Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Loose Hair

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Loose HairFrida Kahlo Self Portrait with Cropped HairFrida Kahlo Self Portrait with BraidFrida Kahlo Naturaleza viva
entered. She was a small fat woman, but made up for her lack of height by wearing a huge black hat; not the pointy witch variety, but one covered with stuffed birds, wax fruit and other assorted decorative items, all painted black. Angua quite liked her. The rooms were rates were cheap, and Mrs Cake had a very understanding approach to people who lived slightly . I can't be having with that sort of thing, people messing up the hallways, waving torches and stuff.'
'I think I know who it is,' said Angua. 'I'll see to it.'
She tucked in her shirt.
'Pull the door to if you go out,' Mrs Cake called after her as she went out into the hall. 'Oi'm just off to change the dirt in Mr Winkins' coffin, on account of his back giving him troubleunusual lives and had, for. example, an aversion to garlic. Her daughter was a werewolf and she knew all about the need for ground floor windows and doors with long handles that a paw could operate.'He's got chainmail on,' said Mrs Cake. She was holding a bucket of gravel in either hand. 'He's got soap in his ears, too.''Oh. Er. Right.''Oi can tell 'im to bugger off if you like,' said Mrs Cake. 'That's what I allus does if the wrong sort comes round.Especially if they've got a stake

Jean Francois Millet The Angelus

Jean Francois Millet The AngelusJean Francois Millet AngelusJean Francois Millet Harvesters RestingJean Francois Millet Garden
climbed down again.
'You like gargoyles, don't you, captain,' said Carrot, as they strolled away.
'Yep. They may only be a kind of troll but they keep themselves to themselves and seldom go below the first floor and don't commit crimes anyone ever finds out about. My type of people.'
He unfolded very hard to imprison.
He had, however, surmised that an hour's exercise every day was essential for a healthy appetite and proper bowel movements, and was currently sitting on a machine of his own invention.
It consisted of a saddle above a pair of treadles which turned, by means of a chain, a large wooden wheel currently held off the ground on a metal stand. Another, freewheeling, wooden wheel was positioned in front of the saddle and could be turned by means of a tiller arrangement. He'd fitted the extra wheel and tiller the strip.It was a collar or, at least, what remained of a collar – it was burnt at both ends. The word 'Chubby' was just readable through the soot.'The devils!' said Vimes. 'They did blow up a dragon!' The most dangerous man in the world should be introduced.He has never, in his entire life, harmed a living creature. He has dissected a few, but only after they were had marvelled at how well they'd been put together considering it had been done by unskilled labour. For several years he hadn't moved outside a large, airy room, but this was OK, because he spent most of his time inside his own head in any case. There's a certain type of person it's

Pop art chuck berry on pink

Pop art chuck berry on pinkPop art brown in goldPop art billie on blackPop art art on firePop art another lazy afternoon
Don’t have to act, can do it automatic,” said Nanny. “Acting half my age . . . now that’s the difficult trick. Anyway, you didn’t answer me.”
To the surprise of Nanny, and of Ridcully, and possibly even of Granny Weatherwax herself, she slipped her arm around Ridcully’s arm.
“Mr. Ridcullyvolunteered.
“Maybe old times. Maybe other times.”
The unicorn reached the forest, and galloped onward.
The waters of the Lancre gushed below. No one crossed the same water twice, even on a bridge.
Ridcully dropped a pebble. It went plunk. and I are going to have a stroll down to the bridge.”“We are?” said Ridcully512LORDS fiHQ LftQfEQ“Oh, that’s nice.”“Gytha Ogg, if you keep on looking at me like that Ishall give you a right ding around the ear.”“Sorry, Esme,” said Nanny.“Good.”“I expect you want to talk about old times,” Nanny

Edward Hopper Lighthouse Hill

Edward Hopper Lighthouse HillEdward Hopper Hotel RoomEdward Hopper Hotel LobbyEdward Hopper Girlie ShowEdward Hopper Early Sunday Morning
sword. You tried to stick it into the enemy by a vigorous arm motion, and the enemy tried to stop you. She was a little uncertain about what happened next. She hoped you were allowed another go.
She was also having doubts about her armor. The helmet and the breastplate were OK, but the rest of it was chain-mail. And, as Shawn Ogg knew, chain-mail from the point of view of an arrow can be thought of as a series of loosely connected holes.
The rage was still Lankin, and you will curtsy when you talk to me.”
The tone suggested that there was absolutely no possibil-ity that she would disobey She felt her muscles strain to comply.
Queen Ynci wouldn’t have obeyed ...
“I happen to be practically the queen,” she said.there, the pure fury still gripped her at the core. But there was no getting away from the fact that the heart it gripped was surrounded by the rest of Magrat Garlick, spinster of this parish and likely to remain so.There were no elves visible in the town, but she could see where they had been. Doors hung off their hinges. The place looked as though it had been visited by Genghiz Cohen.Now she was on the track that led to the stones. It was wider than it had been; the horses and carriages had churned it on the way up, and the fleeing people had turned it into a mire on the way down.She knew she was being watched, and it almost came as a relief when three elves stepped out from under the trees before she’d even lost sight of the castle.The middle one grinned.“Good evening, girl,” it said. “My name is Lord

Jean-Honore Fragonard le jour

Jean-Honore Fragonard le jourJean-Honore Fragonard l'auroreJean-Honore Fragonard Cephale et Procris
“I remember once when we were in these woods you let
me—“
“Shut up.”
Granny “Maybe you’ve got your mind on other things,” said Ridcully, not quite giving up hope.
“Course I’ve got my mind on other things, with you falling over all the time and gabbling a lot of nonsense,” said Granny. “If Mr. Cleverdick Wizard hadn’t wanted to dredge up things that never existed in the first place I wouldn’t be here, I’d be in the center of things, knowing what’s going on.” She clenched her fists.Weatherwax sat down on a stump.“We’re being mazed,” she said. “Someone’s playing tricks on us.”“I remember a story once,” said Ridcully, “where these two children were lost in the woods and a lot of birds came and covered them with leaves.” Hope showed in his voice like a toe peeking out from under a crinoline.“Yes, that’s just the sort of bloody stupid thing a bird would think of,” said Granny. She rubbed her head.“She’s doing it,” she said. “It’s an elvish trick. Leading217Terry Pratchetttravelers astray. She’s mucking up my head. My actual head. Oh, she’s good. Making us go where she wants. Making us go round in circles. Doing it to me.”

Albert Moore Garden

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Magrat thought: he was much nicer when he was a man with silver bells on his hat and slept every night on the floor in front of his master’s door. I could talk to him then . . .
Verence clapped his hands together.
“Well, that’s about it, then. Busy day tomorrow, what with all the guests coming and everything.”
“Yes. It’s going to be a long day.”
“Very nearly the longest day. Haha.”
“Yes.”very primitive.”
Magrat looked at the fire. Their wifery wasn’t up to much either, she thought.
“So we’d better be off to bed, then, do you think?”
“I suppose so.”
Verence took down two silver candlesticks, and lit the candles with“I expect they’ve put warming pans in our beds.”“Has Shawn got the hang of it now?”“I hope so. I can’t afford any more mattresses.”It was a great hall. Shadows piled up in the corners, clustered at either end.“I suppose,” said Magrat, very slowly, as they stared at the fire, “they haven’t really had many books here in Lancre. Up until now.”“Literacy is a great thing.”“They got along without them, I suppose.”Terry Pratchett“Yes, but not properly. Their husbandry is really

Vincent van Gogh Road with Cypresses

Vincent van Gogh Road with CypressesVincent van Gogh Peach Tree in BlossomVincent van Gogh Orchard in Blossom
they might—if they knew how—mark such a spot with certain stones.
In the hope that enough daft buggers would take it as a warning, and keep away.
“Well, what’d you think?” said Granny, as the witches hur-ried home.
“The little fat quiet one’s got a bit of natural talent,” said Nanny Ogg. “I could feel it. The rest of ‘em are just along for the excitement, to my mind. Playing at witches. You know, ooh-jar boards and cards and wearing black lace gloves with no fingers to ‘em and paddlin’ with the occult.”
“I don’t hold with
“Oh, yeah. Made my hair stand on end.”
“Someone gave it to her, and I know who. Just a slip of a
67
Terry Pratehett
gel with a head full of wet ideas out of books, and suddenly she’s got the power and don’t paddlin’ with the occult,” said Granny firmly. “Once you start paddlin’ with the occult you start believing in spirits, and when you start believing in spirits you start believing in demons, and then before you know where you are you’re believing in gods. And then you’re in trouble.”“But all them things exist,” said Nanny Ogg.“That’s no call to go around believing in them. It only encourages ‘em.”Granny Weatherwax slowed to a walk.“What about her?” she said.“What exactly about her do you mean?”l “You felt the power there?”

Mark Spain Dance I

Mark Spain Dance IMark Spain Crescendo IIMark Spain Crescendo I
Brutha's body toppled forward almost gracefully, smacking into the table. The bowl overturned, and 'gruel dripped down on to the floor.
And then Brutha stood up, without a second glance at his corpse.
"Hah. I wasn't expecting you," he said.
Death stopped leaning against the wall.
HOW FORTUNATE YOU WERE.
"But there's still such a lot to be done . . ."
YES. THERE ALWAYS IS.
Brutha Death grinned and stepped aside.
What Brutha had thought vas a rock in the sand was a hunched figure, sitting clutching its knees. It looked paralyzed with fear.
He stared.
"Vorbis?" he said.followed the gaunt figure through the wall where, instead of the privy that occupied the far side in normal space, there was . . .. . . black sand.The light was brilliant, crystalline, in a black sky filled with stars."Ah. There really is a desert. Does everyone get this?" said Brutha.WHO KNOWS?"And what is at the end of the desert?"JUDGEMENT.Brutha considered this."Which end?"
He looked at Death.

Pablo Picasso Les Demoiselles dAvignon

Pablo Picasso Les Demoiselles dAvignonPablo Picasso Le Moulin de la GalettePablo Picasso Crucifixion
Busy today," said Brutha, hardly thinking about it.
"Time of the Prophet, see," said Dhblah, "when the Great God is manifest in the world. And if you think it's busy now, you won't be few acres of well-irrigated land, funnily enough. Perhaps I ought to buy now, ahead of the crowd?"
"Can't see any harm in it, Mr. Dhblah."
Dhblah sidled closer. This was not hard. Dhblah sidled everywhere. Crabs thought he walked sideways.
"Funny thing," he said. "I mean . . . Vorbis?"able to swing a goat here in a few days' time.""What happens then?""You all right? You look a bit peaky.""What happens then?""The Laws. You know. The Book of Vorbis? I suppose-” Dhblah leaned toward Brutha-"you wouldn't have a hint, would you? I suppose the Great God didn't happen to say anything of benefit to the convenience food industry?""I don't know. I think he'd like people to grow more lettuce.""Really?""It's only a guess."Dhblah grinned evilly. "Ah, yes, but it's your guess. A nod's as good as a poke with a sharp stick to a deaf camel, as they say. I know where I can get my hands on a

Edward Hopper Morning in a City

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it been like this back in the first days? It must have been. It was all so hazy now. He couldn't remember the thoughts he'd had then, just the shape of the thoughts. Everything had been highly colored, everything had been growing every day-he had been growing every day; thoughts and the mind that was thinking them were developing at lot about fighting, but serious professional soldiers think a lot more about food and a warm place to sleep, because these are two things that are generally hard to get, whereas fighting tends to turn up all the time.
There was a bowl of fruit in Brutha's cell, and a plate of cold meat. But first things the same speed. Easy to forget things from those times. It was like a fire trying to remember the shape of its flames. But the feeling-he could remember that.He wasn't doing anything to Brutha. Brutha was doing it to himself. Brutha was beginning to think in godly ways. Brutha was starting to become a prophet.Om wished he had someone to talk to. Someone who understood.This was Ephebe, wasn't it? Where people made a living trying to understand? The Omnians were to be housed in little rooms around a central courtyard. There was a fountain in the middle, in a very small grove of sweet-smelling pine trees. The soldiers nudged one another. People think that professional soldiers think a

Henri Matisse The Window

Henri Matisse The WindowHenri Matisse The Green LineHenri Matisse Red FishHenri Matisse Pink Nude
an automatic prod with the other foot .
". . . my wife, who is sick with the . . ."
"Right!"
Kick
". . , make clean the well in our village, which is foul with . . ."
"You got itSo much of animal life is the recognition of pattern, the shapes of hunter and hunted. To the casual eye the forest is, well, just forest; to the eye of the dove it is so much unimportant fuzzy green background to the hawk which you did not notice on the branch of a tree. To the tiny dot of the hunting buzzard in the heights, the whole panorama of the world is just a fog compared to the scurrying prey in the grass.
From his perch on the Horns themselves, the eagle leapt into the sky.!"Kick". . . every year the locusts come, and . . .""I promise, only . . . !"Kick". . . lost upon the seas these five months . . ."". . . stop kicking me!"The tortoise landed, right side up, in a brief, clear space.Visible . . .

Unknown Artist Bruce Lee

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they ploughed relentlessly forward. Behind them pressed the great mass of cows and their calves, skimming over land it was obvious to the onlookers that whoever was going to stop this would need more than a couple of pounds of rock salt and a shovel.
'Go on, then,' said Conina, 'explain. I think you'd better shout.
Nijel looked distractedly at the herd.
'I think I can see some figures,' said Creosote helpfully. 'Look, on top of the leading ... things.'already ground down to the bedrock by the leaders.They bore as much resemblance to the familiar glaciers the world thought it knew as a lion dozing in the shade bears to three hundred pounds of wickedly coordinated muscle bounding towards you with its mouth open.'... and ... and ... when you went to the window,' Nijel's mouth, lacking any further input from his brain, ran down.Moving, jostling ice packed the plain, roaring forward under a great cloud of clammy steam. The ground shook as the leaders passed below, and

Claude Monet Monet's Garden at argenteuil

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Here is what it looked like.
It looked like a piano sounds shortly after being dropped down a well. It tasted yellow, and felt Paisley. It smelled like awas a column of octarine light that creaked loudly as they poured their power into it. At its base stood Abrim, the octarine gems on the hat blazing so brightly that they looked more like holes cut through into a different universe where, in defiance of probability, they had come out inside a sun.
The vizier stood with his hands out, fingers splayed, eyes shut, mouth a thin line of concentration, balancing the forces. Usually a wizard could control power only to the extent of his total eclipse of the moon. Of course, nearer to the tower it got really weird.Expecting anything unprotected to survive in that would be like expecting snow on a supernova. Fortu­nately the Luggage didn't know this, and slid through the maelstrom with raw magic crystallising on its lid and hinges. It was in a foul mood but, again, there was nothing very unusual about this, except that the crack­ling fury earthing itself spectacularly all over the Lug­gage in a multi-coloured corona gave it the appearance of an early and very angry amphibian crawling out of a burning swamp.It was hot and stuffy inside the tower. There were no internal floors, just a series of walkways around the walls. They were lined with wizards, and the central space

Leroy Neiman Mardi Gras Parade

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'Isn't there some sort of formal ceremony?' he said.
Carding coughed.
'I-er, no,' he said.eerily until it pointed towards him. Once again Coin seemed to be listening to an inner voice.
'No,' he said eventually, and when he spoke next his voice had that wide, echoing quality that, if you are not a wizard, you can only achieve with a lot of very expensive audio equipment. 'There will be a ceremony. There must be a ceremony, people must understand that wizards are ruling, but it will not be here. I will select a place. And all the wizards who have passed through these gates will attend, is that understood?'
'Some of them live far off,' said Carding, carefully. 'It will take them some time to travel, so when 'No, I don't think so.' He glanced up at the other senior mages, who shook their heads. 'No. We've never had one. Apart from the feast, of course. Er. You see, it's not like a coronation, the Archchancellor, you see, he leads the fraternity of wizards, he's,' Carding's voice ran down slowly in the light of that golden gaze, 'he's you see ... he's the ... first ...among ... equals ...'He stepped back hurriedly as the staff moved

Leonardo da Vinci Mona Lisa Smile

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'Take him out and throw him in the street,' said Spelter. The porters, big solid serious men, nodded. They gripped the boy's pipestem arms with hands like banana bunches.
'Your father will looking rather like a small captive balloon that had for some reason been draped in blue velvet and vermine; between them, the wizards averaged out as two normal-sized men.
Unfortunately, Billias was the type of person who prided himself on being good with children. He bent down as far as his dinner would allow and thrust a whiskery red face towards the boy.
'What's the matter, lad?' he said.
'This child had forced his way into here becausehear of this,' said Spelter severely.'He already has,' said the boy. He glanced up at the two men and shrugged.'What's going on here?'Spelter turned to see Skarmer Billias, head of the Order of the Silver Star. Whereas Spelter tended towards the wiry, Billias was expansive,

Paul Cezanne Still Life with a Skull

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scrambled up in time to see Arthur hanging grimly on to the handle of the other trolley as the two of them whirred around in a mad centrifugal waltz.
‘Let go! Let go!’ Doreen screamed.
‘I can’t! I can’t!’
‘Well, do wall. The words “Better late than nev” ended in a desperate streak of paint.
‘Show him a wall and a paint pot and he doesn’t know what world he’s in,’ said Doreen.
‘He’s only got a choice of two,’ said Windle, throwing the trolley wheels across the floor. ‘Lupine, keep a look-out in case there’s any more.’ The wheels had been sharp, like ice skates. He was definitely feeling tattered around the legs. Now, how did healing go? Reg Shoe was helped into a sitting position.
‘What’s happening?’ he said.’No-one else wassomething!’There was a pop of inrushing air. The trolley was suddenly not straining against the weight of a middle-aged wholesale, fruit and vegetable entrepreneur but only against a small terrified bat. It rocketed into a marble pillar, bounced off, hit a wall and landed on its back, wheels spinning. ‘The wheels!’ shouted Ludmilla.’Pull the wheels off!’‘I’ll do that,’ said Windle.’You help Reg.’‘Is that Reg down there?’ said Doreen.Windle jerked his thumb towards the distant

Paul Gauguin Yellow Christ

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a wizard, yoysee -‘
‘All right, but see you wipes your feet.’
‘May I come in?’
Windle Poons paused. He replayed the last few lines of conversation in the clicking control room of his brain. And then he smiled. ‘That’s right, ‘ said Mrs Cake.
‘Are you by any chance a natural clairvoyant?’
‘About ten seconds usually, Mr Poons.’
Windle hesitated.
‘You gotta ask the question,’ said Mrs Cake quickly. ‘I gets a migraine if people goes and viciously not asks ‘And you’d like a cup of tea,’ said Mrs Cake to Windle. Someone else might have said ‘I expect you’d like a cup of tea’, or ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ But this was a statement.questions after I’ve already foreseen ‘em and answered ‘em.’‘How far into the future can you see, Mrs Cake?’She nodded.‘Roight, then,’ she said, apparently mollified, and led the way through the hall into a tiny sitting-room.‘And the bogey can come in, only he’s got to leave ‘is door outside and go in the cellar. I don’t hold with bogeys wanderin’ around the house.’‘Gosh, it’s ages since I’ve been in a proper cellar,’ said Schleppel.‘It’s got spiders in it,’ said Mrs Cake.‘Wow!’
‘Yes, please, ‘ said Windle. ‘I ‘d love a cup of tea.’

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people in a funny way.’ They stepped through the wicket gate in one of the big doors and the Dean shut it in Mrs Cake’s face.
‘He might not come,’ said the Senior Wrangler, as they crossed the quadrangle. ‘He didn’t come for poor old Windle’s farewell party.’
‘He’ll metallic noises.
The atmosphere in the Archchancellor’s study was very cold.
Eventually the Bursar quavered: ‘Maybe he’s busy?’
‘Shut up,’ said the wizards, in unison.
Something was happening. The floor inside the chalked magic octogram was going white with frost.
‘It’s never done that before,’ said the Senior Wrangler.
‘This is all wrong, you know,’ said the Dean. ‘We should have some come for the Rite,’ said Ridcully.’It doesn’t just send him an invitation, it puts a bloody RSVP on‘Oh, good. I like sherry,’ said the Bursar.‘Shut up, Bursar.’ There was an alley, somewhere in the Shades, which was the most alley-ridden part of an alley-ridden city.Something small and shiny rolled into it, and vanished in the darkness.After a while, there were faint

Guido Reni The Coronation of the Virgin

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football team for the big city game on Hogswatchday.
Intellectually, Ridcully maintained his position for two reasons. One was that he never, ever, changed his mind about anything. The other was that it took him several minutes to understand any new idea put to him, and this is a very valuable trait in a leader, because anything anyone is still trying to explain to you after two minutes is this. There’s been a mistake somewhere.
He felt a cool breeze on his face and realised he’d tottered out into the open air. Ahead of him were the University’s gates, locked shut. Suddenly Windle Poons felt acutely claustrophobic.
He’d waited years to die, and now he had, and here he was stuck in this -
this mausoleum with a lot of daft old men, where he’d have to spend the rest probably important and anything they give up after a mere minute or so is almost certainly something they shouldn’t have been bothering you with in the first place. There seemed to be more Mustrum Ridcully than one body could reasonably contain.Plop. Plop.In the dark cupboard in the cellar, a whole shelf was already full.There was exactly as much Windle Poons as one body could contain, and he steered it carefully along the corridors.I never expected this, he thought. I don’t deserve