Henri Rousseau A Carnival EveningPaul Cezanne Three BathersPaul Cezanne The Black Clock
was a spang! noise. Cuddy's crossbow had gone off in his hand. The bolt whiffled past Corporal Nobbs' ear and landed in the river, where it stuck.
'Sorry,' said Cuddy.
'Tsk, tsk,' said Sergeant Colon.
That was the worst part. It would have been better all round if he'd called the dwarf some names. It would have been better if he'd made it seem that Cuddy was worth an insult.
He turned around and walked off towards Pseudo-polis Yard.
They heard his said Detritus, who already owed eleven dollars for bows.
' "If it's worth turning up"!' said Cuddy, losing the axe somewhere about his person again. 'Speciesist!'
'I don't think he meant it that way,' said Angua.
'Ho, it's all right for you,' said Cuddy.muttered comment.'What him say?' said Detritus.' "A fine body of men",' said Angua, going red.Cuddy spat on the ground, which didn't take long on account of its closeness. Then he reached under his cloak and produced, like a conjuror extracting a size 10 rabbit from a size 5 hat, his double-headed battle axe. And started to run.By the time he reached the virginal target he was a blur. There was a rip and the dummy exploded like a nuclear haystack.The other two wandered up and inspected the result, as pieces of chaff gently drifted to the ground.'Yes, all right,' said Angua. 'But he did say you're supposed to be able to ask them questions afterwards.''He didn't say they've got to be able to answer them,' said Cuddy grimly.'Lance-Constable Cuddy, deduct one dollar for target,'
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Rembrandt The Return of the Prodigal Son
Rembrandt The Return of the Prodigal SonRembrandt rembrandt nightwatch paintingRaphael The Sistine MadonnaWilliam Bouguereau Biblis
'More of her face would have enabled us to be certain of the likeness, however. There is sufficient, I believe. You may go, Bl-enkin.'
'Yes, Mr Edward.'
'A little something off the ears, I th-ink.'
'Yes, Mr Edward.'
The servant respectfully shut the door behind him, and then went down to the kitchen shaking his head sadly. The d'Eaths hadn't him as a baby in the forests of the Ramtop mountains. There were some b-urning wagons, corpses, that sort of thing. B-andit attack, apparently. The dwarfs found a sword in the wreckage. He has it now. A very old sword. And it's always sharp.'
'So? The world is full of old swords. And grindstones.'
'This one had been very well hidden in one of the carts, which been able to afford a family torturer for years. For the boy's sake he'd just have to do the best he could with a kitchen knife.The visitors waited for the host to speak, but he didn't seem about to do so, although it was sometimes hard to tell with Edward. When he was excited, he suffered not so much from a speech impediment as from misplaced pauses, as if his brain were temporarily putting his mouth on hold.Eventually, one of the audience said: 'Very well. So what is your point?''You've seen the likeness. Isn't it ob-vious?''Oh, come now—'Edward d'Eath pulled a leather case towards him and began undoing the thongs.'But, but the boy was adopted by Discworld dwarfs. They found
'More of her face would have enabled us to be certain of the likeness, however. There is sufficient, I believe. You may go, Bl-enkin.'
'Yes, Mr Edward.'
'A little something off the ears, I th-ink.'
'Yes, Mr Edward.'
The servant respectfully shut the door behind him, and then went down to the kitchen shaking his head sadly. The d'Eaths hadn't him as a baby in the forests of the Ramtop mountains. There were some b-urning wagons, corpses, that sort of thing. B-andit attack, apparently. The dwarfs found a sword in the wreckage. He has it now. A very old sword. And it's always sharp.'
'So? The world is full of old swords. And grindstones.'
'This one had been very well hidden in one of the carts, which been able to afford a family torturer for years. For the boy's sake he'd just have to do the best he could with a kitchen knife.The visitors waited for the host to speak, but he didn't seem about to do so, although it was sometimes hard to tell with Edward. When he was excited, he suffered not so much from a speech impediment as from misplaced pauses, as if his brain were temporarily putting his mouth on hold.Eventually, one of the audience said: 'Very well. So what is your point?''You've seen the likeness. Isn't it ob-vious?''Oh, come now—'Edward d'Eath pulled a leather case towards him and began undoing the thongs.'But, but the boy was adopted by Discworld dwarfs. They found
Friday, April 24, 2009
John Constable Salisbury Cathedral
John Constable Salisbury CathedralJohn Constable Salisbury Cathedral from the MeadowsJohn Constable Hadleigh CastleJohn Constable Flatford Mill
that’ll be another iron nail in your coffin. And I’d
be a little bit sorry about that, ‘cos you know I’ve always had
a soft spot for you. But I’ve got kiddies, y’see, and they don’t
hide under the stairs because they’re frit of the thunder, and
255
Terry Pratchett
they don’t put milk out for the elves, and they don’t hurry home because of the night, and before we go back to them dark old Nanny Ogg nudged Casanunda.
“Go on, answer the nice gentleman.”
Casanunda swallowed.
“Blimey,” he said, “you don’t half look like your picture.”
In a narrow little valley a few miles away a party of elves had found a nest ways /’// see you nailed.”The words sliced through the air.The homed man stood up. And further up. His antlers touched the roof.Casanunda’s mouth dropped open.“So you see,” said Nanny, subsiding, “not today. One day, maybe. You just stay down here and sweat it out ‘til One Day. But not today.”“I... will decide.”“Very good. You decide. And I’ll be getting along.”The homed man looked down at Casanunda.“What are you staring at, dwarf?”
that’ll be another iron nail in your coffin. And I’d
be a little bit sorry about that, ‘cos you know I’ve always had
a soft spot for you. But I’ve got kiddies, y’see, and they don’t
hide under the stairs because they’re frit of the thunder, and
255
Terry Pratchett
they don’t put milk out for the elves, and they don’t hurry home because of the night, and before we go back to them dark old Nanny Ogg nudged Casanunda.
“Go on, answer the nice gentleman.”
Casanunda swallowed.
“Blimey,” he said, “you don’t half look like your picture.”
In a narrow little valley a few miles away a party of elves had found a nest ways /’// see you nailed.”The words sliced through the air.The homed man stood up. And further up. His antlers touched the roof.Casanunda’s mouth dropped open.“So you see,” said Nanny, subsiding, “not today. One day, maybe. You just stay down here and sweat it out ‘til One Day. But not today.”“I... will decide.”“Very good. You decide. And I’ll be getting along.”The homed man looked down at Casanunda.“What are you staring at, dwarf?”
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Edward Hopper Bridle Path
Edward Hopper Bridle PathAmedeo Modigliani LandscapeAlphonse Maria Mucha The Judgement of ParisAlphonse Maria Mucha Savonnerie de Bagnolet
.”
Nanny Ogg wandered off, dreamily.
Granny Weatherwax turned—
l there should have been violins. The murmur of the crowd should have faded away, and the crowd itself should have parted in a quite natural movement to leave an empty path between her and Ridcully
There should have been violins. There should have been something.
There shouldn’t have been the Librarian accidentally knuckling her on the toe on his way to the buffet, but this, in fact, there was.
She hardly noticed.
“Esme?” said Ridcully
“Mustrum?” saidThe Bursar, who was currently on the median point of his cycle, tapped Ridcully on the shoulder.
“I say, Archchancellor, these quails’ eggs are amazingly
go-“
“DROP DEAD. Mr. Stibbons, fish out the frog pills and keep knives away from him, please.”
The gazes locked again.
“Well, well,” said Granny, after a year or so. Granny Weatherwax.Nanny Ogg bustled up.“Esme, I saw Millie Chillum and she said—“Granny Weatherwax’s vicious elbow jab winded her.Nanny took in the scene.“Ah,” she said, “I’ll just, I’ll just... I’ll just go away, then.”The gazes locked again.The Librarian knuckled past again with an entire display of fruit.Granny Weatherwax paid him no heed.
.”
Nanny Ogg wandered off, dreamily.
Granny Weatherwax turned—
l there should have been violins. The murmur of the crowd should have faded away, and the crowd itself should have parted in a quite natural movement to leave an empty path between her and Ridcully
There should have been violins. There should have been something.
There shouldn’t have been the Librarian accidentally knuckling her on the toe on his way to the buffet, but this, in fact, there was.
She hardly noticed.
“Esme?” said Ridcully
“Mustrum?” saidThe Bursar, who was currently on the median point of his cycle, tapped Ridcully on the shoulder.
“I say, Archchancellor, these quails’ eggs are amazingly
go-“
“DROP DEAD. Mr. Stibbons, fish out the frog pills and keep knives away from him, please.”
The gazes locked again.
“Well, well,” said Granny, after a year or so. Granny Weatherwax.Nanny Ogg bustled up.“Esme, I saw Millie Chillum and she said—“Granny Weatherwax’s vicious elbow jab winded her.Nanny took in the scene.“Ah,” she said, “I’ll just, I’ll just... I’ll just go away, then.”The gazes locked again.The Librarian knuckled past again with an entire display of fruit.Granny Weatherwax paid him no heed.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Cao Yong MY BALCONY
Cao Yong MY BALCONYCao Yong LILY PONDCao Yong KOI POND
the question. If kings went round putting their own food on their own plate, the whole system of monarchy would come crashing down.
Unfortunately, thisof vegetarianism.
The traditional palace cuisine was heavy in artery-clogging
dishes so full of saturated fats that they oozed out in great
wobbly globules. Vegetables existed as things to soak up
spare gravy, and were generally boiled to a uniform shade of
yellow in any case. Magrat had tried explaining things to
Mrs. Scorbic the cook, but the woman’s three chins wobbled meant that service had to be by means of Mr. Spriggins the butler, who had a bad memory, a nervous twitch and a rubber knee, and a sort of medieval elevator system that connected with the kitchen and sounded like the rattle of a tumbril. The elevator shaft was a kind of heat sink. Hot food was cold by the time it arrived. Cold food got colder. No one knew what would happen to ice cream, but it would probably involve some rewriting of the laws of thermodynamics.Also, the cook couldn’t get the hang
the question. If kings went round putting their own food on their own plate, the whole system of monarchy would come crashing down.
Unfortunately, thisof vegetarianism.
The traditional palace cuisine was heavy in artery-clogging
dishes so full of saturated fats that they oozed out in great
wobbly globules. Vegetables existed as things to soak up
spare gravy, and were generally boiled to a uniform shade of
yellow in any case. Magrat had tried explaining things to
Mrs. Scorbic the cook, but the woman’s three chins wobbled meant that service had to be by means of Mr. Spriggins the butler, who had a bad memory, a nervous twitch and a rubber knee, and a sort of medieval elevator system that connected with the kitchen and sounded like the rattle of a tumbril. The elevator shaft was a kind of heat sink. Hot food was cold by the time it arrived. Cold food got colder. No one knew what would happen to ice cream, but it would probably involve some rewriting of the laws of thermodynamics.Also, the cook couldn’t get the hang
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