Thomas Kinkade Town Square

Thomas Kinkade Town SquareThomas Kinkade PARIS EIFFEL TOWERThomas Kinkade Hometown Pride
get back to the Yard.'
They proceeded to the Brass Bridge, quite slowly, because Carrot cheerfully acknowledged everyone they met. Hard-edged ruffians, whose normal response to a remark from a Watchman would be genteelly paraphrased by a string of symbols generally found on the top row of a typewriter's keyboard, would actually smile awkwardly and mumble something harmless in response to his hearty, 'Good evening, Masher! Mind how you go!'
Vimes stopped halfway across the bridge to light his cigar, striking a match on one of the ornamental hippos. Then he looked down into the turbid waters.
'Carrot?'
'Yes, captain?'
'Do you think there's such a thing as a criminal mind?'
Carrot almost people. That was something else.
The point was. . . well, he didn't like dwarfs and trolls. But he didn't like anyone very much. The point was that he moved in their company every day, and he had a right to dislike them. The point was that no fat idiot had the right to say things like that.audibly tried to work this out.'What . . . you mean like . . . Mr Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, sir?''He's not a criminal.''You have eaten one of his pies, sir?''I mean . . . yes . . . but . . . he's just geographically divergent in the financial hemisphere.''Sir?''I mean he just disagrees with other people about the position of things. Like money. He thinks it should all be in his pocket. No, I meant—' Vimes closed his eyes, and thought about cigar smoke and flowing drink and laconic voices. There were people who'd steal money from people. Fair enough. That was just theft. But there were people who, with one easy word, would steal the humanity from
He stared at the water. One of the piles of the bridge was right below

John William Waterhouse The Siren

John William Waterhouse The SirenJohn William Waterhouse The Lady ClareJohn William Waterhouse Flora
Whereas in a few days he , with his new watch. To show everyone the ropes, he said; to tidy up a few loose ends, haha. See you youngsters don't get into trouble, haha. A month later he was bringing the coal in and sweeping the floor and running errands and helping people write reports. He was still there five years later. He was still there six years later, when one of the Watch got in early and found him lying on the floor . . .
And it emerged that no-one, no-one, knew where he lived, or even if there was a Mrs Kepple. They had a whip-round to bury him, Vimes remembered. There were just guards at the funeral . . .
Come to think of it, there were always just guards at a guard's funeral.would, as Sergeant Colon had said, be on the gravy boat. Nothing to do all day but eat his meals and ride around on a big horse shouting orders at people.At times like this the image of old Sergeant Kepple floated across his memory. He'd been head of the Watch when Vimes was a recruit. And, soon afterwards, he retired. They'd all clubbed together and bought him a cheap watch, one of those that'd keep going for a few years until the demon inside it evaporated.Bloody stupid idea, Vimes thought moodily, staring at the wall. Bloke leaves work, hands in his badge and hourglass and bell, and what'd we get him? A watch.But he'd still come in to work the next day

Ford Madox Brown Work

Ford Madox Brown WorkFord Madox Brown Romeo and JulietPierre Auguste Renoir La Promenade
Them elves turned the whole kitchen upside down,” she said. “It’s going to take me days to get it straight. Anyway, everyone knows raw vegetables are bad for you, and I can’t be having with them eggy pies.”
Magrat looked beseechingly at Nanny Ogg; Granny Weatherwax had wandered off into the gardens, where she was getting a tendency to stick her nose in flowers right out of her system.
“Nothin’ to do Mrs. Scorbic began.
There was a click. She looked down the length of a crossbow and met Magrat’s steady gaze.
“Go ahead,” said the Queen of Lancre softly, “bake my quiche.”
\
Verence sat in his nightshirt with his head in his hands. He
could remember hardly anything about the night, except a
feeling of coldness. And no one seemed very inclined to tell
him.with me,” said Nanny. “It’s not my kitchen, dear.”“No, it’s mine. I’ve been cook here for years,” said Mrs. Scorbic, “and I knows how things should be done, and I’m not going to be ordered around in my own kitchen by some chit of a girl.”Magrat sagged. Nanny tapped her on the shoulder.“You might need this at this point,” she said, and handed Magrat the winged helmet.“The king’s been very happy with—“

Mark Spain Blue Dress On Gold

Mark Spain Blue Dress On GoldMark Spain After HoursMark Spain A Moment Of Tranquility
over its arms—“
Magrat picked up the axe.
“Oh, no,” said Shawn. “Miss!”
“You will never get him back,” said the elf. “She has him.”
“We shall see,” said Magrat. “All right, Shawn. What shall we do with it?”
In the end they dragged it into a storeroom next to the
227
Terry Pratchett
dungeon and manacled it to the bars of the window. It was still whimpering at the touch of the iron as Magrat slammed the door.
Shawn was trying to the pit. What day is it?”
“Tuesday.”
“And you clean it out on ... ?”
“Wednesdays. Only I missed last Wednesday because I
had—“
“Then we probably don’t need to worry about it. Are there anymore around?”keep at a respectful distance. It was the way Magrat kept smiling all the time.“Now let’s have a look at that arm of yours,” she said.“I’m all right,” said Shawn, “but they stabbed Diamanda in the kitchen.”“Was it her I heard screaming?”“Uh. Partly. Uh.” Shawn stared down in fascination at the dead elves as Magrat stepped over them.“You killed them,” he said.“Did I do it wrong?”“Um. No,” said Shawn cautiously. “No, you did it ... quite well, really.”“And there’s one in the pit,” said Magrat. “You know ...

Henri Rousseau The Football Players

Henri Rousseau The Football PlayersPaul Cezanne Young Man with a SkullPaul Cezanne Trees in Park
whole family, including the goat, got under the table.
It wasn’t that Nanny Ogg sang badly. It was just that she could hit notes which, when amplified by a tin bath half full of water, ceased to be sound and became some sort of inva-sive presence.
There had been plenty of singers whose high notes could smash a glass, but Nanny’s high C could clean it.
The Lancre A breeze blew over the moor, tasting of ice at midsummer.
145
Terry Pratchett
“—to laugh at us not being any good at being no good at acting.”
“I don’t see what’s funny about a bunch of rude artisans trying to do a play anyway,” said Weaver.Morris Men sat glumly on the turf, passing an earthenware jug between them. It had not been a good rehearsal.“Don’t work, does it?” said Thatcher.“’S’not funny, that I do know,” said Weaver. “Can’t see the king killing himself laughing at us playing a bunch of mechanical artisans not being very good at doin’ a play.” “You’re just no good at it,” said Jason.“We’re sposed to be no good at it,” said Weaver.“Yeah, but you’re no good at acting like someone who’sho good at acting,” said Tinker. “I don’t know how, but youain’t. You can’t expect all the fine lords and ladies—“

Juan Gris The Painter's Window

Juan Gris The Painter's WindowJuan Gris The Open WindowJuan Gris The Mountain Le CanigouJuan Gris The Guitar 1918
,” said Magrat, coldly. “Can one have a word with you, Na—Mrs. Ogg? Outside?”
Right you are, your queen,” said Nanny.
In the alley outside Magrat spun around with her mouth open.
“You—“
Nanny held up her hand.
“I know what you’re going to say,” she said. “But there wasn’t any danger to the little mite.”
“But you—“
“Me?” said Nanny. “I hardly did anything. They didn’t know he was going to run into the circle, did they? They both /reacted just like they normally would, didn’t they? Fair’s fair.”
“Well, in a“How did Verence know when we were coming back?”
It seemed to Magrat that Nanny thought for just a few seconds too long.
“Couldn’t say,” she said at last. “Kings are a bit magi-cal, mind. They can cure dandruff and that. Probably he woke up one morning and his royal prerogative gave him a tickle.”
The trouble with Nanny Ogg was that she always looked as if she was lying. Nanny way, but—““No one cheated,” said Nanny81Terry PratchettMargrat sagged into silence. Nanny patted her on the shoulder.“So you won’t be telling anyone you saw me wave the bag of sweets at him, will you?” she said.“No, Nanny.”“There’s a good going-to-be-queen.”“Nanny?”“Yes, dear?”Magrat took a deep breath.

George Stubbs Horse Attacked by a Lion

George Stubbs Horse Attacked by a LionSalvador Dali The Land of Milk and HoneyCaravaggio Sick Bacchus
boats grounded in the shallows, and the troops leapt into shoulder-high surf.
No one was quite sure who was leading the fleet. Most of the countries along the coast hated one another, not in any personal sense, but not to exist.
General Argavisti of Ephebe considered that he was in charge, because although he didn't have the most ships he was avenging the attack on Ephebe. But Imperiator Borvorius of Tsort knew that he was in charge, because there were more Tsortean ships than any others. And Admiral Rham-ap-Efan of Djelibeybi knew that he was in charge, because he was the kind of person who always thought he was in charge of anything. The only captain who did not, in fact, think that he was commanding the fleet was Fasta Benj, a fisherman from a very small nation of marsh-dwelling nomads simply on a kind of historical basis. On the other hand, how much leadership was necessary? Everyone knew where Omnia was. None of the countries in the fleet hated the others worse than they did Omnia. Now it was necessary for it . . .

Thomas Kinkade Hometown Pride

Thomas Kinkade Hometown PrideThomas Kinkade HOMETOWN EVENINGThomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
growing and dripping for thousands of years.
"How?" said sound was the occasional plink of the water.
It dripped into a- shallow pool in front of what looked like an altar. From the pool it had worn a groove in the slabs of the floor all the way to a round pit, which appeared to be bottomless. There were a few statues, all of them toppled; they were heavy-proportioned, lacking any kind of detail, each one a child's clay model chiseled in granite. The distant walls had once been covered with some kind of bas-relief, but it had crumbled away except Om."Water seeps down after the rains," said Brutha. "It lodges in the rocks. Don't gods know these things?""We don't need to." Om looked around. "Let's go. I hate this place.""It's just an old temple. There's nothing here.""That's what I mean."Sand and rubble half-filled it. Light lanced in through the broken roof high above, on to the slope that they had climbed down. Brutha wondered how many of the wind­carved rocks in the desert had once been buildings. This one must have been huge, perhaps a mighty tower. And then the desert had come.There were no whispering voices here. Even the small gods kept away from abandoned temples, fo the same reason that people kept away from graveyards. The only

Leonardo da Vinci Portrait Of A Young Lady

Leonardo da Vinci Portrait Of A Young LadyLeonardo da Vinci LedaLeonardo da Vinci Leda 1530Leonardo da Vinci Lady With An Ermine
find a lettuce-growing community and hang on. Thunder gods come and go, but it's you they turn to every time when there's a bad attack of Lettuce Fly. You've got to . . . uh . . . hand it to Petulia. She spotted a gap in the market "mother naked" and possibly also "dripping wet" and would be one hundred percent accurate, too. Although there was the beard. It was a beard you could camp out in.
The man thudded down the street without any apparent self­consciousness and stopped outside a potter's shop. The potter didn't seem concerned at being addressed by a little wet naked man; in fact, none of the people in the street had given him a second glance.and filled it.""There's a God of Lettuce?""Why not? If enough people believe, you can be god of anything . . ."Om stopped himself and waited to see if Brutha had noticed. But Brutha seemed to have something else on his mind."That's not right. Not treating people like that. Ow."He'd walked into the back of a subdeacon. The party had halted, partly because the Ephebian escort had stopped too, but mainly because a man was running down the street.He was quite old, and in many respects resembled a frog that had been dried out for quite some time. Something about him generally made people think of the word "spry," but, at the moment, they would be much more likely to think of the words

Rembrandt rembrandt nightwatch painting

Rembrandt rembrandt nightwatch paintingRaphael The Sistine MadonnaWilliam Bouguereau Biblis
Hawks to peck your liver!"
A hand reached in again and took the carrots.
"Afflict you with a thousand cuts!"
A hand reached in and took the Great God Om.
"The When they were out in the courtyard Brutha leaned against the wall and breathed out.
"Your eyeballs to-!" the tortoise began.
"One more word," said Brutha, "and it's back in the basket."
The tortoise fell silent.
"As it is, I shall probably get into trouble for missing Comparative Religion with Brother Whelk," said cannibal fungi of-!""Shut up!" hissed Brutha, shoving the tortoise under his robe.He sidled toward the door, unnoticed in the general culinary chaos.One of the cooks looked at him and raised an eyebrow."Just got to take this back," Brutha burbled, bringing out the tortoise and waving it helpfully. "Deacon's orders."The cook scowled, and then shrugged. Novices were regarded by one and all as the lowest form of life, but orders from the hierarchy were to be obeyed without question, unless the questioner wanted to find himself faced with more important questions like whether or not it is possible to go to heaven after being roasted alive.

Thomas Kinkade The Night Before Christmas

Thomas Kinkade The Night Before ChristmasThomas Kinkade The Good LifeThomas Kinkade Stairway to Paradise
This was because Gritoller had swallowed the jewels for safe keeping.
[8] The Ankh-Morpork Merchants' Guild publication Wellcome to Ankh-Morporke, Citie of One Thousand Surprises [10] The overwhelming majority of citizens being defined in this case as everyone not currently hanging upside down over a scorpion pit.
[11] Wizards' tastes in the matter of puns are about the same as their taste in glittery objects.
[12] Of course, Ankh-Morpork's citizens had always claimed that the river water was incredibly pure in any case. Any water that had passed through so many kidneys, they reasoned, had to be very pure indeed.describes the area of Old Morpork known as The Shades as 'a folklorique network of old alleys and picturesque streets, wherre exitment and romans lurkes arounde everry corner and much may be heard the traditinal street cries of old time also the laughing visages of the denuizens as they goe about their business private.' In other words, you have been warned.[9] The study of genetics on the Disc had failed at an early stage, when wizards tried the experimental crossing of such well known subjects as fruit flies and sweet peas. Unfortunately they didn't quite grasp the fundamentals, and the resultant offspring - a sort of green bean thing that buzzed -led a short sad life before being eaten by a passing spider.

Jean Beraud Symphony in Red and Gold

Jean Beraud Symphony in Red and GoldJean Beraud Pont des artsJean Beraud Leaving La Madeleine Paris
things were ... different.
For paddled slowly up one of the reed-lined drainage ditches. A little way ahead of it a moving wave of small alligators, rats and snapping turtles was pouring out of the water and scrambling frantically up the bank, propelled by some vague but absolutely accurate animal instinct.
The Luggage's lid was set in an expression of grim determination. It didn't want much example, a large part of the soak had turned into an impenetrable forest of giant yellow mushrooms. No-one knew what effect this had on its inhabitants, although possibly they hadn't noticed.The temple of Offler the Crocodile God, patron deity of the city, was now a rather ugly sugary thing constructed in five dimensions. But this was no problem because it was being eaten by a herd of giant ants.On the other hand, not many people were left to appreciate this statement against uncontrolled civic alteration, because most of them were running for their lives. They fled across the fertile fields in a steady stream. Some had taken to boats, but this method of escape had ceased when most of the harbour area turned into a swamp in which, for no obvious reason, a couple of small pink elephants were building a nest.Down below the panic on the roads the Luggage

Andy Warhol Diamond Dust Shoes Lilac Blue Green

Andy Warhol Diamond Dust Shoes Lilac Blue GreenAndy Warhol Daisy Double PinkAndy Warhol Buttons
was said that everything in Ankh-Morpork was for sale except for the beer and the women, both of which one merely hired. anti-noise. Silence isn't the opposite of sound, it is merely its absence. But this was the sound that lies on the far side of silence, anti-noise, its shadowy decibels throttling the market cries like a fall of velvet.
The crowds stared around wildly, mouthing like goldfish and with about as much effect. All heads turned towards the gates.
Something else was flowing out besides that cacophony of hush. The stalls nearest the empty gate­way began to grind across the cobbles, shedding mer­chandise. Their owners And most of the merchandise was available in Sator market, which over the years had grown, stall by stall, until the newcomers were up against the ancient stones of the University itself; in fact they made a handy display area for bolts of cloth and racks of charms.No-one noticed the gates swing back. But a silence rolled out of the University, spreading out across the noisy, crowded square like the first fresh wavelets of the tide trickling over a brackish swamp. In fact it wasn't true silence at all, but a great roar of

Johannes Vermeer The Procuress

Johannes Vermeer The ProcuressJohannes Vermeer Diana and her CompanionsJohannes Vermeer Christ in the House of Mary and Martha
'Why can't he have it?'
Spelter's mouth dropped open. This was too much, even for him.
Carding smiled at him amiably.
'But theof speaking.'
'In a manner of speaking?'
Carding got up and gathered his skirts around him. 'I think,' he said, 'that you have a great deal to learn. By the way, where is that hat?'
'I don't know,' said Spelter, who was still quite shaken.
'Somewhere in, um, Virrid's apartments, I suppose.' hat-‘ 'It's just a symbol,' said Carding. 'It's nothing special. If he wants it, he can have it. It's a small enough thing. Just a symbol, nothing more. A figurehat.''Figurehat?''Worn by a figurehead.''But the gods choose the Archchancellor!'Carding raised an eyebrow. 'Do they?' he said, and coughed.'Well, yes, I suppose they do. In a manner

Vincent van Gogh The Old Mill

Vincent van Gogh The Old MillVincent van Gogh Girl in WhiteVincent van Gogh Four Cut Sunflowers
inventory if you don’t use them after you’ve got them ready -‘ The trolley whirred up a trembling slope and cornered on two wheels. ‘Oh, all right, ‘ said Ridcully. ‘If it means that much to you.’
‘Y - sorry.’
better, could be worse.’
The trolley ricocheted off a wall and jerked away in another direction. ‘How are those spells coming along, Dean?’ said Ridcully, through gritted teeth.’I’m having real difficulties controlling this thing.’ The Dean muttered a few more words, and then waved his hands dramatically. Octarine flame spurted from his fingertips and earthed itself somewhere in the mists.
‘Yee-haw!’ he crowed.
‘Dean?’The Dean started to mutter urgently under his breath, and then screamed.‘I’ve gone blind!’‘Your bonsai bandage has slipped over your eyes, Dean.’ Windle groaned. ‘How are you feeling, brother Poons?’ Reg Shoe’s ravaged features occluded Windle’s view.‘Oh, you know, ‘ said Windle. ‘Could be

John William Waterhouse Circe offering the Cup to Ulysses

John William Waterhouse Circe offering the Cup to UlyssesJohn William Waterhouse BoreasJohn William Waterhouse Ariadne
WE FINISHED THE FIELD, he said, with a hint of triumph. ALL STACKED IN STOOKS, OR POSSIBLY THE OTHER-WAY AROUND. He clutched at his skull again.
AARCH.
Miss Flitworth disappeared into the scullery. There was the creaking of a pump. She returned with a damp flannel and a glass of water.
THERE’S A NEWT IN IT!
coming.’
WILL IT SPOIL MY HARVEST?
‘No. It’ll dry out after.’
HOW IS THE CHILD?
Bill Door unfolded his palm. Miss Flitworth raised her eyebrows. The golden glass was there, the top bulb almost empty. But it simmered in and out of vision.
‘How come you’ve got it? It’s upstairs! She was holding it like,’ - she floundered - ‘like someone fresh,’ said Miss Flitworth,* fishing the amphibian out and releasing it on the flagstones, where it scuttled away into a crack. Bill Door tried to stand up.NOW I ALMOST KNOW WHY SOME PEOPLE WISH TO DIE. he said. I HAD HEARD OF PAIN AND MISERY BUT I HAD NOT HITHERTO FULLY UNDERSTOOD WHAT THEY MEANT.Miss Flitworth peered through the dusty window. The clouds that had been piling up all afternoon towered over the hills, grey with a menacing hint of yellow. The heat pressed down like a vice.‘There’s a big storm

Leonardo da Vinci Virgin of the Rocks

Leonardo da Vinci Virgin of the RocksLeonardo da Vinci St John the BaptistLeonardo da Vinci Madonna with Yarnwinder
put the figure back on the beam, and lay down in the hay.
DROP IN ANY TIME YOU’RE PASSING.
Bill Door stared at the darkness again.
Sleep. He could feel her prowling around. Sleep, with a pocketful of dreams.
He lay in the darkness and fought back.
Miss Flitworth’s shouting jolted him upright and, to his momentary relief still went on.
The barn ‘It’s going to be everyone’s! It spreads like crazy on thatch!’ They reached the apology for a town square. The inn was already well alight, the thatch roaring starwards in a million twisting sparks. ‘Look at everyone standing around,’ snarled Miss Flitworth.’There’s the pump, buckets are everywhere, why don’t people think?’ There was a scuffle a little way away as a couple of hdoor slammed open.‘Bill! Come down quick!’He swung his legs on to the ladder.WHAT IS HAPPENING. MISS FLITWORTH?‘Something’s on fire!’They ran across the yard and out on to the road. The sky over the village was red.‘Come on!’BUT IT IS NOT OUR FIRE.is customers tried to stop Lifton from running into the building. He was screaming at them.

Salvador Dali The Sacrament of the Last Supper

Salvador Dali The Sacrament of the Last SupperSalvador Dali The RoseSalvador Dali Paysage aux papillons (Landscape with Butterflies)
He reached the University gates. which were now open, and made his way to his bedroom.
He’d need money, if he was moving out. He’d saved quite a lot over the years. Had he made a will? He’d been fairly After all, there wasn’t much on the pages. Windle hadn’t done anything worth writing down for years, or at least anything he’d been able to remember by the evening. There were just phases of the moon, lists of religious festivals, and the occasional sweet stuck to a page.
There was something else down there under the floor, too. He fumbled
around in the dusty space and found a couple of smooth spheres. He pulled confused the past ten years or so. He might have made one. Had he been confused enough to leave all his money to himself? He hoped so. There’d been practically no known cases of anyone successfully challenging their own will - He levered up the floorboard by the end of his bed, and lifted out a bag of coins. He remembered he’d been saving up for his old age. There was his diary. It was a five-year diary, he recalled, so in a technical sense Windle had wasted about - he did a quick calculation - yes, about three-fifths of his money.Or more, when you came to think about it.

Theodore Chasseriau Apollo and Daphne

Theodore Chasseriau Apollo and DaphneEmile Munier Cupid DisarmedHenri Fantin-Latour Still Life With Flowers And FruitFilippino Lippi Adoration of the ChildFilippino Lippi Madonna with Child and Saints
single silver thread of his thoughts, he could feel them all there. Everything he’d ever read, everything he’d ever seen, everything he’d ever heard. All there, ranged in ranks. Nothing forgotten. Everything in its place.
Three inexplicable phenomena in one day. Four, if you included the fact of his continued existence. That was really thing, anyway?’ said the Dean, inspecting the implement in his hands.
‘It’s called a shovel, ‘ said the Senior Wrangler.’I’ve seen the gardeners use them. You stick the sharp end in the ground. Then it gets a bit technical.’ Ridcully squinted through the keyhole.
‘He’s lying down again,’ he said. He got up, brushing inexplicable. It needed explicating.Well, that was someone else’s problem. Everything was someone else’s problem now.The wizards crouched outside the door of Windle’s room.‘Got everything?’ said Ridcully.‘Why can’t we get some of the servants to do it?’ muttered the Senior Wrangler.’It’s undignified.’‘Because I want it done properly and with dignity,’ snapped she Archchancellor. ‘If anyone’s going tobury a wizard at a crossroads with a stake hammered through him, then wizards ought to do it. After all, we’re his friends.’ ‘What is this