William Blake the Body of Abel Found by Adam and Eve

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. There was a city straddling the river Ankh, but it wasn't one he'd ever seen before; it was white and clean and didn't smell like a privy full of dead herrings.
He landed in Rincewind had always been rather proud of the fact that he always felt alone, even in the teeming city, but it was even worse being alone when he was by himself.
He rolled up the carpet and slung it over one shoulder and padded through the haunted streets towards the University.what had once been the Plaza of Broken Moons, and also in a state of some shock. There were fountains. There had been fountains before, of course, but they had oozed rather than played and they had looked like thin soup. There were milky flagstones underfoot, with little glittery bits in. And, although the sun was sitting on the horizon like half a breakfast grapefruit, there was hardly anyone around. Normally Ankh was permanently crowded, the actual shade of the sky being a mere background detail.Smoke drifted over the city in long greasy coils from the crown of boiling air above the University. It was the only movement, apart from the fountains.

Edward Hopper High Noon

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...'
'But I'll have you to protect me,' she said.
Rincewind below the patter of feet, the rushes, the gristly noises, the groans, the muffled screams. It could be that some wild animal is pacing through the Shades after two weeks on a starvation diet.
Somewhere near the centre of the Shades - the district has never been adequately mapped - is a small courtyard. Here at least there are torches on the walls, but the light they throw is the light of the Shades themselves: mean, reddened, dark at the core.thought he heard the sound of marching feet several streets away.'You know,' he sighed, 'I knew you’d say that.'Down these mean streets a man must walk, he thought. And along some of them he will break into a run. It is so black in the Shades on this foggy spring night that it would be too dark to read about Rincewind's progress through the eerie streets, so the descriptive passage will lift up above the level of the ornate rooftops, the forest of twisty chimneys, and admire the few twinkling stars that manage to pierce the swirling billows. It will try to ignore the sounds drifting up from

Francois Boucher The Setting of the Sun

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motion. In the Ramtop village where they dance the real Morris dance, for example, they believe that no-one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away - until the clock he wound up winds down, until the wine shethe high moorland under the moon. Not entirely wolves, not entirely human. With any luck, they’d have best of both worlds. Not just feeling . . . but knowing.
Always best to have both worlds.
Death sat in his chair in his dark study, his hands steepled in front of his face.
Occasionally he’d swivel the chair backwards and forwards made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life, they say, is only the core of their actual existence. As he walked through the foggy city to an appointment he had been awaiting ever since he was born, Windle felt that he could predict that final end.It would be in a few weeks ‘ time, when the moon was full again. A sort of codicil or addendum to the life of Windle Poons - born in the year of the Significant Triangle in the Century of the Three Lice (he’d always preferred the old calendar with its ancient names to all this new-fangled numbering they did today) and died in the year of the Notional Serpent in the Century of the Fruitbat, more or less.There’d be two figures running across

Juan Gris Violin and Guitar

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think I can remember one,’ said the Bursar hesitantly.
‘Go on, man. Anything’s worth trying at a time like this.’ The Bursar stretched out a hand. He shut his eyes. He muttered a few syllables under his breath.
There was a brief flicker of octarine light and - ‘Oh, ‘ said the Archchancellor. ‘And that’s all of it?’ ‘ “Eringyas’ Surprising Bouquet”,’ said the Bursar, bright eyed and twitching. ‘I don’t know why, but it’s one I’ve always been able to do. Just a knack, I suppose.’
Ridcully YES, WASN’T IT, he mumbled noncommittally, as she helped him drag it over the stack and weigh it down with stones. The wind caught at it and tried to drag it out of his hands; it might as well have tried to blow a mountain over.
Rain swept over the fields, among shreds of mist that shimmered with blue electric energies.eyed the huge bunch of flowers now gripped in the Bursar’s fist.‘But not, I venture to point out, entirely useful at this time,’ he added.The Bursar looked at the approaching walls and his smile faded.‘I suppose not,’ he said.‘Anyone else got any ideas?’ said Ridcully.There was no reply.‘Nice roses, though,’ said the Dean.‘That was quick,’ said Miss Flitworth, when Bill Door arrived at the pile of stooks dragging a tarpaulin behind him.

Gustav Klimt Goldfish (detail)

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FAREWELL, said Bill Door solemnly, and left.
Simnel shut the doors after him, and leaned against them. Whew. Nice man. of course, everyone was talking about him, it was that the spanner sheared in two, as though it was made of bread, several inches from the edge of the blade.
He wondered if something could be so sharp that it began to possess, not just a sharp edge, but the very essence of sharpness itself, a field of absolute sharpness that actually extended beyond the last atoms of metal.
‘Bloody hell ‘
And then he remembered that this was sloppy and superstitious just that after a couple of minutes in his presence you got a pins-and-needles sensation that someone was walking over your grave and it hadn’t even been dug yet. He wandered across the oily floor, filled the tea kettle and wedged it on a corner of the forge. He picked up a spanner to do some final adjustments to the Combination Harvester, and spotted the scythe leaning against the wall. He tiptoed towards it, and realised that tiptoeing was an amazingly stupid thing to do. It wasn’t alive. It couldn’t hear. It just looked sharp. He raised the spanner, and felt guilty about it. By Mr Door had said - well, Mr Door had said something very odd, using the wrong sort of words to use in talking about a mere implement. But he could hardly object to this. Simnel brought the spanner down hard.There was no resistance. He would have sworn, again,

Henri Matisse The Window

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back among the hay and thought about the day. It seemed to have been quite a full one. He’d cut hay and fed animals and mended a window. He’d found some old overalls hanging in the barn. They seemed far more appropriate for a Bill Door than a robe woven of absolute darkness, so he’d put them on. And Miss Flitworth had given him a broad-brimmed straw hat.
And. He’d gone inside.

After the initial pause while everyone’s mind had refocused to allow him room, they’d been cautiously hospitable; news travels even faster on a vine with few grapes.
‘You’d be the new man up at Miss Flitworth’s,’ said the barman.’A Mr Door he’d ventured the half-mile walk into the town. It wasn’t even a one horse town. If anyone had a horse, they’d have eaten it. The residents appeared to make a living by stealing one another’s washing. There was a town square, which was ridiculous. It was really only an enlarged crossroads, with a clock tower.And there was a tavern

Peter Paul Rubens Landscape with a Rainbow

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hundreds of villages in heathen places like Klatch that’d pay good money for a nice prestigious crossroads like this, eh?’ Ridcully looked up at him with his mouth open.
‘What are.
‘We’re burying our colleague. What does it look like?’ said Ridcully. Colon’s eyes swivelled to an open coffin by the side of the road. Windle Poons gave him a little wave.
‘But . . . he’s not dead . . . is he?’ he said, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to get ahead of the situation.
‘Appearances ,,Can be deceptive, ‘ said the Archchancellor. you gabbling about, officer?’ he said. He pointed irritably to his pointy hat.’Didn’t you hear me? We’re wizards. This is wizard business. So if you could just sort of direct the traffic around us, there’s a good chance -‘‘- these peaches bruise as soon as you even look at ‘em -‘ said a voice behind Sergeant Colon.‘The old idiots have been holding us up for half an hour,’ said a cattle drover who had long ago lost control of forty steers now wandering aimlessly around the nearby streets.’I wants ‘em arrested.’ It dawned on the sergeant that he had inadvertently placed himself centre stage in a drama involving hundreds of people, some of them wizards and all of them angry.‘What are you doing, then?’ he said weakly