Frederic Edwin Church Autumn

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wizards grunted with effort.
‘‑and, mm, I can remember it as if it was only yesterday, the look on his face when‑‘
‘Now lower away!’
The iron‑shod wheels clanged gently on the cobbles of the alley.
Poons nodded amiably. ‘Great times. Great times,’ he muttered, and fell asleep.
The wizards climbed slowly and unsteadily over the wall, ample backsides gleaming in the moonlight, and stood .’
It was dawning on the wizards that they were outside the University, at night and without permission, for the first time in decades. A certain suppressed excitement crackled from man to man. Any watcher trained in reading body language would have been prepared to bet that, after the click, wheezing gently on the far side.‘Tell me, Dean,’ said the Lecturer, leaning on the wall to stop the shaking in his legs, ‘have we made . . . the wall . . . higher in the last fifty years?’‘I . . . don’t . . . think . . . so.’‘Odd. Used to go up it like a gazelle. Not many years ago. Not many at all, really.’The wizards wiped their foreheads and looked sheepishly at one another.‘Used to nip over for a pint or three most nights,’ said the Chair.‘I used to study in the evenings,’ said the Dean, primly.The Chair narrowed his eyes.‘Yes, you always did,’ he said. ‘I recall

Juan Gris The Open Window

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And . . . ‘ Dibbler stared reflectively, ‘ . . . we could try . . . a great big shark?’ Even Dibbler sounded slightly surprised at his own suggestion.
Soll looked hopefully at Victor.
‘I’m almost certain sharks didn’t fight in the Civil War,’ said Victor.
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure people would have noticed,’ said Victor.
‘They’d go mooning around over some girl who’s letting dretful Creatures of the Night into the world,’ said Gaspode.
‘I should hope not,’ said Victor, and then, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Aha! Now he listens! Your girlfriend‑‘have got trampled by the elephants,’ muttered Soll.‘Yeah,’ said Dibbler, sadly. ‘It was just a thought. Don’t know why I said it, really.’He stared at nothing for a while, and then shook his head briskly.A shark, Victor thought. All the little golden fishes of your own thoughts are swimming away happily, and then the water moves and this great shark of a thought comes in from outside. As if someone’s doing our thinking for us. ‘You just don’t know how to behave,’ Victor told Gaspode, when they were alone. ‘I could hear you grumbling under the chair the whole time.’‘I might not know how to behave, but at least I don’t

Thomas Kinkade Courage

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couple of times every day. You could set your . . . your,’ it hesitated. ‘It was always the same times. Many times a day.’
‘Three ‘Yeah, I want this cleared up right now,’ squeaked the mouse. ‘Back home I was top mouse. I could lick any other mouse in the house. I want a proper name, kid. Anyone calls me Squeaky Boots’, he looked up at Victor, ‘is asking for a head shaped like a frying pan, do I make myself clear?’
The duck quacked at length. times. Three performances. Like a sort of theatre?’ said Victor, running his finger down the page. ‘We can’t count up to three,’ said the rabbit sourly. ‘It goes one . . . many. Many times.’ He glared at Victor. ‘Mr Thumpy,’ it said, in withering tones. ‘And people from other places brought him fish,’ said Victor. ‘There’s no-one else living near here. They must have come from miles away. People sailed miles just to bring him fish. It’s as though he didn’t want to eat fish out of the bay here. And it’s teeming with them. When I went swimming I saw lobsters you wouldn’t believe.’ ‘What did you name them?’ said Mr Thumpy, who wasn’t the kind of rabbit that forgot a grudge. ‘Mr Snappy

Caravaggio The Inspiration of Saint Matthew

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they were full of the nervous excitement of those who have found an unexpected fortune in their bank account and don’t know whether to draw people’s attention to it or simply take the lot and run.
‘The wizards aren’t going to like it,’ said one of them, a thin, hesitant man called Lully. ‘They’re going to call it magic. . You know what they’re like.’
The alchemists nodded gloomily.
‘They’re reactionaries,’ said Sendivoge, the Guild secretary. ‘Bloated thaumocrats. And the other Guilds, too. What do they know about the march of progress? What do they care? They could have been doing something like this for years, but did they? Not them! Just think how we can make people’s lives so much . . . well, better. The possibilities are immense.’
‘Educational,’ said Silverfish.
‘Historical,’ said Lully. You know they get really pissed if they think you’re doing magic and you’re not a wizard.’ ‘There isn’t any magic involved,’ said Thomas Silverfish, the president of the Guild. ‘There’s the imps.’ ‘That’s not magic. That’s just ordinary occult.’ ‘Well, there’s the salamanders.’ ‘Perfectly normal natural history. Nothing wrong with that.’ ‘Well, all right. But they’ll call it magic

Andy Warhol Diamond Dust Shoes

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The king slapped the apprentice on the back, pitching him forward.
'Damn clever idea!' he said. 'We'll just go and get one of the real early ancestors. Oh.' He sagged. 'That's no good. No-one will be able to understand them-'
'Gern!' said Dil, his eyes growing wider.
'No, it's 'The t- look at the t-'
'He ought to have a lie down,' said the king. 'I know his sort. The artistic type. Highly strung.'
Dil took a deep breath.
'Look at the sodding torch, Gern!' he shouted.
They looked.
Without any fuss, turning its black ashes into dry straw, the torch wasall right, king,' said Gern, enjoying the new-found freedom of thought, 'because, the reason being, everyone understands someone, all we have to do is sort them out.' 'Bright lad. Bright lad,' said the king. 'Gern!' They both looked at him in astonishment. 'You all right, master?' said Gern. 'You've gone all white.' 'The t-' stuttered Dil, rigid with terror. 'The what, master?'

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait 1940

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discharge alone . . .' He pulled his abacus towards him and rattled the pottery beads along the wires. 'Let's say we're talking twice the height of the Executive model, which gives us a mass of. . . plus additional coded dimensions of occult . Whatever happened to the two bits of wood and a plumbline?
The last beads clicked against the stops.
'It'd be a whole quantum leap in pyramidology,' said IIb, sitting back with a messianic grin on his face.
'It'd be a whole kwa-' IIa began.
'Quantum,' said IIb, savouring the word.
'It'd be a whole quantum leap in bankruptcy,' said IIa.
'They'd have to invent a new word for that too.'
'It'd be worth it as a loss leader,' said IIb.significance as per spec. . . we couldn't do this sort of thing even a hundred years ago, you realise, not with the primitive techniques we had then...' His finger became a blur. IIa gave a snort and grabbed his own abacus. 'Limestone at two talents the ton. . .' he said. 'Wear and tear on tools . . . masonry charges . . . demurrage . . . breakages . . . oh dear, oh dear . . . on-cost . . . black marble at replacement prices . . .' Ptaclusp sighed. Two abaci rattling in tandem the whole day long, one changing the shape of the world and the other one deploring the cost

Edmund Blair Leighton Stitching the Standard

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although the Death of the Discworld was used to dealing with people by the million, at the same time every death was intimate and personal.
Death was seldom seen except by those of an occult persuasion and his clients themselves. The reason that no-one else saw him was that the human brain is clever enough to edit sights too horrible for it to cope with, but the problem, through teeth fixed in a grimace.
Death gave him a manic grin of stagefright.
WHAT? he whispered, in a voice like an anvil being hit with a small lead hammer.
' ". . . lock will hold, nor fasten'd portal . . .",' said Tomjon encouragingly.
. . . LOCK WILL HOLD NOR FASTEN'D PORTAL . . . UH . . . repeated Death desperately, watching his lips.
' ". . . bar! . . ." ' here was that several hundred people were in fact expecting to see Death at this point, and were therefore seeing him.Death turned slowly and stared back at hundreds of watching eyes.Even in the grip of the truth Tomjon recognised a fellow actor in distress, and fought for mastery of his lips.' ". . . lock will hold . . ." ' he whispered