Henri Rousseau The Waterfall

Henri Rousseau The WaterfallHenri Rousseau The Repast of the LionHenri Rousseau The Merry Jesters
'Perhaps we could fetch him a chair?' said Angua, after an embarrassing fifteen seconds.
Detritus sniggered.
'Him too little to be a guard,' he said.
Lance-Constable He looked at the remains of Arthur.
'I think around about now is a good time to demonstrate the fine points of harchery,' he said.

Lady Sybil Ramkin looked at the sad strip of leather that was all that remained of the late Chubby.
'Who'd do something like this to a poor little dragon?' she Cuddy stopped jumping up and down.'Sorry, sergeant,' he said, 'this isn't how dwarfs do it, see?''It's how guards do it,' said Sergeant Colon. 'All right, Lance-Constable Detritus – don't salute – you give it a try.'Detritus held the truncheon between what must technically be called thumb and forefinger, and smashed it over Arthur's helmet. He stared reflectively at the truncheon's stump. Then he bunched up his, for want of a better word, fist, and hammered Arthur over what was briefly its head until the stake was driven three feet into the ground.'Now the dwarf, he can have a go,' he said.There was another embarrassed five seconds. Sergeant Colon cleared his throat.'Well, yes, I think we can consider him thoroughly apprehended,' he said. 'Make a note, Corporal Nobbs. Lance-Constable Detritus – don't salute! - deducted one dollar for loss of truncheon. And you're supposed to be able to ask 'em questions afterwards.'

Henri Rousseau The Waterfall

Henri Rousseau The WaterfallHenri Rousseau The Repast of the LionHenri Rousseau The Merry JestersHenri Rousseau The FlamingosHenri Rousseau The Equatorial Jungle
but Master,’ said the Bursar, smiling indulgently, ‘the word "fit", as I understand it, means "appropriate to a purpose", and of spendin’ too much time sitting indoors. A few twenty-mile runs and the Dean’d be a different man.’
‘Well, yes,’ said the Bursar. ‘He’d be dead.’
‘He’d be healthy.’
‘Yes, but still dead.’
The Archchancellor irritably shuffled the papers on his desk.
‘Slackness,’ he muttered. ‘Far too much of it going on. I would say the body of the Dean is supremely appropriate to the purpose of sitting around all day and eating big heavy meals.’ The Bursar permitted himself a little smile. The Archchancellor gave him a look so old-fashioned it might have belonged to an ammonite. ‘That a joke?’ he said, in the suspicious tones of someone who wouldn’t really understand the term ‘sense of humour’ even if you sat down for an hour and explained it to him with diagrams. ‘I was just making an observation, Master,’ said the Bursar cautiously. The Archchancellor shook his head. ‘Can’t stand jokes. Can’t stand chaps goin’ around tryin’ to be funny the whole time. Comes