Alphonse Maria Mucha FlowerAlphonse Maria Mucha FlirtAlphonse Maria Mucha Dance
'Aye, lordship. Made from apples. Well, mainly apples.'
This seemed on the verge of making an important deduction, and it is unfortunate that he was distracted, as he walked across the yard to the inn's low door, by the sight of the inn sign. Its artist hadn't been particularly gifted, but there was no mistaking the line of Keli's jaw or her mass of fiery hair in the portrait of The Quene's Hed.
He sighed, and pushed open to Mort. 'Oh, right,' he said. 'A pint of scumble, then.' He reached into his pocket and withdrew the bag of gold that Death had given him. It was still quite full. In the sudden hush of the inn the faint clink of the coins sounded like the legendary Brass Gongs of Leshp, which can be heard far out to sea on stormy nights as the currents stir them in their drowned towers three hundred fathoms below.
'And please serve these gentlemen with whatever they want,' he added.
He was so overwhelmed by the chorus of thanks that he didn't take much notice of the fact that his new friends were served their drink in tiny, thimble-sized glasses, while his alone turned up in a large wooden mug.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Paul Cezanne Apples Peaches Pears and Grapes
Paul Cezanne Apples Peaches Pears and GrapesLaurie Maitland Symphony in Red and Khaki IIWilliam Bouguereau YouthBill Brauer Salsa Dancers
'You're late,' he whispered, and died.
Mort swallowed, fought for breath, and brought the scythe around in a slow arc. Nevertheless, it was accurate enough; the abbot sat up, leaving his corpse behind.
'Not a shut.
'That's what I've been trying to say,' he said.
'So if you could just drop me off down in the valley,' the little monk continued moment too soon,' he said, in a voice only Mort could hear. 'You had me worried for a moment there.''Okay?' said Mort. 'Only I've got to rush —'The abbot swung himself off the bed and walked towards Mort through the ranks of his bereaved followers.'Don't rush off,' he said. 'I always look forward to these talks. What's happened to the usual fellow?''Usual fellow?' said Mort, bewildered.Tall chap. Black cloak. Doesn't get enough to eat, by the look of him,' said the abbot.'Usual fellow? You mean Death?' said Mort.'That's him,' said the abbot, cheerfully. Mort's mouth hung open.'Die a lot, do you?' he managed.'A fair bit. A fair bit. Of course,' said the abbot, 'once you get the hang of it, it's only a matter of practice.''It is?''We must be off,' said the abbot. Mort's mouth snapped
'You're late,' he whispered, and died.
Mort swallowed, fought for breath, and brought the scythe around in a slow arc. Nevertheless, it was accurate enough; the abbot sat up, leaving his corpse behind.
'Not a shut.
'That's what I've been trying to say,' he said.
'So if you could just drop me off down in the valley,' the little monk continued moment too soon,' he said, in a voice only Mort could hear. 'You had me worried for a moment there.''Okay?' said Mort. 'Only I've got to rush —'The abbot swung himself off the bed and walked towards Mort through the ranks of his bereaved followers.'Don't rush off,' he said. 'I always look forward to these talks. What's happened to the usual fellow?''Usual fellow?' said Mort, bewildered.Tall chap. Black cloak. Doesn't get enough to eat, by the look of him,' said the abbot.'Usual fellow? You mean Death?' said Mort.'That's him,' said the abbot, cheerfully. Mort's mouth hung open.'Die a lot, do you?' he managed.'A fair bit. A fair bit. Of course,' said the abbot, 'once you get the hang of it, it's only a matter of practice.''It is?''We must be off,' said the abbot. Mort's mouth snapped
Vincent van Gogh Wheat Fields
Vincent van Gogh Wheat FieldsEdward Hopper Summer EveningEdward Hopper Room in New York
rather better than you. I suppose you'll just have to do.'
She swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
'Have to do what?' said Mort, to no-one in particular.
The room was silent, except for the sizzle of the frying pan and the crumbling of coals in the molten heart of the stove. old men who always look as though they are wearing gloves with the fingers cut out – even when they're not – and his walking involved a complicated sequence of movements. Albert leaned forward and his left arm started to swing, slowly at first but soon evolving into a wild jerking movement that finally and suddenly, at about the time when Mort saw that it had the words 'The Little Moloch (Ptntd)' embossed on its oven door.The cook didn't seem to notice him, so Mort pulled up a chair and sat down at the white scrubbed table.'Mushrooms?' said the old man, without looking around.'Hmm? What?''I said, do you want mushrooms?''Oh. Sorry. No, thank you,' said Mort.'Right you are, young sir.'He turned around and set out for the table.Even after he got used to it, Mort always held his breath when he watched Albert walking. Death's manservant was one of those stick-thin, raw-nosed
rather better than you. I suppose you'll just have to do.'
She swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
'Have to do what?' said Mort, to no-one in particular.
The room was silent, except for the sizzle of the frying pan and the crumbling of coals in the molten heart of the stove. old men who always look as though they are wearing gloves with the fingers cut out – even when they're not – and his walking involved a complicated sequence of movements. Albert leaned forward and his left arm started to swing, slowly at first but soon evolving into a wild jerking movement that finally and suddenly, at about the time when Mort saw that it had the words 'The Little Moloch (Ptntd)' embossed on its oven door.The cook didn't seem to notice him, so Mort pulled up a chair and sat down at the white scrubbed table.'Mushrooms?' said the old man, without looking around.'Hmm? What?''I said, do you want mushrooms?''Oh. Sorry. No, thank you,' said Mort.'Right you are, young sir.'He turned around and set out for the table.Even after he got used to it, Mort always held his breath when he watched Albert walking. Death's manservant was one of those stick-thin, raw-nosed
Monday, March 9, 2009
Thomas Kinkade CHRISTMAS MEMORIES
Thomas Kinkade CHRISTMAS MEMORIESThomas Kinkade BostonEdward Hopper Soir Bleu
horror, because the dusty floorboards suddenly felt gritty. And dry. And very, very cold.
There was fine silver sand between her fingers.
She grabbed the staff and, sheltering her eyes against the wind, waved it at the towering figures above her. It would have been nice to report that a searing flash of pure white fire cleansed the greasy air. It failed to materialise ....There was blood on the floor, and Simon lay very quietly in the centre of it. Esk stared down at him, and then up at the still air, and then at the staff. It looked smug.
She was aware of distant voices and hurrying feet.
A hand like a fine leather glove slipped gently into hers and a voice behind said "Ook," very softly. She turned, and found herself staring down into the gentle
The staff twisted like a snake in her hand and caught Simon a crack on the side of the head.
The grey Things wavered and vanished.
Reality returned, and tried to pretend that it had never left. Silence settled like thick velvet, wave after wave of it. A heavy, echoing silence. A few books dropped heavily out of the air, feeling silly.
The floor under Esk's feet was undoubtedly wooden. She kicke
horror, because the dusty floorboards suddenly felt gritty. And dry. And very, very cold.
There was fine silver sand between her fingers.
She grabbed the staff and, sheltering her eyes against the wind, waved it at the towering figures above her. It would have been nice to report that a searing flash of pure white fire cleansed the greasy air. It failed to materialise ....There was blood on the floor, and Simon lay very quietly in the centre of it. Esk stared down at him, and then up at the still air, and then at the staff. It looked smug.
She was aware of distant voices and hurrying feet.
A hand like a fine leather glove slipped gently into hers and a voice behind said "Ook," very softly. She turned, and found herself staring down into the gentle
The staff twisted like a snake in her hand and caught Simon a crack on the side of the head.
The grey Things wavered and vanished.
Reality returned, and tried to pretend that it had never left. Silence settled like thick velvet, wave after wave of it. A heavy, echoing silence. A few books dropped heavily out of the air, feeling silly.
The floor under Esk's feet was undoubtedly wooden. She kicke
William Bouguereau Innocence
William Bouguereau InnocenceBill Brauer The Gold DressUnknown Artist Muhammad Ali pop art
We wouldn't want to presume," said Granny.
"Nonsense. Why not have a look around while I pack up the stall?"
Ohulan was the market town for a wide sprawling countryside and the market day didn't end at sunset. Instead, torches flared at every booth and stall and light blared forth from the open doorways of the inns. Even the understanding of headology, since Esk was- now determined to see one or two of them for herself.
In fact, since Ohulan was quite barbaric and uncivilised the only things that went on after dark to any degree were a little thievery, some amateurish trading in the courts of lust, and drinking until you fell over or started singing or both.temples put out coloured lamps to attract nocturnal worshippers. Hilta moved through the crowd like a slim snake through dry grass, her entire stall and stock reduced to a surprisingly small bundle on her back, and her jewellery rattling like a sackful of flamenco dancers. Granny stumped along behind her, her feet aching from the unaccustomed prodding of the cobbles. And Esk got lost. It took some effort, but she managed it. It involved ducking between two stalls and then scurrying down a side alley. Granny had warned her at length about the unspeakable things that lurked in cities, which showed that the old woman was lacking in a complete
We wouldn't want to presume," said Granny.
"Nonsense. Why not have a look around while I pack up the stall?"
Ohulan was the market town for a wide sprawling countryside and the market day didn't end at sunset. Instead, torches flared at every booth and stall and light blared forth from the open doorways of the inns. Even the understanding of headology, since Esk was- now determined to see one or two of them for herself.
In fact, since Ohulan was quite barbaric and uncivilised the only things that went on after dark to any degree were a little thievery, some amateurish trading in the courts of lust, and drinking until you fell over or started singing or both.temples put out coloured lamps to attract nocturnal worshippers. Hilta moved through the crowd like a slim snake through dry grass, her entire stall and stock reduced to a surprisingly small bundle on her back, and her jewellery rattling like a sackful of flamenco dancers. Granny stumped along behind her, her feet aching from the unaccustomed prodding of the cobbles. And Esk got lost. It took some effort, but she managed it. It involved ducking between two stalls and then scurrying down a side alley. Granny had warned her at length about the unspeakable things that lurked in cities, which showed that the old woman was lacking in a complete
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