Thomas Kinkade Silent Night

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Victor looked at Dibbler and raised his eyebrows.
‘I suppose they might be able to,’ Dibbler conceded. Victor nodded. Laddie leaped gracefully, snatched the torch out of his hand and ran back into the building with Gaspode lurching after him.
‘Did Islow magnesium.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s get the hell out of‑‘
The Thing screamed. What semblance there still was of Victor left it, and something like an explosion in an aquarium twisted among the flames. A tentacle whipped out and grabbed Gaspode by the leg.
He turned and tried to bite it.
Laddie ricocheted back down the stricken hall and launched hear things, or can that little dog speak?’ said Dibbler.‘He says he can’t,’ said Victor.Dibbler hesitated. The excitement was unhinging him a little. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I suppose he should know.’ The dogs bounded towards the screen. The Victor‑Thing was nearly through, half‑sprawled among the cans.‘Can I light the fire?’ said Gaspode. ‘ ‘Smy job, really.’Laddie barked obediently and dropped the blazing paper. Gaspode snapped it up and advanced cautiously towards the Thing.‘Savin’ the day,’ he said, indistinctly, and dropped the torch on a coil of film. It flared instantly and burned with a sticky white fire, like

Mark Rothko Untitled 1962

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Laddie?’ he whispered hoarsely.
There was a delighted bark.
‘Good boy Laddie!’
‘Yeah,’ said Gaspode. ‘Yeah.’ He sighed. Had he ever been like that? If he had, thank goodness he hadn’t known about it.
‘Me good boy!’
‘Sure, sure. Laddie be quiet,’ muttered Gaspode, and squeezed his arthritic body under the fence. Laddie licked his face ascould salute, he would have done.
Gaspode wriggled under the fence again, and waited. He could hear Laddie’s footsteps the other side, but the big dog seemed to be padding away from the fence.
‘No!’ hissed Gaspode. ‘Follow me!’ he emerged.‘I’m too old for this sort of stuff,’ he muttered, and peered at the kennel.‘A choke chain,’ he said. ‘A bloody choke chain. Stop pulling on it, you daft idiot. Back up. Back up. Right.’Gaspode shoved a paw into the loop and eased it over Laddie’s head.‘There,’ he said. ‘If we all knew how to do that, we’d be runnin’ the world. Now stop kiddin’ around. We need you.’Laddie sprang to tongue‑lolling attention. If dogs
There was a scurry of paws, a swishing noise, and Laddie

Edgar Degas At the Milliners

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their soul a quick wash-and-brush-up and gen’rally keep on tellin’ the gods what a decent chap they was.’
‘Gaspode?’ said Victor levelly.
‘What?’resting on his sword.
‘It might not mean a man,’ he said. ‘Pictographic writing doesn’t work like that. It’s all down to context, you see.’ He racked his brains to think of some of the books he’d seen. ‘For example, in the Agatean language the signs for "woman" and "slave" written down together actually mean "wife".’
He looked closely at the page. The dead man - or the sleeping man, or the standing man resting his hands on his sword, the figure was so stylized it was hard to be sure seemed to appear beside ‘You were a performing dog. How come you know all this stuff?’ ‘I ain’t just a pretty face.’ ‘You aren’t even a pretty face, Gaspode.’ The little dog shrugged. ‘I’ve always had eyes and ears,’ he said. ‘You’d be amazed, the stuff you see and hear when you’re a dog. I dint know what any of it meant at the time, of course. Now I do.’ Victor stared at the pages again. There certainly was a figure which, if you half-closed your eyes, looked very much like a statue of a knight with his hands

Leonardo da Vinci Mona Lisa Smile

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belonged to the Dibbler school of cuisine.
‘It’s stoo or puffin, boy.’ The cook leered. ‘Half a dollar. Cheap at half the price.’
Victor handedVictor stared at the troll’s plate.
‘I didn’t know trolls ate rock,’ he said, before he could stop himself.
‘Why not?’
‘Aren’t you made of it?’ over the money with reluctance, and looked around for Ginger. ‘Over here,’ said Ginger, sitting down at one of the long tables. ‘Hi, Thunderfoot. Hi, Breccia, how’s it goin’? This is Vic. New boy. Hi, Sniddin, didn’t see you there.’ Victor found himself wedged between Ginger and a mountain troll in what looked like chain mail, but it turned out to be just Holy Wood chain mail, which was inexpertly knitted string painted silver. Ginger started talking animatedly to a four-inch-high gnome and a dwarf in one half of a bear outfit, leaving Victor feeling a little isolated. The troll nodded at him, and then grimaced at its plate. ‘Dey call dis pumice,’ he said. ‘Dey never even bother to cut der lava off. And you can’t even taste der sand.’

Marc Chagall Rain

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century is this? Is it?’ and then raised the megaphone again and continued in the original plummily optimistic tones ‘–Century of the Fruitbat! No less than the birth of Moving Pictures! Pictures that move without magic!’
He to create Illusion! Illusion, Ladies and Gentlemen, without recourse to Magic! ‘
Victor let his gaze slide downwards. There was nothing down there but the little dog, industriously scratching itself. It looked up slowly, and said ‘Woof?’
‘–Potential for Learning! The Arts! History! I thank you, Ladies waited for the applause. There wasn’t any. The crowd just watched him. You needed to do more than end your sentences with exclamation marks to get a round of applause from an Ankh-Morpork crowd. Slightly dispirited, he went on, ‘Seeing is Believing, they say! But, ladies and gentlemen, you will not believe the Evidence of Your Own Eyes! What you are about to witness is a Triumph of Natural Science! A Marvel of the Age! A Discovery of World, nay, dare I say, Universe-Shaking Proportions!–’ ‘ ‘S got to be better than that bloody sausage, anyway,’ said a quiet voice by Victor’s knee. ‘–Harnessing Natural Mechanisms

Georges Seurat Le Chahut

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nearest crocodile. The mere thought filled him with forbidden delight.
'Brethren!' he cried.
'Excuse Er.'
What next? What, when you got right down to it, was he going to tell them to do? And then he thought: it doesn't matter. Provided I sound confident enough. Old Dios always drove them, he never tried to lead them. Without him they're wandering around like sheep. me,' said the priestess of Sarduk. 'And sistren-' 'Thank you.' '-let us rejoice!' The assembled priests stood in total silence. This was a radical approach which had not hitherto occurred to them. And Koomi looked at their upturned faces and felt a thrill the like of which he had never experienced before. They were frightened out of their wits, and they were expecting him - him - to tell them what to do. 'Yea!' he said. 'And, indeed, verily, the hour of the gods-' '-and goddesses-' '-yes, and goddesses, is at hand.

Jack Vettriano Candy and Mr Smith

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Abruptly, and with no sound, a section of parapet slid outwards and dropped.
There was a crash as it hit the roof below and then slid down the tiles. Another pause was punctuated by a distant thumpdid find the poisoned needles painted black and glued to the inner face of the pipe. He removed one with his tweezers and sniffed it.
Distilled bloat. Pretty expensive stuff, with an astonishing effect. He took a small glass phial from his belt and collected as many needles as he could find, and then put on his armoured gloves and, with the speed of a sloth, started to climb. as it hit the silent street. A dog barked. Stillness ruled the rooftops. Where Teppic had been the breeze stirred the burning air. After several minutes he emerged from the deeper shadow of a chimney stack, smiling a strange and terrible smile. Nothing the examiner could do could possibly be unfair. An assassin's clients were invariably rich enough to pay for extremely ingenious protection, up to and including hiring assassins of his own*. (* It was said that life was cheap in Ankh-Morpork. This was, of course, completely wrong. Life was often very expensive; you could get death for free) Mericet wasn't trying to kill him; he was merely trying to make him kill himself. He sidled up to the base of the tower and found a drainpipe. It hadn't been coated with slipall, rather to his surprise, but his gently questing fingers

Vincent van Gogh The Plain at Auvers

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most people, at any rate, below the age of sixty or so – Verence hadn't exercised his mind much about what happened to you when you died. Like most people since the dawn of time, he assumed it all somehow worked out all right in the end.
And, like most people since the dawn of time, he was now dead.
He was in fact lying at the bottom of tapped its calcareous fingers on the scythe's handle. It was obviously upset about something.
If it came to that, Verence thought, so am I. But the various broad hints available in his present circumstances were breaking through even the mad brave stupidity that made up most of his character, and it was dawning on him that whatever kingdom he might I SEE, he said. The tone suggested that death was too good for cat-haters. YOU LIKE GREAT BIG DOGS, I IMAGINE.
'As a matter of fact, I do.' The king stared gloomily at the dawn. His dogs. He'd really miss his dogs. And it looked like such a good hunting day.

Paul Klee Park bei Luzern

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none of your repartee,' said the bandit. 'I've been to the city, I have. I know repartee when I see it and—' he half turned to his followers, raising an eyebrow to indicate that the next remark was going to be witty – 'if you're not careful I can make a few cutting remarks of my own.'
There was deadspeech from The Troll's Tale, he thought . . .
'The point I'd just like to make is that—' said Tomjon, and his stance changed subtly, his voice became deeper, his right hand flung out dramatically – ' "The worth of man lies not in feats of arms, Or the fiery hunger o' the ravening—" '
It's going to be like when that man tried to rob us back in Sto Lat, Hwel thought silence behind him until he made an impatient gesture with his cutlass.'All right,' he said, against a chorus of uncertain laughter. 'We'll just take any loose change, valuables, food and clothing you might be having.''Could I say something?' said Tomjon.The company backed away from him. Hwel smiled at his own feet.'You're going to beg for mercy, are you?' said the bandit.'That's right.'Hwel thrust his hands deep into his pockets and looked up at the sky, whistling under his breath and trying not to break into a maniac grin. He was aware that the other actors were also looking expectantly at Tomjon.He's going to give them the mercy

Unknown Artist flower carrier

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'Yes, yes, very good, very good,' said Nanny. 'Only perhaps not just now and not just like this, eh?'
'Wyrd sisters, indeed!' Granny yelled. 'I'll make his—'
'Hold her a minute, Magrat,' said Nanny Ogg, and rolled up her sleeve.
'It can be like this with the highly-trained ones,' she said, and brought her palm round in a slap that lifted both witches Magrat.
'Ah,' said Nanny. She took the girl's arm. 'The thing is,' she explained, 'as you progress in the Craft, you'll learn there is another rule. Esme's obeyed it all her life.'
'And what's that?'
'When you break rules, break 'em good and hard,' said Nanny, and grinned a set of gums that were more menacing than teeth.off their feet. On such a flat, final note the universe ought have ended.At the conclusion of the breathless silence which followed Granny Weatherwax said, 'Thank you.'She adjusted her dress with some show of dignity, and added, 'But I meant it. We'll meet tonight at the stone and do what must be done. Ahem.'She reset the pins in her hat and set off unsteadily in the direction of her cottage.'Whatever happened to the rule about not meddling in politics?' said Magrat, watching her retreating back.Nanny Ogg massaged some life back into her fingers.'By Hoki, that woman's got a jaw like an anvil,' she said 'What was that?''I said, what about this rule about not meddling?' said

Amedeo Modigliani Caryatid 1

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was so small, only forty miles long and maybe ten miles wide, and nearly all of it was cruel mountains with ice-green slopes and knife-edge crests, or dense huddled forests. A kingdom like that shouldn't be any trouble.
What he Back down on the plains, if you kicked people they kicked back. Up here, when you kicked people they moved away and just waited patiently for your leg to fall off. How could a king go down in history ruling a people like that? You couldn't oppress them any more than you could oppress a mattress.couldn't quite fathom was this feeling that it had depth. It seemed to contain far too much geography.He rose and paced the floor to the balcony, with its unrivalled view of trees. It struck him that the trees were also looking back at him.He could feel the resentment. But that was odd, because the people themselves hadn't objected. They didn't seem to object to anything very much. Verence had been popular enough, in his way. There'd been quite a turnout for the funeral; he recalled the lines of solemn faces. Not stupid faces. By no means stupid. Just preoccupied, as though what kings did wasn't really very important.He found that almost as annoying as trees. A jolly good riot, now, that would have been more – more appropriate. One could have ridden out and hanged people, there would have been the creative tension so essential to the proper development of the state.

George Bellows Fog Rainbow

George Bellows Fog RainbowGeorge Bellows Both Members of This ClubGeorge Bellows Anne in White
'And now I'm going to the pub,' snapped Albert. 'Do they sell any halfway decent cat's piss anywhere these days?'
There's the Drum, sir,' said Rincewind.
'The Broken. Half an hour, mind. And if they're not waiting for me when I come back, then well, they'd just better be!'
He stormed out of the hall in a cloud of marble dust.
Rincewind watched him go. The librarian held his hand.
'You know the worst of it?' said Rincewind.
'Oook?'
'I don't even remember walking under a mirror.'
Drum? In Filigree Street? Still there?''Well, they change the name sometimes and rebuild it completely but the site has been, er, on the site for years. I expect you're pretty dry, eh, sir?' Rincewind said, with an air of ghastly camaraderie.'What would you know about it?' said Albert sharply.'Absolutely nothing, sir,' said Rincewind promptly.'I'm going to the Drum, then
At about the time Albert was in The Mended Drum arguing with the landlord

Camille Pissarro Still Life

Camille Pissarro Still LifeCamille Pissarro Morning Sunlight on the SnowCamille Pissarro Boulevard Montmarte
and then she thought he was dead, and she killed herself and then he woke up and so he did kill himself, and then there was, had a few rows, made up, got married and didn't kill themselves at all.
He became aware that the litany of star-crossed love had wound down.
'Oh,' he said, weakly. 'Doesn't anyone just, you know, just get along any more?'
To love is to suffer,' said Ysabell. There's got to be lots of dark passion.'
'Has there?'
'Absolutely. And anguish.' this girl —'Common sense suggested that at least a few women reached their third decade without killing themselves for love, but common sense didn't seem to get even a walk-on part in these aware that love made you feel hot and cold and cruel and weak, but he hadn't realised that it could make you stupid.' – swam the river every night, but one night there was this storm, and when he didn't arrive she —'Mort felt instinctively that some young couples met, say, at a village dance, and hit it off, and went out together for a year or two

Vincent van Gogh The Starry Night

Vincent van Gogh The Starry NightEdmund Blair Leighton God SpeedEdmund Blair Leighton The Accolade
, said Death.
'Only she's going to be queen, and if I could only let her—'
SORRY..
Mort felt Death's hand tighten on his shoulder, not in turned away reluctantly, following Death and the king.
They walked out through the wall. He was halfway after them before he realised that walking through walls was impossible.
The suicidal logic of this nearly killed him. He felt the chill of the stone The girl looked up and through Mort. He watched the duke walk up behind her and lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. A fault smile hovered around the man's lips. It was the sort of smile that lies on sandbanks waiting for incautious swimmers.I can't make you hear me, Mort said. Don't trust him!She peered at Mort, screwing up her eyes. He reached out, and watched his hand pass straight through hers.COME ALONG, BOY. NO LALLYGAGGING

Andy Warhol Knives black and white

Andy Warhol Knives black and whiteAndy Warhol GunsAndy Warhol Gun 1982
"Shall I tell you what happens to wicked staffs?" she hissed. "If Esk is lost to the world, shall I tell you what I will do to you? You were saved from the fire once, because you could pass on the hurt to her. Next time it won't be the fire."
Her voice sank to a whiplash whisper.
"First it'll be the spokeshave. And then the sandpaper, and the auger, and the whittling knife -"
"I say, steady on," said Cutangle, his eyes watering.
"- and what's left I'll stake out in the woods for the fungus and the woodlice and the beetles. It could take years."length in front of her, her hand clamped around the staff.
The ice was exploding off it, in gouts of steam.
"Right," finished Granny, "and if this happens again I shall be very angry, do I make myself clear?"
Cutangle lowered his hands and hurried towards her. The carvings writhed. Most of them had moved around the back, out of Granny's gaze. "Now," she said. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to pick you up and we are all going back to the University, aren't we? Otherwise it's blunt saw time." She rolled up her sleeves and extended a hand. "Wizard," she said, "I shall want you to release it." Cutangle nodded miserably. "When I say now, now! Now!" Cutangle opened his eyes again. Granny was standing with her left arm extended full

Marc Chagall La Mariee

Marc Chagall La MarieePaul Gauguin Yellow ChristPaul Gauguin Where Do We Come From
Oh, I expect they've got it coming to them. Come on, you go on ahead and put the kettle on."
Hilta gave her a mystified look, then climbed on her broom and rose slowly and erratically into the shadows among the chimneys. If broomsticks were cars, this one would be a split window Morris Minor.
Granny watched her go, then stumped along the wet streets after her. She was determined that they wouldn't The varnished surface with its strange carvings felt oddly comforting. Esk went to sleep, and dreamed bangles, and strange packages, and mountains. And distant stars above the mountainsget her up in one of those things. Esk lay in the big, fluffy and slightly damp sheets of the spare bed in the attic room of the Riddle. She was tired, but couldn't sleep. The bed was too chilly, for one thing. She wondered uneasily if she dared try to warm it up, but thought better of it. She couldn't seem to get the hang of fire spells, no matter how carefully she experimented. They either didn't work at all or worked only too well. The woods around the cottage were becoming treacherous with the holes left by disappearing fireballs; at least, if the wizardry thing didn't work then Granny said she'd have a fine future as a privy builder or well sinker. She turned over and tried to ignore the bed's faint smell of mushrooms. Then she reached out in the darkness until her hand found the staff, propped against the bedhead. Mrs Skiller had been quite insistent about taking it downstairs, but Esk had hung on like grim death. It was the only thing in the world she was absolutely certain belonged to her.

jasper johns Target with Four Faces

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'Twoflower.' The voice was hollow and echoing, and just recognisable as Rincewind's.
Twoflower stopped with his hand halfway to the book.
'Yes?' he said. 'Is that – is that you, Rincewind?'
'Yes,' said 'Good. Now, what I want you to do is —'
'Yes?'
Rincewind's voice rose from the depths of the stairwell.the voice, resonant with the tones of the grave. 'And there is something very important I want you to do for me, Twoflower.'Twofiower looked around. He pulled himself together. So the fate of the Disc would depend on him, after all.'I'm ready,' he said, his voice vibrating with pride. 'What is it you want me to do?''First, I want you to listen very carefully,' said Rincewind's disembodied voice patiently.'I'm listening.'It's very important that when I tell you what to do you don't say "What do you mean?" or argue or anything, understand?'Twoflower stood to attention. At least, his rnind stood to attention, his body really couldn't. He stuck out several of his chins.'I'm ready,' he said.

Jack Vettriano The Last Great Romantic

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'So we thought you might have some suggestions?' said the head troll, as meekly as it is possible to sound with a voice like a granite gargle.
'You said. 'Anything you want doing?'
'I was supposed to be making some soup,' said Rincewind. He waved the onions vaguely. It was probably not the most heroic or purposeful gesture ever made.
'Soup?' said the troll. 'Is that all?'
'Well, maybe some biscuits too.'
The trolls looked at one another, exposing enough mouth jewellery to buy a medium-sized city.
Eventually the biggest troll said, 'Soup it is, then.' It shrugged grittily. 'It's just that we imagined that the legendcould jump over the Edge,' said Rincewind. There must be lots of places in the universe that could do with some extra rocks.''We've heard about that,' said the troll. 'We've met rocks that tried it. They say you float about for millions of years and then you get very hot and burn away and end up at the bottom of a big hole in the scenery. That doesn't sound very bright.'It stood up with a noise like coal rattling down a chute, and stretched its thick, knobbly arms.'Well, we're supposed to help you,' it

Vincent van Gogh The Night Cafe in the Place Lamartine in Arles

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Twoflower sat down heavily on his bed.
'You've got it wrong,' he said. 'Elves are noble and beautiful and wise and fair; I'm sure I read that somewhere.'
Swires and Rincewind's kneecap exchanged glances.
'I think you must be thinking about different elves,' the gnome said slowly. 'We've just got the other sort around here. .
'What shall we do?' said Twoflower.
'Panic?' said Rincewind hopefully. He always held that panic was the best means of survival; back in the olden days, his theory went, people faced with hungry sabre-toothed tigers could be divided very simply into those who panicked and those who stood there saying 'What a magnificent brute!' and 'HerNot that you could call them quick-tempered,' he added hastily. 'Not if you didn't want to take your teeth your hat, anyway.'There was the tiny, distinctive sound of a nougat door opening. At the same time, from the other side of the cottage, came the faintest of tinkles, like a rock smashing a barley sugar window as delicately as possible.'What was that?' said Twoflower.'Which one?' said Rincewind.There was the clonk of a heavy branch banging against the window sill. With a cry of 'Elves!' Swires scuttled across the floor to a mousehole and vanishede, pussy.'
'There's a cupboard,' said Twoflower, pointing to a narrow door that

Thomas Moran Cliffs of Green River

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Twoflower's amazement he found a paddle and carefully extended it towards the little amphibian, which scrambled onto it gratefully. A moment later a pair of jaws broke the water and snapped impotently at the spot where it had vaguely, and did a bit of bailing. Spray was being thrown up now and the current was so strong that waves were forming and breaking all around them. It all seemed unnaturally warm. There was a hot golden haze on the sea.
The roaring was louder now. A squid bigger than anything Rincewind had seen before broke the surface a few hundred yards away and thrashed madly with its tentbeen swimming.The frog looked up at Rincewind from the cradle of his hands, and then bit him thoughtfully on the thumb. Twoflower giggled. Rincewind tucked the frog away in a pocket, and pretended he hadn't heard."All very humanitarian, but why?" said Twoflower. "It'll all be the same in an hour.""Because," said Rincewind