Another blue plaque, this one in Long Itchington, October 2014:

Related: Riverside, Iowa, is already congratulating itself as the future birthplace of James T. Kirk.
Another blue plaque, this one in Long Itchington, October 2014:
Related: Riverside, Iowa, is already congratulating itself as the future birthplace of James T. Kirk.
Billy Wilder’s grave, Westwood Village Memorial Park Cemetery, Los Angeles:
Above: A valid maze can be generated recursively by dividing an open chamber with walls and creating an opening at random within each wall, ensuring that a route can be found through the chamber. The secondary chambers themselves can then be divided with further walls, following the same principle, to any level of complexity.
Below: Valid mazes can even be generated fractally — here a solution becomes available in the third panel, but an unlucky solver might wander forever in the depths of self-similarity at the center of the image.
Found this on the Wikimedia Commons — a self-obligating graffito.
This is Euclid’s proof of the Pythagorean theorem — Schopenhauer called it a “brilliant piece of perversity” for its needless complexity:
The diagram became known as the bride’s chair due to a confusion in translation between Greek and Arabic.
Plaque at St. Ann’s Well, Malvern, Worcestershire, August 2009.
In 1880, an 800-year-old yew tree was threatening the west wall of the church of St Andrew at Buckland in Dover. The community called in landscape gardener William Barron, who solved the problem by boring tunnels under the trunk and then raising the tree’s entire 55-ton mass onto rollers by means of powerful screw jacks. Giant windlasses could then haul the tree 203 feet across the churchard to a safer location.
“The scale of this operation was probably never matched,” writes G.M.F. Drower in Garden of Invention, his 2003 history of gardening innovations. “[A]nd Barron, who had been rather more apprehensive than he let on, later admitted that all the other trees he had moved had been ‘chickens compared to the Buckland Yew.'”
By Wikimedia user Cmglee, a visual proof that a3 – b3 = (a – b)(a2 + ab + b2):
Where did the familiar syllables of solfège (do, re, mi) come from? Eleventh-century music theorist Guido of Arezzo collected the first syllable of each line in the Latin hymn “Ut queant laxis,” the “Hymn to St. John the Baptist.” Because the hymn’s lines begin on successive scale degrees, each of these initial syllables is sung with its namesake note:
Ut queant laxīs
resonāre fibrīs
Mīra gestōrum
famulī tuōrum,
Solve pollūti
labiī reātum,
Sancte Iohannēs.
Ut was changed to do in the 17th century, and the seventh note, ti, was added later to complete the scale.
Vladimir Nabokov composed this puzzle for his wife Véra in 1926. The title, “Crestos lovitxa Sirin,” roughly means “Nabokov’s crossword”: krestlovitska approximates the Russian kreslovitsa, “cross” plus “words”, and Sirin is a pseudonym Nabokov often used, a reference to the creatures of Russian mythology. The upper half of each wing contains the grid, the lower the clues.
Nabokov, a trained entomologist, had published the first crossword in Russian two years earlier. Forty years later, in the Paris Review, he likened writing a novel to creating a crossword: “The pattern of the thing precedes the thing. I fill in the gaps of the crossword at any spot I happen to choose.”
(Adrienne Raphel, The Crossword Mentality in Modern Literature and Culture, dissertation, Harvard University, 2018.)