Edward Hopper High Road

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You’ve got a good man there,’ she said. ‘The way he always rescues you every time. If I was being dragged off by mad trolls my ole man wouldn’t say a word except to ask where I wanted my clothes sent.’
‘My husband the pipe smoker authoritatively.
A space cleared around them. Ginger and Victor saw a thousand expectant faces watching them.
‘They think we’re real,’ moaned Ginger. ‘No‑one’s doing anything because they think you’re a hero, for gods’ sake! And we can’t do anything! This Thing is bigger than both of us!’
Victor stared down at the damp cobblestones. I wouldn’t get out of his chair if I was being et by dragons,’ said the thin woman. She gave Ginger a gentle prod. ‘But you want to wear more clothes, miss. Next time you’re taken off to be rescued, you insist they let you take a warm coat. I never see you on the screen without thinking to myself, she’s temptin’ a dose of ‘flu, going around like that.’‘Where’s ‘is sword?’ said the child, kicking its mother on the shin.‘I expect he’ll be off to fetch it directly,’ she said, giving Victor an encouraging smile.‘Er. Yes,’ he said. ‘Come on, Ginger.’ He grabbed her hand.‘Give the lad room,’ shouted

Franz Marc Reh im Klostergarten

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Gaspode!’
‘You’ll see I’m right.’
The torch went out.
Victor waved it desperately and blew on it in a last attempt to rekindle it. A few sparks flared and faded. There simply wasn’t enough torch left.
The darkness flowed back. Victor had never known darkness like it. No matter how long you looked into it, your eyes wouldn’t grow accustomed to it. There was nothing to become accustomed to. It was darkness and mother of darkness, darkness absolute, the darkness under the earth, darkness so dense as to be almost tangible, like .
Whoomph.
It was followed by a light so harsh that it projected the image of Victor’s eyeballs on the back of his skull. It faded after a few seconds, but was still almost painfully bright. Laddie whimpered.
‘There you are,’ said Gaspode hoarsely. ‘cold velvet.‘It’s bloody dark,’ volunteered Gaspode.I’ve broken out into what they call a cold sweat, thought Victor. So that’s what it feels like. I’d always wondered.He eased himself sideways until he reached the wall.‘We’d better go back,’ he said, in what he hoped was a matter‑of­fact voice. ‘There could be anything ahead of us. Ravines or anything. We could get more torches and more people and come back.’There was a flat sound from far down the passageYou’ve got some light now, so everything’s all right.’
‘Yes, but what’s making it?’

George Frederick Watts Love And Life

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Well, yes. I suppose so.’
‘Like the dead man.’
Victor was lost.
‘The dead
‘Good grief! You’re right! It does look sort of . . . dead . . . ‘
‘Prob’ly all the writing’s goin’ on about what a great guy he was when he was alive,’ said Gaspode knowledgeably. ‘You know, "Slayer of thousands" stuff. Prob’ly he left a lot of money for priests to say prayers and light candles and sacrifice goats and stuff. There used to be a lot of that sort of thing. You know, you’d get dese guys whorin’ and drinkin’ and carryin’ on regardless their man on the beach?’ ‘No. The dead man on the pages. See? Everywhere, there’s the dead man.’ Victor gave him an odd look, and then turned the book around and peered at it. ‘Where? I don’t see any dead men.’ Gaspode snorted. ‘Look, all over the page,’ he said. ‘He looks just like those tombs you get in old temples and stuff. You know? Where they do this statchoo of the stiff lyin’ on top of the tomb, with his arms crossed an’ holdin’ his sword. Dead noble.’

John William Waterhouse My Sweet Rose

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there were trolls, humans and dwarfs. And a few gnomes. And perhaps even a few elves, the most elusive of Discworld races. And lots of other things, which Victor had to hope were trolls dressed up, because if they weren’t, it’s stoo,’ the dwarf snapped. ‘Stop’s stoo.’
‘What I meant was, what’s in it?’ said Victor.
‘If you need to ask, you’re -not hungry enough,’ said Ginger. ‘Two stews, Fruntkin.’
Victor stared at the grey-brown stuff that was dribbled on to his plate. Strange lumps, carried to the surface by mysterious convection currents, bobbed for a moment, and then sank back downeveryone was going to be in a lot of trouble. And they were all eating, and the amazing thing was that they were not eating one another. ‘You take a plate and you queue up and then you pay for it,’ said Ginger. ‘It’s called self-serf.’ ‘You pay for it before you eat it? What happens if it’s dreadful?’ Ginger nodded grimly. ‘That’s why.’ Victor shrugged, and leaned down to the dwarf behind the lunch counter. ‘I’d like–’ ‘It’s stoo,’ said the dwarf. ‘What kind of stew?’ ‘There ain’t more’n one kind. That’s why

Paul Gauguin Two Tahitian Women

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was another hopeful break for applause.
Someone at the front of the crowd said, ‘That’s right. We ain’t.’
‘Yeah,’ said the woman next to him. ‘When’re you goin’ to stop goin’ on like that and get on with the shadow He shook his head, and looked back as Silverfish climbed down from the screen and motioned to one of his assistants to start turning a handle at the side of the box. There was a grinding noise that rose to a steady clicking. Vague shadows danced across the screen, and then . . .
One of the last things Victor remembered was a voice beside his knee saying, ‘Could have bin worse, mister. I could have said "miaow".’
play?’ ‘That’s right,’ snapped a second woman. ‘Do "Deformed Rabbit". My kids always love that one.’ Victor looked away for a while, to lull the dog’s suspicions, and then turned and glared hard at it. It was amiably watching the crowd, and apparently taking no notice of him. Victor poked an exploratory finger in his ear. It must have been a trick of an echo, or something. It wasn’t that the dog had gone ‘woof!’, although that was practically unique in itself; most dogs in the universe never went ‘woof!’, they had complicated barks like ‘whuuugh!’ and ‘hwhoouf!’. No, it was that it hadn’t in fact barked at all. It had said ‘woof’.

Unknown Artist Ranson Apple Tree with Red Fruit

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'And, brethren - and sistren, of course - we must ask ourselves, we must ask ourselves, we, er, yes.' His voice waxed again with new confidence. 'Yes, we must ask ourselves why the gods are at hand. And without doubt it is because we have not been assiduous enough in our worship, we have, er, we have lusted after graven idols.'
The , made the eyes water.
Koomi's heart thumped. 'Well, why not?' he said. 'Things were better then, weren't they?'
'But, er, I thought we stopped all that sort of thing. Population decline and so forth.'
There was a monstrous splash out in the river. Tzut, the Snake-Headed God of the Upper Djel, surfaced and regarded the assembled priesthood solemnly. Then Fhez, the Crocodile-Headed God of the Lower priests exchanged glances. Had they? How did you do it, actually? 'And, yes, and what about sacrifices? Time was when a sacrifice was a sacrifice, not some messing around with a chicken and flowers.' This caused some coughing in the audience. 'Are we talking maidens here?' said one of the priests uncertainly. 'Ahem.' 'And inexperienced young men too, certainly,' he said quickly. Sarduk was one of the older goddesses, whose female worshippers got up to no good in sacred groves; the thought of her wandering around the landscape somewhere, bloody to the elbows

Jack Vettriano Couple On The Promenade

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Teppic had a suspicion that unpunctuality was unforgivable. But surely Mericet would have to be at the tower ahead of him? And he was going by the direct route. The old man couldn't possibly get there before him. Mind you, he couldn't possibly have got to the bridge in the alley first . . . He must have taken the bridge away before he met me and then he climbed up on the roof while I was climbing up the wall, Teppic told himself, without believing a wordChiddy's and those of hundreds of other young assassins, and that they'd carry on being up there even if he died tonight. It was sort of comforting. Only not very.
He unslung his rope and made an easy throw on to the wide parapet that ran around the tower, just under the dome. He tested it, and heard the gentle clink as it caught.
Then he tugged it as hard as possible, bracing himself with one foot on a chimney stack of it. He ran along a roof ridge, senses alert for dislodged tiles or tripwires. His imagination equipped every shadow with watching figures. The gong tower loomed ahead of him. He paused, and looked at it. He had seen it a thousand times before, and scaled it many times although it barely rated a 1.8, notwithstanding that the brass dome on top was an interesting climb. It was just a familiar landmark. That made it worse now; it bulked in front of him, a stubby menacing shape against the greyness of the sky. He advanced more slowly now, approaching the tower obliquely across the sloping roof. It came to him that his initials were there, on the dome, along with

Leonardo da Vinci Madonna With The Carnation

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about as far as the gateway before the air around him thickened to the consistency of tar.
'You can't,' said a sad, old voice behind him. 'You have to stay where you were killed. That's what haunting means. Take it from me. I know.'
neared, slowed. And then the coach rattled between the furze bushes, its horses hanging in their harnesses. The driver leapt down, ran around to the door, pulled a large bundle from inside and dashed towards the trio.
He was halfway across the damp peat when he stopped and stared at Granny Weatherwax with a look of horror.
'It's all right,' she whispered, and the whisper cut through the grumbling of the storm as clearly as a bell.
She took a few steps forward and eyes caught Granny's for a moment, and reflected hopeless terror.
The leader grinned at Granny, who hadn't moved a muscle.
'Your peasant magic is for fools

Bernhard Gutmann Study of a Woman in Black

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,' said Tomjon, later, 'you ought to slow down a bit. You've done what was ordered. No-one said it had to sparkle.'
'It could, you know. If I could just get it right.'
'You're absolutely sure about the ghost, are you?' said Tomjon. The way he threw the line away made it clear that he wasn't.
'There's Guild thieves,' he hissed. 'They definitely look freelance to me.'
It would be nice to say that the leader of the robbers was a black-bearded, swaggering brute, with a red headscarf and one gold earring and a chin you could clean pots with. Actually it would be practically compulsory. And, in fact, this was so. Hwel thought the wooden leg was overdoing it, but the man had obviously studied the rolenothing wrong with the ghost,' snapped Hwel. 'The scene with the ghost is the best I've done.''I was just wondering if this is the right play for it, that's all.''The ghost stays. Now let's get on, boy.' Two days later, with the Ramtops a blue and white wall that was beginning to dominate the Hubward horizon, the company was attacked. There wasn't much drama; they had just manhandled the lattys across a ford and were resting in the shade of a grove of trees, which suddenly fruited robbers.Hwel looked along the line of half a dozen stained and rusty blades. Their owners seemed slightly uncertain about what to do next.'We've got a receipt somewhere—' he began.Tomjon nudged him. 'These don't look like

Henri Rousseau Two Monkeys in the Jungle

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works,' he said. 'The people mutter against the witches. How do you do it, Fool?'
'Jokes, nuncle. And gossip. People are halfway ready to believe it anyway. Everyone respects the witches. The point is that no-one actually likes them very much.'
comfortable for the first time . . .
The duchess sat beside him, her chin on her hand, watching the Fool intently. This bothered him. He thought he knew where he stood with the duke, it was just a matter of hanging on until his madness curved back to the cheerful stage, but the duchess genuinely frightened him.
'It seems that words are extremely powerful,' she said.Friday afternoon, he thought. I'll have to get some flowers. And my best suit, the one with the silver bells. Oh gosh.'This is very pleasing. If it goes on like this, Fool, you shall have a knighthood.'This was no.302, and the Fool knew better than to let a feed line go hungry. 'Marry, nuncle,' he said wearily, ignoring the spasm of pain that crawled across the duke's face, 'if n I had a Knighthood (Night Hood), why, it would keep my ears Warm in Bedde; i'faith, if many a Knight is a Fool, why, should a—''Yes, yes, all right,' snapped Lord Felmet. In fact he was feeling much better already. His porridge hadn't been oversalted this evening, and there was a decently empty feel about the castle. There were no more voices on the cusp of hearing.He sat down on the throne. It felt really

Alphonse Maria Mucha Fruit

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had raised taxes and burned a few villages on general principles, just to show everyone who they were dealing with. It didn't seem to have any effect.
And then there were these witches. They haunted him.
'Fool!'
The Fool, who had been having a quiet doze behind the throne, awoke in terror.
'Yes!'
'Come hither, Fool.'
The Fool jingled miserably across the floor.
'Tell me, Fool, does it always rain here?'
'Marry, nuncle—'
'Just 'Let me entertain you, my lord, with many a merry quip and lightsome jest.'
'Try me.'
The Fool licked his dry lips. He hadn't actually expected this. King Verence had been happy enough just to give him a kick, or throw a bottle at his head. A real king.answer the question,' said Lord Felmet, with iron patience.'Sometimes it stops, sir. To make room for the snow. And sometimes we get some right squand'ring orgulous fogs,' said the Fool.'Orgulous?' said the duke, absently.The Fool couldn't stop himself. His horrified ears heard his mouth blurt out: Thick, my lord. From the Latatian orgulum, a soup or broth.'But the duke wasn't listening. Listening to the prattle of underlings was not, in his experience, particularly worthwhile.'I am bored, Fool.''I'm waiting. Make me laugh.'

Caravaggio The Crowning with Thorns

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and ninety robberies and more than fifteen thousand barroom brawls to record the fact that Alberto Malich still owed the management three copper pieces plus interest currently standing at the contents of most of the Disc's larger strongrooms, which proved once again that an Ankhian merchant with an unpaid bill has the kind of memory that closer.' He pulled the hourglass out of his pocket and checked the level of the sand.
'But not close enough, dammit!'
The Light Dams lay like pools of light hubwards of their course, which is exactly what they were; some of the tribes constructed mirror walls in the desert mountains to collect the Disc sunlight, which is slow and slightly heavy. It was used as currency.would make an elephant blink . . . at about this time, Binky was leaving a vapour trail in skies above the great mysterious continent of Klatch.Far below drums sounded in the scented, shadowy jungles and columns of curling mist rose from hidden rivers where nameless beasts lurked under the surface and waited for supper to walk past.'There's no more cheese, you'll have to have the ham,' said Ysabell. 'What's that light over there?'The Light Dams,' said Mort. 'We're getting

Claude Lorrain The Rest on the Flight into Egypt

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appeared to recall something.
'Did you say something about something flapping around loose?' she said, in the tight voice of someone pulling themselves together.
Mort considered. 'No,' he said.
'I'm afraid I wasn't paying much attention.'
'It doesn't matter at all.'
They strolled Mort thought that history was thrashing around like a steel hawser with the tension off, twanging backwards and forwards across reality in great destructive sweeps.
History isn't like that. History unravels gently, like an old sweater. It has been patched and back to the house in silence.When Mort went back to the study he found that Death had gone, leaving four hourglasses on the desk. The big leather a style and had adopted a hand that indicated a balanced, well-adjusted personality.It said:Gone fyshing. Theyre ys ane execution in Pseudopoiis, a naturral in Krull, a faytal fall in the Carrick Mtns, ane ague in Ell-Kinte. Thee rest of thee day's your own. darned many times, reknitted to suit different people, shoved in a box under

Ivan Constantinovich Aivazovsky The Ninth Wave

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LOOK AT IT THIS WAY. THE WALL CANT BE THERE. OTHERWISE YOU WOULDN'T BE WALKING THROUGH IT. WOULD YOU, BOY?
'Mort,' said Mort.
WHAT?
'My name is Mort. Or Mortimer,' said Mort angrily, pushing forward. The chill fell behind him.
THERE. THAT IT'S THE MORPHOGENETIC FIELD WEAKENING, said Death.
The king's voice was no louder than a whisper. 'Is that what it is?'
IT HAPPENS TO EVERYONE. TRY TO ENJOY IT.
'How?' Now the voice was no more than a shape in the air. JUST BE YOURSELFWASN'T so HARD, WAS IT?Mort looked up and down the length of the corridor, and slapped the wall experimentally. He must have walked through it, but it felt solid enough now. Little specks of mica glittered at him.'How do you do that stuff?' he said. 'How do I do it? Is it magic?'MAGIC IS THE ONE THING IT ISN'T, BOY. WHEN YOU CAN DO IT BY YOURSELF, THERE WILL BE NOTHING MORE THAT I CAN TEACH YOU.The king, who was considerably more diffuse now, said, 'It's impressive, I'll grant you. By the way, I seem to be fading.'

Salvador Dali Argus

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Rain gushed across the leads of Unseen University and poured into the gutters where ravens' nests, abandoned since the . But mainly it rained through the roof of the Great Hall, where the duel between Granny and Cutangle had left a very large hole, and Treatle felt that it was somehow raining on him personally.
He stood on a table organising the teams of students who were taking down the paintings and ancient tapestries before they got soaked. It had to be a table, because the floor was summer, floated like very badly-built boats. The water gurgled along ancient, crusted pipes. It found its way under tiles and said hallo to the spiders under the eaves. It leapt from gables and formed secret lakes high amongst the spires. Whole ecologies lived in the endless rooftops of the University, which by comparison made Gormenghast look like a toolshed on a railway allotment; birds sang in tiny jungles grown from apple pips and weed seeds, little frogs swam in the upper gutters, and a colony of ants were busily inventing an interesting and complex civilisation. One thing the water couldn't do was gurgle out of the ornamental gargoyles ranged around the roofs. This was because the gargoyles wandered off and sheltered in the attics at the first sign of rain. They held that just because you were ugly it didn't mean you were stupid. It rained streams. It rained rivers. It rained seas

Piet Mondrian Composition with Yellow Blue and Red

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There was a small and wretched monkey that for years had shuffled vaguely at the end of a chain while its owner played something dreadful on a pipe-organ. It suddenly turned, narrowed its little red eyes, bit its keeper sharply in the leg, snapped its chain and had it away over the rooftops with the night's takings in a tin cup. History is silent about what they were spent on., in fact, moved through the fair more like an arsonist moves through a hayfield or a neutron bounces through a reactor, poets notwithstanding, and the hypothetical watcher could have detected her random passage by tracing the outbreaks of hysteria and violence. But, like all good catalysts, she wasn't actually involved in the processes she initiated, and by the time all the non-hypothetical potential watchers took their eyes off them she had been buffeted somewhere else.
She was also beginning to tire. While Granny
A boxful of marzipan ducks on a nearby stall came to life and whirred past the stallholder to land, quacking happily, in the river (where, by dawn, they had all melted: that's natural selection for your.
The stall itself sidled off down an alley and was never seen again.

John Constable Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows

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Then he said, in a lower and more urgent tone, 'Actually, I don't think I can hang on any longer.'
'Try.'
'It's no good, I can feel my hand slipping!'
Twoflower sighed. It was time for harsh measures. 'All right, then,' he said. 'Drop, then. See if I care.'
'What?' said Rincewind, so astonished he forgot to let go.
'Go on, eventually, in a voice rather louder than necessary, 'but ever since I met you I seem to have spent a lot of time hanging by my fingers over certain depth, have you noticed?'
'Death,' corrected Twoflower.
'Death what?' said Rincewind.
'Certain death,' said Twoflower helpfully, trying to ignore the slow but inexorable slide of his body across the flagstones. 'Hanging over certain death. You don't like heights.'die. Take the easy way out.''Easy?' .'All you have to do is plummet screaming through the air and break every bone in your body,' said Twoflower. 'Anybody can do it. Go on. I wouldn't want you to think that perhaps you ought to stay alive because we need you to say the Spells and save the Disc. Oh, no. Who cares if we all get burned up? Go on, just think of yourself. Drop.'There was a long, embarrassed silence.'I don't know why it is,' said Rincewind

Jack Vettriano Private Dancer

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'Talking of teeth—' said Twoflower.
'Yesh?'
'I can't help noticing —'
'Yesh?'
'Oh, nothing,' out of the top, should be fairly conspicuous.
'I'll just go and have a look, shall I?' he said.
'Yesh.'
'Over there in all that thick, shadowy undergrowth?'
'Very good playshe, yesh.'said Twoflower.'Yesh? Oh. Let'sh get thish fire going before we loshe the light. And then,' Cohen's face fell, 'I supposhe we'd better make some shoop.''Rincewind's good at that,' said Twoflower enthusiastically. 'He knows all about herbs and roots and things.'Cohen gave Rincewind a look which suggested that he, Cohen, didn't believe that.'Well, the Horshe people gave us shome horse jerky,' he said. 'If you can find and stuff, it might make it tashte better.''But I—' Rincewind began, and gave up. Anyway, he reasoned, I know what an onion looks like, it's a sort of saggy white thing with a green bit sticking

Leonardo da Vinci Madonna With The Carnation

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chimneybreast. They scrambled into sweet, musty darkness.
There was the creak of a chocolate floorboard outside. Someone said 'I heard voices.'
Someone elsea while Twoflower said, 'Rincewind, I think there's a broomstick in this cupboard.'
Well, what's so unusual about that?'
This one's got handlebars.'
There was a piercing shriek from below. In the darkness a wizard had tried to open the Luggage's lid. A crash from the scullery indicated the sudden arrival of a party of Illuminated said, 'Yeah, downstairs. I think it's the Hood winkers.''I thought you said we'd given them the slip!''Hey, you two, you can eat this place! Here, look you can —''Shut up!'There was a lot more creaking, and a muffled scream from downstairs where a Venerable Seer, creeping carefully through the darkness from the broken window, had trodden on the fingers of a Hoodwinker who was hiding under the table. There was the sudden zip and zing of magic.'Bugger!'said a voice outside. They've got him! Let's go!'There was more creaking, and then silence. After

Thomas Moran Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone

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There was a line of white on the foreshortened horizon, and the wizard fancied he could hear a distant roaring.
"What happens after a ship goes over the Rimfall?" said Twoflower.
"Who knows?"
"Well, in that intelligent reason.
The sea around them seemed to be getting crowded. Rincewind noticed several tree trunks keeping station with them, and just below the surface the water was alive with fish of all sorts. The current must be teeming with food washed from the continents near the Hub. He be, having to keep swimming all the time to stay exactly in the same place. Pretty similar to his own, he decided. He spotted a small green frog which was paddling desperately in the grip of the inexorable case perhaps we'll just sail on through space and land on another world." A faraway look came into the little man's eyes. "I'd like that," he said.Rincewind snorted.The sun rose in the sky, looking noticeably bigger this close to the Edge. They stood with their backs against the mast, busy with their own thoughts. Every so often one or other would pick up a bucket and do a bit of desultory bailing, for no very