6 fiNQ LftD/£6

George Bellows Red Sun

George Bellows Red SunGeorge Bellows Polo CrowdGeorge Bellows Gull Rock and Whitehead
Makeup?”
“Yeah, and your wig,” said Tailor the other weaver.
“He’s right, though,” said Weaver. “If we’re going to
make fools of ourselves, I don’t want no one to see me until
we’re good at it.”
“Somewhere off the beaten track, like,” said Thatcher
the carter.
“Out in the country,” said Tinker the tinker.
“Where no one goes,” said Carter.
Jason scratched his cheese-grater chin. He was bound to
think of somewhere.
“And who’s going to play Exeunt Omnes?” said Weaver.
“He doesn’t have much to say, does he?”
*Well, it’s like children, and Charity expected to get a dollar’s change out of seventy-five pence—whereas the boys had grown into amiable, well-tempered men, and Bestiality Carter was, for example, very kind to animals.
85
Terry Pratchettthis . . . The Carter parents were a quiet and respectableLancre family who got into a bit of a mix-up when it came to namingtheir children. First, they had four daughters, who were christened Hope,Chastity, Prudence, and Charity, because naming girls after virtues is anancient and unremarkable tradition. Then their first son was bom and outof some misplaced idea about how this naming business was done he wascalled Anger Carter, followed later by Jealousy Carter, Bestiality Carter,and Covetousness Carter. Life being what it is. Hope turned out to be adepressive. Chastity was enjoying life as a lady of negotiable affection inAnkh-Morpork, Prudence had thirteen
The coach rattled across the featureless plains

Leroy Neiman Femlin

Leroy Neiman FemlinUnknown Artist Abstract Autumn by DougallAndy Warhol Shot Blue Marilyn 1964
after a hundred years?"
II. We Shall SeeVI. And Brave, Too, To Declare Atheism Before Your God.
"This doesn't change anything, you know!" said Simony. "Don't think you can get round me by existing! "
"No help," said Brutha, firmly.
"What?" said Simony. "We'll need a mighty army against that lot!"
"Yes. And we haven't got one. So we'll do it another way."
"You're crazy!"
Brutha's calmness was like a desert.
"This may be the case."
"We have to fight!"
"Not yet."."Agreed."A finger the length of a tree unfolded, descended, touched Brutha.III. You Have A Persuasive Way. You Will Need It. A Fleet Approaches."Ephebians?" said Simony.IV. And Tsorteans. And Djelibeybians. And Klatchians. Every Free Country Along The Coast. To Stamp Out Omnia For Good. Or Bad."You don't have many friends, do you?" said Urn."Even I don't like us much, and I am us," said Simony. He looked up at the god."Will you help?"V. You Don't Even Believe In Me!"Yes, but I'm a practical man."

Edward Hopper Queensborough Bridge

Edward Hopper Queensborough BridgeEdward Hopper House by the RailroadAmedeo Modigliani the Seated Nude
You can't believe in Great A'Tuin," he said. "Great A'Tuin exists. There's no point in believing in things that exist."
"Someone's put up their hand," said Urn.
"Yes?"
"Sir, surely only things that exist are worth believing in?" said the enquirer, who was wearing a uniform of a sergeant of the Holy Guard.
"If they exist, you went on talking.
"This isn't what they came to hear! Can't you do anything?"
"Sorry?" said Urn.
"They don't want philosophy. They want a reason to move against the Church! Now! Vorbis is dead, the Cenobiarch is gaga, the hierarchy are busy stabbing one another in the back. The Citadel is like a big rotten plum."don't have to believe in them," said Didactylos. "They just are." He sighed. "What can I tell you? What do you want to hear? I just wrote down what people know. Mountains rise and fall, and under them the Turtle swims onward. Men live and die, and the Turtle Moves. Empires grow and crumble, and the Turtle Moves. Gods come and go, and still the Turtle Moves. The Turtle Moves. "From the darkness came a voice, "And that is really true?"Didactylos shrugged. "The Turtle exists. The world is a flat disc. The sun turns round it once every day, dragging its light behind it. And this will go on happening, whether you believe it is true or not. It is real. I don't know about truth. Truth is a lot more complicated than that. I don't think the Turtle gives a bugger whether it's true or not, to tell you the truth."Simony pulled Urn to one side as the philosopher

John William Waterhouse Boreas

John William Waterhouse BoreasJohn William Waterhouse AriadneJohn William Waterhouse A Mermaid
Oh. I'm sorry," he muttered. He walked back sombrely to the blunt end, and tried to keep out of the soldier's way.pick up his words as they reached his vocal chords.
Ahead of him, Simony shadowed the deacon, staring suspiciously at each Ephebian guard.
"That's a funny thing," said Om. "Winners never talk about glorious victories. That's because they're the ones who see what the battlefield looks like afterward. It's only the losers who have glorious victories.Anyway, there were more soldiers, soon enough . . .The Ephebians were expecting them. Soldiers lined the quay, weapons held in a way that stopped just short of being a direct insult. And there were a lot of them.Brutha trailed along, the voice of the tortoise insinuating itself in his head."So the Ephebians want peace, do they?" said Om. "Doesn't look like that. Doesn't look like we're going to lay down the law to a defeated enemy. Looks like we took a pasting and don't want to take any more. Looks like we're suing for peace. That's what it looks like to me.""In the Citadel everyone said it was a glorious victory," said Brutha. He found he could talk now with his lips hardly moving at all; Om seemed able to "

Andy Warhol Diamond Dust Shoes

Andy Warhol Diamond Dust ShoesAndy Warhol daisy 1982Andy Warhol Camouflage green yellow white
Then Fri'it said, "Are we safe up here?"
Drunah looked up. An eagle circled over the dry hills. He found himself wondering how good an eagle's hearing was. It ? No one knew, exactly. What was the name of the man beside you? Two other members knew, because they would have introduced him, but who were they behind these masks? Because knowledge was dangerous. If you knew, the inquisitions could wind it slowly out of you. So you made sure you didn't know. This made conversation much easier during cell meetings, and impossible outside of them.
It was the problem of all tentative conspirators throughout history: how to conspire without certainly was good at something. Was it hearing? It could hear a creature half a mile below in the silence of the desert. What the hells-it couldn't talk as well, could it?"Probably," he said."Can I trust you?" said Fri'it."Can I trust you?"Fri'it drummed his fingers on the parapet."Uh," he said.And that was the problem. It was the problem of all really secret societies. They were secret. How many members did the Turtle Movement have

Caravaggio Judith Beheading Holofernes

Caravaggio Judith Beheading HolofernesCaravaggio Amor Vincit OmniaPierre-Auguste Cot Le Printemps
someone. At the very least, if it was deep enough in the forest, millions of small gods would have heard it.
Things just happen, one after another. They don't care who knows. But history . . . ah, history is different. History has to be observed. Otherwise it's not history. It's just . . . well, things happening one after another.
And, of course, They live . . . well, in the nature of things they live wherever they are sent, but their spiritual home is in a hidden valley in the high Ramtops of the Discworld, where the books of history are kept.
These aren't books in which the events of the past are pinned like so many butterflies to a cork. These are the books from which history is derived. There are more than twenty thousand of them; each one is ten feet high, bound in lead, and the letters are so small that they have to be read with a magnifying it has to be controlled. Otherwise it might turn into anything. Because history, contrary to popular theories, is kings and dates and battles. And these things have to happen at the right time. This is difficult. In a chaotic universe there are too many things to go wrong. It's too easy for a general's horse to lose a shoe at the wrong time, or for someone to mishear an order, or for the carrier of the vital message to be waylaid by some men with sticks and a cash flow problem. Then there are wild stories, parasitic growths on the tree of history, trying to bend it their way.So history has its caretakers.

Paul Cezanne Poplar Trees

Paul Cezanne Poplar TreesPaul Cezanne Leda with SwanPaul Cezanne House and Trees
of metal joints gave a half-hearted wobble and then the whole thing snapped at the knee.
The three of Creosote.
'Oh, good,' said Conina. She prodded gingerly at a flagstone which, to Rincewind, looked no different to any of its fellows. With a sad little springy noise a moulting feather duster wobbled out of the wall at armpit height.
'I think I would have quite liked to meet the old Seriph,' she said, through gritted teeth, 'although not to shake him by the hand. You'd better give me a leg up here, wizard.'
'Pardon?'them looked at it in silence. Then Conina said, 'We're dealing here with a warped brain, I can tell.'Rincewind gingerly unhooked the sign and let it drop. Conina pushed past him and stalked along the passage with an air of angry caution, and when a metal hand extended itself on a spring and waggled in a friendly fashion she didn't shake it but instead traced its moulting wiring to a couple of corroded electrodes in a big glass jar.'Your grandad was a man with a sense of humour?' she said.'Oh, yes. Always liked a chuckle,' said

Leroy Neiman Resting Lion

Leroy Neiman Resting LionLeroy Neiman Hand Off Superbowl IIIJean-Honore Fragonard the reader
Who are you?
Rincewind, thought Rincewind. And in the inner recesses of his head he tried to think privately to himself ... help.
He felt his screaming; it wouldn't have made it any better, but it would have seemed more appropriate. The silence bespoke an unpleasant air of purpose.
'Gods, that was awful,' he said. 'Mind you, so is this.'
Crew members scurried across the deck, cutlasses in hand. Conina tapped Rincewind on the shoulder.knees begin to buckle under the weight of centuries.What's it like, being dead? he thought.Death is but a sleep, said the dead mages.But what does it feel like? Rincewind thought.You will have an unrivalled chance to find out when those war canoes get here, Rincewind. With a yelp of terror he thrust upwards and forced the hat off his head. Real life and sound flooded back in, but since someone was frantically banging a gong very close to his ear this was not much of an improvement. The canoes were visible to everyone now, cutting through the water with an eerie silence. Those black-clad figures manning the paddles should have been whooping and

Thomas Kinkade Sunset at Riverbend Farm

Thomas Kinkade Sunset at Riverbend FarmThomas Kinkade Seaside HideawayThomas Kinkade Pools of Serenity

Freezing fog filled the streets of Ankh-Morpork. The flares of street traders made little yellow haloes in the smothering billows.
The girl 'I want it to be dull and uninteresting,' said Rincewind bitterly. 'I'm afraid it's going to be short.'
'Turn your back,' she commanded, stepping into an alley.
'Not on your life,' he said.
'I'm going to take my clothes off.'
Rincewind spun around, his face red. There was a rustling peered around a corner.'We've lost them,' she said. 'Stop shaking. You're safe now.''What, you mean I'm all alone with a female homicidal maniac?' said Rincewind. 'Fine.'She relaxed and laughed at him.'I was watching you,' she said. 'An hour ago you were afraid that your future was going to be dull and uninteresting.'