Pino close to my heart

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it’s goose on Tuesdays,’ said the Dean.
Poons opened one eye and honked the horn on his wheelchair.
‘Tantarabobs! How’s your granny off for soap!’ he muttered triumphantly.
‘See what I mean?’ said the Chair. ‘He doesn’t know what century it is.’
Poons The wizards stared hungrily at the bag.
‘They be having buttered banged grains and sausages in buns and chocolate things with things on and things,’ said Poons. He gave them a toothless and crafty look. ‘You can have some too, if you like,’ he added graciously.

The Dean ticked off his purchases. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘that’s six Patrician‑sized turned a beady black eye on him.‘Old I am, mm, and daft I may be,’ he said, ‘but I ain’t goin’ to be hungry.’ He rummaged around in the unspeakable depths of the wheelchair and produced a greasy black bag. It jingled. ‘I saw a young lady up the front a‑selling of special moving‑picture food,’ he said.‘You mean you had money all the time?’ said the Dean. ‘And you never told us?’‘You never asked,’ said Poons.

Leroy Neiman Casino

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pen jerked and tore and raced onwards.
Brother against brother! Women in crinoline dresses slapping people’s faces! A mighty dynasty brought low!
A great city aflame! Not with passione, he made a note in the margin, but with flame.
Possibly even
He bit his lip.
Yeah. He’d been waiting for this! Yeah!
A thousand elephants!
(Later Soll Dibbler said, ‘Look, Uncle, the Ankh-Morpork civil war - great idea. No problem with that. Famous historical occurrence, no problem. It’s just that none of the historians mentioned seeing any elephants.’
‘It was a big warlittle battles here. They’d need just about ev,’ said Dibbler defensively. ‘You’re bound to miss things.’ ‘Not a thousand elephants, I think.’ ‘Who’s running this studio?’ ‘It’s just that-’ ‘Listen,’ said Dibbler. ‘Maybe they didn’t have a thousand elephants, but we’re going to have a thousand elephants, ‘cos a thousand elephants is more real, OK?’) The sheet gradually filled up with Dibbler’s excited scrawl. He reached the bottom and continued over the woodwork of the bed. By the gods, this was the real stuff! No fiddly ery handleman in Holy Wood!
He sat back, panting with exhilarated exhaustion.
He could see it now. It was as good as made.

Henri Rousseau Sleeping Gypsy

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I’m sorry,’ he babbled. ‘I’ll go back and wait for you to get dressed . . . ‘
‘I am dressed.’
‘Mr Dibbler says-’ said Detritus, behind them.
‘Come on,’ said Ginger, grabbing his arm. ‘We mustn’t keep everyone waiting.’
‘But seeing you like that?’ said Victor, amazed.
‘Why should I? This is moving pictures. It’s not as if it’s real. Anyway, you’d be amazed at what girls have to do for a lot less than ten dollars a day.’
‘Nine,’ said Gaspode, who was still trailing at Victor’s heels.
‘Right, gather round, people,’ shouted Dibbler through a
megaphone. ‘Sons of the Desert over there, please. The slave
girls - where are the slave girls? Right. Handlemen?–’
‘I’ve never seen so many people in a click,’ Ginger whispered. ‘It must be costing more than a hundred dollars!’ you’re . . . your . . . ‘ Victor looked down, which wasn’t a help. ‘You’ve got a navel in your diamond,’ he hazarded. ‘I’ve come to terms with that,’ said Ginger, flexing her shoulders in an effort to make everything settle. ‘It’s these two saucepan lids that are giving me problems. Makes you realize what those poor girls in the harems must suffer.’ ‘And you don’t mind people

Alphonse Maria Mucha Flower

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his life savings were now resting in a leather bag inside his jerkin. He’d been in Holy Wood for a day. He’d looked at its ramshackle organization, such as it was, with the eye of a lifelong salesman. There seemed nowhere in it for ‘It’s me. Detritus,’ said Detritus. ‘Fancy seein’ you here, eh?’
He gave Dibbler a grin like a crack appearing in a vital bridge support. him, but this wasn’t a problem. There was always room at the top. A day’s enquiries and careful observation had led him to Interesting and Instructive Kinematography. Now he stood on the far side of the street, watching carefully. He watched the queue. He watched the man on the gate. He reached a decision. He strolled along the queue. He had brains. He knew he had brains. What he needed now was muscle. Somewhere here there was bound to– ‘Aft’noon, Mister Dibbler.’ That flat head, those rangy arms, that curling lower lip, that croaking voice that bespoke an IQ the size of a walnut. It added up to–

Salvador Dali Melting Watch

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There was a long, embarrassing silence.
'It's a wossname, a figure of speech,' said the Sphinx irritably, making another lunge.
'No, nothat the average life expectancy is seventy years, okay?'
'Okay,' said the Sphinx, in the uncertain tones of someone who has let the salesman in and is now regretfully contemplating a future in which they are undoubtedly going to buy life insurance., look, wait a minute,' said Teppic. 'I'd like us to be very clear about this, right? I mean, it's only fair, right?' 'Nothing wrong with the riddle,' said the Sphinx. 'Damn good riddle. Had that riddle for fifty years, sphinx and cub.' It thought about this. 'Chick,' it corrected. 'It's a good riddle,' Teppic said soothingly. 'Very deep. Very moving. The whole human condition in a nutshell. But you've got to admit, this doesn't all happen to one individual in one day, does it?' 'Well. No,' the Sphinx admitted. 'But that is self-evident from the context. An element of dramatic analogy is present in all riddles,' it added, with the air of one who had heard the phrase a long time ago and rather liked it, although not to the extent of failing to eat the originator. 'Yes, but,' said Teppic crouching down and brushing a clear space on the damp sand, 'is there internal consistency within the metaphor? Let's say for example

John William Waterhouse Lamia

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And because he was now a king, he made a mental note to have the marshes patrolled periodically from now on. A king should boat had dropped him off a little way downstream of the palace and, blue in the moonlight, the pyramid flares on the far bank were filling the night with their familiar glow.
The abodes of the happy dead came in all sizes although not, of course, in all shapes. They clustered thickly nearer the city, as though the dead like company.
And even the oldest ones were all complete. No-know things. He stopped, ankle deep in river ooze. He had known everything. Arthur had rambled on vaguely about seagulls and rivers and loaves of bread sprouting, which suggested he'd drunk too much. All Teppic could remember was waking up with a terrible sense of loss, as his memory failed to hold and leaked away its new treasures. It was like the tremendous insights that come in dreams and vanish on waking. He'd known everything, but as soon as he tried to remember what it was it poured out of his head, as from a leaky bucket. But it had left him with a new sensation. Before, his life had been ambling along, bent by circumstance. Now it was clicking along on bright rails. Perhaps he hadn't got it in him to be an assassin, but he knew he could be a king. His feet found solid ground. The

Leroy Neiman 18th at Harbourtown

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tower. She was a widow, after all. He felt he ought to be kind to widows. But being kind to the duchess didn't seem to achieve much, she didn't understand it, she thought it was just weakness. He was dreadfully afraid that he might have power). If she'd thrown herself in prison, she would have found considerable satisfaction in making herself regret she'd ever been born. But they'd just given her blankets, and worried about her.
Well, she'd be back. There was a big world out there, and she knew how to pull the levers to have her head cut off.No, being a king was no laughing matter. He brightened up at the thought. There was that to be said about it.And, after a while, he fell asleep. The duchess was not asleep. She was currently halfway down the castle wall on a rope of knotted sheets, having spent the previous day gradually chipping away the mortar around the bars of her window although, in truth, you could hack your way out of the average Lancre Castle wall with a piece of cheese. The fool! He'd given her cutlery, and plenty of bedclothes! That was how these people reacted. They let their fear do their thinking for them. They were scared of her, even when they thought they had her in their power (and the weak never had the strong in their power, never truly in their