John William Waterhouse paintings
John Singer Sargent paintings
Jean-Leon Gerome paintings
bare feet. I turned the handle, but the door was locked and I could hear Guy’s breathing through the door; he must have been pressed against it on the other side.
“D’you always lock your bedder door?” I asked, and at the sound of my voice, I heard him sigh with relief.
“Hullo, Dick. You quite startled me. What do you want?”
So I went in and talked to him; he always slept with his door locked now, and his light on; he was very much scared but after a few minutes he became calmer and soon I went away, but behind me I heard him lock his door.
Next day he avoided me until evening; then he came in again and asked if he might work. I said:
“Look here, Guy, tell me what is the matter with you.” And almost immediately I wished that I had not asked him, because he poured out his answers so eagerly.
Monday 29 September 2008
Sunday 28 September 2008
Federico Andreotti paintings
Federico Andreotti paintings
Fra Angelico paintings
Frederic Edwin Church paintings
started about as low as any new peer. My father was a Jew and we lived in the Jewish quarter off the Commercial Road. When he was sober he was very kind to me and my brothers. My mother never had any great significance for me, but I realize now that she must have been a very hard worked and hard treated woman as upon her fell the sole burden of supporting her husband and large family.
“From the time when my first memories start I have always been interested in drawing, and I used to use every scrap of paper and every stump of pencil I could find, but lines never satisfied me—I wanted colours and tones. And these I could not afford. Coloured chalks used to be my chief delight and I used to take them from the desk of the Rabbi who managed the local synagogue and to whom I used to go once a week for religious instruction. For my father, though quite indifferent himself, was always most particular that I should attend. The Rabbi used the chalks, I remember, to draw maps of the divisions
Fra Angelico paintings
Frederic Edwin Church paintings
started about as low as any new peer. My father was a Jew and we lived in the Jewish quarter off the Commercial Road. When he was sober he was very kind to me and my brothers. My mother never had any great significance for me, but I realize now that she must have been a very hard worked and hard treated woman as upon her fell the sole burden of supporting her husband and large family.
“From the time when my first memories start I have always been interested in drawing, and I used to use every scrap of paper and every stump of pencil I could find, but lines never satisfied me—I wanted colours and tones. And these I could not afford. Coloured chalks used to be my chief delight and I used to take them from the desk of the Rabbi who managed the local synagogue and to whom I used to go once a week for religious instruction. For my father, though quite indifferent himself, was always most particular that I should attend. The Rabbi used the chalks, I remember, to draw maps of the divisions
Thursday 25 September 2008
Edward Hopper Western Motel painting
Edward Hopper Western Motel paintingEdgar Degas Rehearsal on the Stage paintingEdgar Degas Dancers in Pink painting
I have reasons.”
“Curious. I spent many years there and found it a place of few attractions. The women had no modesty, the food upset my stomach. I have a little party on their way to Sicily. That would not do instead?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Well, we must see what can be done. You have a passport? This is lucky. English pascome very dear just now. I hope Miss Bombaum explained to you that mine is not a charitable organization. We exist to make profits and our expenses are high. I am constantly bothered by people who come to me supposing I work for the love of it. I do love my work, but love is not enough. The young man I spoke of just now, who tried to shoot me—he is buried just outside under the wall—he thought this was a political organization. We help people irrespective of class, race, party, creed or colour—for cash
I have reasons.”
“Curious. I spent many years there and found it a place of few attractions. The women had no modesty, the food upset my stomach. I have a little party on their way to Sicily. That would not do instead?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Well, we must see what can be done. You have a passport? This is lucky. English pascome very dear just now. I hope Miss Bombaum explained to you that mine is not a charitable organization. We exist to make profits and our expenses are high. I am constantly bothered by people who come to me supposing I work for the love of it. I do love my work, but love is not enough. The young man I spoke of just now, who tried to shoot me—he is buried just outside under the wall—he thought this was a political organization. We help people irrespective of class, race, party, creed or colour—for cash
William Blake Los painting
William Blake Los paintingWilliam Blake Jacob's Ladder paintingVincent van Gogh Wheat Field with Crows painting
They all think he’s barmy in Brent’s.”
“Frank doesn’t. And anyway I call that a recommendation. As a matter of fact, he’s one of the most intelligent men I ever met. If he’d come at the proper time he’d probably be senior to all of us.”
Support came unexpectedly from Wheatley. “I happen to know the Head took him in as a special favour to his father. He’s Sir Samson Curtis-Dunne’s son, the Member for this division. They’ve got a big place near Steyning. I wouldn’t at all mind having a day’s shooting there next Veniam day.”
On Sunday afternoons, for two hours, the House Room was out of bounds to all except the Settle; in their black coats and with straw hats under their arms the school scattered over the countryside in groups, pairs and occasional disconsolate single figures, for “walks.” All human habitations were barred; the choice lay between the open down behind Spierpoint Ring and the single country road to the isolated Norman church of St. Botolph. Tamplin and Charles usually walked together.
“How I hate Sunday afternoons,” said Charles.
“We might get some blackberries.”
But at the door of the house they were stopped by Mr. Graves.
They all think he’s barmy in Brent’s.”
“Frank doesn’t. And anyway I call that a recommendation. As a matter of fact, he’s one of the most intelligent men I ever met. If he’d come at the proper time he’d probably be senior to all of us.”
Support came unexpectedly from Wheatley. “I happen to know the Head took him in as a special favour to his father. He’s Sir Samson Curtis-Dunne’s son, the Member for this division. They’ve got a big place near Steyning. I wouldn’t at all mind having a day’s shooting there next Veniam day.”
On Sunday afternoons, for two hours, the House Room was out of bounds to all except the Settle; in their black coats and with straw hats under their arms the school scattered over the countryside in groups, pairs and occasional disconsolate single figures, for “walks.” All human habitations were barred; the choice lay between the open down behind Spierpoint Ring and the single country road to the isolated Norman church of St. Botolph. Tamplin and Charles usually walked together.
“How I hate Sunday afternoons,” said Charles.
“We might get some blackberries.”
But at the door of the house they were stopped by Mr. Graves.
Wednesday 24 September 2008
Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A Favorite Custom painting
Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A Favorite Custom paintingGarmash Sleeping Beauty paintingMarc Chagall The Three Candles painting
succeeded by the reality, and so forgotten. With Lucy—her grace daily more encumbered by her Pregnancy; deprived of sex, as women are, by its own fulfilment—the vision was extended and clarified until, with no perceptible transition, it became the reality. But I cannot say when it first appeared. Perhaps, that evening, when she said, about the Composed Hermitage in the Chinese Taste, “I can’t think why John should want to have a house like that,” but it came without surprise; I had sensed it on its way, as an animal, still in profound darkness and surrounded by all the sounds of night, will lift its head, sniff, and know, inwardly, that dawn is near. Meanwhile, I moved for advantage as in a parlour.
Julia brought me success. Our meeting, so far from disillusioning her, made her cult of me keener and more direct. It was no fault of mine, I assured Roger, when he came to grumble about it; I had not been in the least agreeable to her; indeed towards the end of the evening I had been openly savage.
“The girl’s a masochist,” he said, adding with deeper gloom, “and Lucy says she’s a virgin.”
“There’s plenty of time for her. The two troubles are often cured simultaneously.”
“That’s all very well, but she’s staying another ten days
succeeded by the reality, and so forgotten. With Lucy—her grace daily more encumbered by her Pregnancy; deprived of sex, as women are, by its own fulfilment—the vision was extended and clarified until, with no perceptible transition, it became the reality. But I cannot say when it first appeared. Perhaps, that evening, when she said, about the Composed Hermitage in the Chinese Taste, “I can’t think why John should want to have a house like that,” but it came without surprise; I had sensed it on its way, as an animal, still in profound darkness and surrounded by all the sounds of night, will lift its head, sniff, and know, inwardly, that dawn is near. Meanwhile, I moved for advantage as in a parlour.
Julia brought me success. Our meeting, so far from disillusioning her, made her cult of me keener and more direct. It was no fault of mine, I assured Roger, when he came to grumble about it; I had not been in the least agreeable to her; indeed towards the end of the evening I had been openly savage.
“The girl’s a masochist,” he said, adding with deeper gloom, “and Lucy says she’s a virgin.”
“There’s plenty of time for her. The two troubles are often cured simultaneously.”
“That’s all very well, but she’s staying another ten days
Monday 22 September 2008
Edgar Degas After the Bath painting
Edgar Degas After the Bath paintingFrida Kahlo What the Water Gave Me paintingFrida Kahlo The Suicide of Dorothy Hale painting
The Neglected Cue.” It represented the dressing room of a leading actress at the close of a triumphant first night. She sat at the dressing table, her back turned on the company and her face visible in the mirror, momentarily relaxed in fatigue. Her protector with proprietary swagger was filling the glasses for a circle of admirers. In the background the dresser was in colloquy at the half-open door with an elderly couple of provincial appearance; it is evident from their costume that they have seen the piece from the cheaper seats, and a commissionaire stands behind them uncertain whether he did right in admitting them. He did not do right; they are her old parents arriving most inopportunely. There was no questioning Mrs. Stitch’s rapturous enjoyment of her acquisition.
I was never to know how my father would react to his vogue. He could paint in any way he chose; perhaps he would have embarked on those vague assemblages of picnic litter which used to cover the walls of the Mansard Gallery in the early twenties; he might have retreated to the standards of the Grosvenor Gallery in the nineties. He might, perhaps, have found popularity less inacceptable than he supposed and allowed himself a luxurious and cosetted old age. He died with his 1932 picture still unfinished. I saw its early stage
The Neglected Cue.” It represented the dressing room of a leading actress at the close of a triumphant first night. She sat at the dressing table, her back turned on the company and her face visible in the mirror, momentarily relaxed in fatigue. Her protector with proprietary swagger was filling the glasses for a circle of admirers. In the background the dresser was in colloquy at the half-open door with an elderly couple of provincial appearance; it is evident from their costume that they have seen the piece from the cheaper seats, and a commissionaire stands behind them uncertain whether he did right in admitting them. He did not do right; they are her old parents arriving most inopportunely. There was no questioning Mrs. Stitch’s rapturous enjoyment of her acquisition.
I was never to know how my father would react to his vogue. He could paint in any way he chose; perhaps he would have embarked on those vague assemblages of picnic litter which used to cover the walls of the Mansard Gallery in the early twenties; he might have retreated to the standards of the Grosvenor Gallery in the nineties. He might, perhaps, have found popularity less inacceptable than he supposed and allowed himself a luxurious and cosetted old age. He died with his 1932 picture still unfinished. I saw its early stage
Sunday 21 September 2008
Vincent van Gogh Still Life with Iris painting
Vincent van Gogh Still Life with Iris paintingVincent van Gogh Harvest Landscape paintingVincent van Gogh Fishing in Spring painting
Bessie look about a little first.”
When the MacDougals left, it was to go to Scotland to see the castle of their ancestors. Mr. MacDougal had traced with various branches of his family, had corresponded with them intermittently, and now wished to make their acquaintance.
Bessie wrote to them all at Tomb; she wrote daily to Tom, but in her thoughts, as she lay sleepless in the appalling bed provided for her by her distant kinsmen, she was conscious for the first time of a slight feeling of disappointment and uncertainty. In Australia Tom had seemed so different from everyone else, so gentle and dignified and cultured. Here in England he seemed to recede into obscurity. Everyone in England seemed to be like Tom.
And then there was the house. It was exactly the kind of house which she had always imagined English people to live in, with the dear little park—less than a thousand acres—and the soft grass and the old stone. Tom had fitted into the house. He had fitted too well; had disappeared entirely in it and become part of the background. The central place belonged
Bessie look about a little first.”
When the MacDougals left, it was to go to Scotland to see the castle of their ancestors. Mr. MacDougal had traced with various branches of his family, had corresponded with them intermittently, and now wished to make their acquaintance.
Bessie wrote to them all at Tomb; she wrote daily to Tom, but in her thoughts, as she lay sleepless in the appalling bed provided for her by her distant kinsmen, she was conscious for the first time of a slight feeling of disappointment and uncertainty. In Australia Tom had seemed so different from everyone else, so gentle and dignified and cultured. Here in England he seemed to recede into obscurity. Everyone in England seemed to be like Tom.
And then there was the house. It was exactly the kind of house which she had always imagined English people to live in, with the dear little park—less than a thousand acres—and the soft grass and the old stone. Tom had fitted into the house. He had fitted too well; had disappeared entirely in it and become part of the background. The central place belonged
Friday 19 September 2008
Leroy Neiman 37th Ryder Cup painting
Leroy Neiman 37th Ryder Cup paintingLeroy Neiman 18th at Valhalla paintingLeroy Neiman World Class Skier painting
There is no need to reply. If you wish to, it is correct to say ‘Love is the law, Love under will.’”
“I see.”
“You are unusually blessed. Most men are blind.”
“I tell you what,” said Lady Metroland. “Let’s all have some dinner.”
It took an hour’s substantial eating and drinking before Rip began to feel at ease again. He was well placed between two married women of his own generation, with both of whom, at one time and another, he had had affairs; but even their genial gossip could not entirely hold his attention and he found himself continually gazing down the table to where, ten places away, Dr. Kakophilos was frightening a pop-eyed débutante out of all semblance of intelligence. Later, however, wine and reminiscence began to glow within him. He remembered that he had been brought up a Catholic and had therefore no need to fear black magic. He reflected that he was ; that none of his women had ever borne him ill-will (and what better sign of good character was there than that?); that it was his first week in London and that everyone he most liked seemed to be there too
There is no need to reply. If you wish to, it is correct to say ‘Love is the law, Love under will.’”
“I see.”
“You are unusually blessed. Most men are blind.”
“I tell you what,” said Lady Metroland. “Let’s all have some dinner.”
It took an hour’s substantial eating and drinking before Rip began to feel at ease again. He was well placed between two married women of his own generation, with both of whom, at one time and another, he had had affairs; but even their genial gossip could not entirely hold his attention and he found himself continually gazing down the table to where, ten places away, Dr. Kakophilos was frightening a pop-eyed débutante out of all semblance of intelligence. Later, however, wine and reminiscence began to glow within him. He remembered that he had been brought up a Catholic and had therefore no need to fear black magic. He reflected that he was ; that none of his women had ever borne him ill-will (and what better sign of good character was there than that?); that it was his first week in London and that everyone he most liked seemed to be there too
Thomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS painting
Thomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS paintingWinslow Homer The Houses of Parliament paintingWinslow Homer The Gulf Stream painting
The letters were all brought to the Club and read aloud, and as the days passed the sense of tension became less acute, giving way to a general feeling that the drama had become prosaic.
“They are bound to reduce their price. Meanwhile the girl is safe enough,” pronounced Major Lepperidge, voicing authoritatively what had long been unspoken in the minds of the community.
The life of the town began to resume its normal aspect—administration, athletics, gossip; the American missionary’s second ear arrived and attracted little notice, except from Mr. Youkoumian, who produced an ear trumpet which he attempted to sell to the mission headquarters. The ladies of the colony abandoned the cloistered which they had adopted during the first scare; the men became less protective
The letters were all brought to the Club and read aloud, and as the days passed the sense of tension became less acute, giving way to a general feeling that the drama had become prosaic.
“They are bound to reduce their price. Meanwhile the girl is safe enough,” pronounced Major Lepperidge, voicing authoritatively what had long been unspoken in the minds of the community.
The life of the town began to resume its normal aspect—administration, athletics, gossip; the American missionary’s second ear arrived and attracted little notice, except from Mr. Youkoumian, who produced an ear trumpet which he attempted to sell to the mission headquarters. The ladies of the colony abandoned the cloistered which they had adopted during the first scare; the men became less protective
Thursday 18 September 2008
Claude Monet Water Lilies painting
Claude Monet Water Lilies paintingVincent van Gogh Poppies 1886 paintingHenri Matisse Goldfish painting
out of her path, said, “He’s busy. I expect he’ll see us when he’s through with this scene,” and disappeared through a door marked No admittance.
Shortly after eleven o’clock Sir James caught sight of Simon. “Nice of you to come. Shan’t be long now,” he called out to him. “Mr. Briggs, get a chair for Mr. Lent.”
At two o’clock he noticed him again. “Had any lunch?”
“No,” said Simon.
“No more have I. Just coming.”
At half past three Miss Grits joined him and said: “Well, it’s been an easy day so far. You mustn’t think we’re always as slack as this. There’s a canteen across the yard. Come and have something to eat.”
An enormous buffet was full of people in a variety of costume and make-up. Disappointed
out of her path, said, “He’s busy. I expect he’ll see us when he’s through with this scene,” and disappeared through a door marked No admittance.
Shortly after eleven o’clock Sir James caught sight of Simon. “Nice of you to come. Shan’t be long now,” he called out to him. “Mr. Briggs, get a chair for Mr. Lent.”
At two o’clock he noticed him again. “Had any lunch?”
“No,” said Simon.
“No more have I. Just coming.”
At half past three Miss Grits joined him and said: “Well, it’s been an easy day so far. You mustn’t think we’re always as slack as this. There’s a canteen across the yard. Come and have something to eat.”
An enormous buffet was full of people in a variety of costume and make-up. Disappointed
Tuesday 16 September 2008
Albert Moore silver painting
Albert Moore silver paintingRene Magritte The Blank Check paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema In the Tepidarium painting
There is a general leave-taking and paying of bills.
“I say, Gladys, ’e’s ’ad a drop too much, ain’t ’e?”
The hero and heroine drive away in a taxi.
Halfway down Pont Street, the heroine stops the taxi.
“Don’t let him come any farther, Adam. Lady R. will hear.”
“Good night, Imogen dear.”
“Good night, Adam.”
She hesitates for a moment and then kisses him.
Adam and the taxi drive away.
Close up of Adam. He is a young man of about twenty-two, clean-shaven, with thick, very dark hair. He looks so infinitely sad that even Ada is shaken.
Can it be funny?
“Buster Keaton looks sad like that sometimes—don’t ’e?”
Ada is reassured.
Buster Keaton looks sad; Buster Keaton is funny. Adam looks sad; Adam is funny. What could be clearer?
The cab stops and Adam gives it all his money. It wishes him “Good-night” and disappears into the darkness. Adam unlocks the front door.
On his way upstairs he takes his letters from the hall table;
There is a general leave-taking and paying of bills.
“I say, Gladys, ’e’s ’ad a drop too much, ain’t ’e?”
The hero and heroine drive away in a taxi.
Halfway down Pont Street, the heroine stops the taxi.
“Don’t let him come any farther, Adam. Lady R. will hear.”
“Good night, Imogen dear.”
“Good night, Adam.”
She hesitates for a moment and then kisses him.
Adam and the taxi drive away.
Close up of Adam. He is a young man of about twenty-two, clean-shaven, with thick, very dark hair. He looks so infinitely sad that even Ada is shaken.
Can it be funny?
“Buster Keaton looks sad like that sometimes—don’t ’e?”
Ada is reassured.
Buster Keaton looks sad; Buster Keaton is funny. Adam looks sad; Adam is funny. What could be clearer?
The cab stops and Adam gives it all his money. It wishes him “Good-night” and disappears into the darkness. Adam unlocks the front door.
On his way upstairs he takes his letters from the hall table;
Gustav Klimt Hope painting
Gustav Klimt Hope paintingClaude Monet The Seine At Argenteuil paintingClaude Monet The Picnic painting
Harrison used his clocks as time standards for the marine chronometers he had pioneered to deliver accuracy great enough to allow the determination of longitude at sea.
There have been few significant advances in the mechanical clock since Harrison went against the grain of contemporary thinking by using large pendulum swings, enlarging the pendulum's "dominion" to reduce errors.
Among Harrison's many remarkable innovations was the gridiron mechanism, consisting of alternating brass and iron rods assembled so that expansion and contraction rates cancelled each other out as the chronometer moved from the tropics to colder climes.says.
Of Harrison's many innovations, he came up with the 'grasshopper escapement', explained Dr Taylor, referring to the device used by Harrison to turn rotational
He was also the inventor of the first caged roller bearing, the father of the ball bearing, in his last clock. Over 100 ball bearings are used in the Corpus clock.
Harrison used his clocks as time standards for the marine chronometers he had pioneered to deliver accuracy great enough to allow the determination of longitude at sea.
There have been few significant advances in the mechanical clock since Harrison went against the grain of contemporary thinking by using large pendulum swings, enlarging the pendulum's "dominion" to reduce errors.
Among Harrison's many remarkable innovations was the gridiron mechanism, consisting of alternating brass and iron rods assembled so that expansion and contraction rates cancelled each other out as the chronometer moved from the tropics to colder climes.says.
Of Harrison's many innovations, he came up with the 'grasshopper escapement', explained Dr Taylor, referring to the device used by Harrison to turn rotational
He was also the inventor of the first caged roller bearing, the father of the ball bearing, in his last clock. Over 100 ball bearings are used in the Corpus clock.
Sunday 14 September 2008
Gustav Klimt Gustav Klimt Goldfish (detail) painting
Gustav Klimt Gustav Klimt Goldfish (detail) paintingGustav Klimt Gustav Klimt Beethoven Frieze paintingGustav Klimt Apple Tree II painting
Oh, yes, well," my mother murmured. He sprang at her even as I at him, but changed course at sight of me and leaped through the window instead, smashing first the pane and presently himself, as the office was many stories high. Mother resumed her knitting. Other unfortunates thrashed about in the vicinity of the doorway.
"Lock the door," I bade Greene. He stiffened.
" 'Scuse me, George, sir. No disrespect intended, but I can't go against the Chancellor of my native , true or false. My only regret, alma-materwise, is that I don't have but one to give for --"
"Let's get out, then," I said, for pleased as I was at Rexford's following my advice, I recalled Leonid's fiasco in the Nikolayan Zoo and feared for our safety. My Ladyship protested that her first responsibility was to the patients, and Greene that the likes of her were disgraces to their uniforms, say what one would. I bade the former to keep in mind that everyone's first responsibility was to the Founder -- which was to say, to one's own passage, not always to be attained by charitable works -- and declared to the latter my wish
Oh, yes, well," my mother murmured. He sprang at her even as I at him, but changed course at sight of me and leaped through the window instead, smashing first the pane and presently himself, as the office was many stories high. Mother resumed her knitting. Other unfortunates thrashed about in the vicinity of the doorway.
"Lock the door," I bade Greene. He stiffened.
" 'Scuse me, George, sir. No disrespect intended, but I can't go against the Chancellor of my native , true or false. My only regret, alma-materwise, is that I don't have but one to give for --"
"Let's get out, then," I said, for pleased as I was at Rexford's following my advice, I recalled Leonid's fiasco in the Nikolayan Zoo and feared for our safety. My Ladyship protested that her first responsibility was to the patients, and Greene that the likes of her were disgraces to their uniforms, say what one would. I bade the former to keep in mind that everyone's first responsibility was to the Founder -- which was to say, to one's own passage, not always to be attained by charitable works -- and declared to the latter my wish
Thursday 11 September 2008
picture of last supper
picture of last supperlady with fantwo girls with an oleander
the Belfry with his tramp of a wife, I had another think coming. . .
"I'm not the one she's to meet there," I interrupted pleasantly; "it's Harold Bray."
He managed to accuse me of jealousy and mendacity, but I saw he was alarmed.
"I'm going to drive Bray out," I told him. "Among other things."wise. Things look different to a fellow's been through what I been through. I got a long ways to go."
"Pass you!" I declared.
"Into first grade,"he added wryly. "I might Graduate yet, one of these days. But the odds ain't much."
"They never are! Look for me at Founder's Hill tomorrow."
He now wept freely, and his wounded eye bled a little onto his cheeks. He supposed with a laugh that he'd have no more hallucinations, at least, and wondered aloud whether a mixture of blood and tears might be good
"I'll bet you are. So you can take his place!"
I shrugged. "One thing at a time."
He glared at me furiously. "
the Belfry with his tramp of a wife, I had another think coming. . .
"I'm not the one she's to meet there," I interrupted pleasantly; "it's Harold Bray."
He managed to accuse me of jealousy and mendacity, but I saw he was alarmed.
"I'm going to drive Bray out," I told him. "Among other things."wise. Things look different to a fellow's been through what I been through. I got a long ways to go."
"Pass you!" I declared.
"Into first grade,"he added wryly. "I might Graduate yet, one of these days. But the odds ain't much."
"They never are! Look for me at Founder's Hill tomorrow."
He now wept freely, and his wounded eye bled a little onto his cheeks. He supposed with a laugh that he'd have no more hallucinations, at least, and wondered aloud whether a mixture of blood and tears might be good
"I'll bet you are. So you can take his place!"
I shrugged. "One thing at a time."
He glared at me furiously. "
Wednesday 10 September 2008
Guido Reni paintings
Guido Reni paintings
George Inness paintings
George Frederick Watts paintings
do want to know you carnally too," I said, "but not until you've serviced your husband and Bray, at least. . ."
"I don'twant them." On her knees upon the cushion now, she would assert herself further, draw my face into her bosom, offer her navel to my nose -- all which I craved, detumescent as I was. Speaking with difficulty into her lower abdomen, I declared that that was exactly why we would not mate until she'd fulfilled her Assignment and made good the pledge that freed me.
"But even then you shouldn'tlove me the way you mean," I added. "If by some chance I turn out to be a Grand Tutor, I doubt if I ought to have a particular mistress, especially someone else's wife. And if I'm not -- I won't be here to love." The idea disclosed itself to me in an instant, fullblown; I took my gold beard from her darling dark and addressed her gravely: "I left Main Detention for two reasons, Anastasia: to correct the mistakes I made last spring, and to flunk WESCAC. That's why I'm here -- to Overcome
George Inness paintings
George Frederick Watts paintings
do want to know you carnally too," I said, "but not until you've serviced your husband and Bray, at least. . ."
"I don'twant them." On her knees upon the cushion now, she would assert herself further, draw my face into her bosom, offer her navel to my nose -- all which I craved, detumescent as I was. Speaking with difficulty into her lower abdomen, I declared that that was exactly why we would not mate until she'd fulfilled her Assignment and made good the pledge that freed me.
"But even then you shouldn'tlove me the way you mean," I added. "If by some chance I turn out to be a Grand Tutor, I doubt if I ought to have a particular mistress, especially someone else's wife. And if I'm not -- I won't be here to love." The idea disclosed itself to me in an instant, fullblown; I took my gold beard from her darling dark and addressed her gravely: "I left Main Detention for two reasons, Anastasia: to correct the mistakes I made last spring, and to flunk WESCAC. That's why I'm here -- to Overcome
Monday 8 September 2008
Jules Joseph Lefebvre paintings
Jules Joseph Lefebvre paintings
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres paintings
John William Godward paintings
me with. In any case, with his usual acuity Sear had seen my point, and when shortly afterwards Anastasia had come to him, distraught, with word of my strange new advice, he'd not only approved it, but fortified my paradoxical argument with a dozen quotations fromFootnotes to Sakhyan and other works of "unitary expletivism," none of which My Ladyship could make heads or tails of.
" 'Heis a Grand Tutor!' " she said he'd said of me. "I told himYou said You weren't, and he said, 'That's the point! That's what I mean!' " She sighed (still a little poutish): thereafter Sear had pressed her in vain to return to the practice of sexual therapy; and it was he, I now learned, who had suggested that she might secure my release by promising to become Bray's mistress (he'd also persuaded Bray to release me on the strength of her pledge without waiting for its consummation -- not to mention the siring upon her of the child Bray craved). Further, Sear had acknowledged to her that he himself had been desperately flunkèd thitherto, even as I'd said; was flunkèd still, as he'd seen too
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres paintings
John William Godward paintings
me with. In any case, with his usual acuity Sear had seen my point, and when shortly afterwards Anastasia had come to him, distraught, with word of my strange new advice, he'd not only approved it, but fortified my paradoxical argument with a dozen quotations fromFootnotes to Sakhyan and other works of "unitary expletivism," none of which My Ladyship could make heads or tails of.
" 'Heis a Grand Tutor!' " she said he'd said of me. "I told himYou said You weren't, and he said, 'That's the point! That's what I mean!' " She sighed (still a little poutish): thereafter Sear had pressed her in vain to return to the practice of sexual therapy; and it was he, I now learned, who had suggested that she might secure my release by promising to become Bray's mistress (he'd also persuaded Bray to release me on the strength of her pledge without waiting for its consummation -- not to mention the siring upon her of the child Bray craved). Further, Sear had acknowledged to her that he himself had been desperately flunkèd thitherto, even as I'd said; was flunkèd still, as he'd seen too
Friday 5 September 2008
Carl Fredrik Aagard paintings
Carl Fredrik Aagard paintings
Caravaggio paintings
Claude Lorrain paintings
George Herrold is a booksweep," he began. "These stacks here are so small and used so little, we don't really need them, but I told Chancellor Rexford when he asked me, 'If you're going to keep the goat-branch open for my sake, hire George Herrold for the janitor. He didn't deserve what happened to him any more than I did.'
"What it used to be, Billy, fifteen years ago he was Chief Booksweep in the Main Stacks of New Tammany. I knew George there in the last years of the Riot, when I was helping turn WESCAC into a weapon to EAT the Bonifacists with. . ."
"What's this WESCAC everybody talks about?" I demanded. "Some kind of troll, that eats everybody up?"
Max nodded. "That's just right, Bill. WESCAC is worse than anything in the storybooks: what would you think of a herd of goats that learned how to make a troll all by themselves, that could eat up the University in half an hour?"
"Why would they do that?" I wanted to know.
Caravaggio paintings
Claude Lorrain paintings
George Herrold is a booksweep," he began. "These stacks here are so small and used so little, we don't really need them, but I told Chancellor Rexford when he asked me, 'If you're going to keep the goat-branch open for my sake, hire George Herrold for the janitor. He didn't deserve what happened to him any more than I did.'
"What it used to be, Billy, fifteen years ago he was Chief Booksweep in the Main Stacks of New Tammany. I knew George there in the last years of the Riot, when I was helping turn WESCAC into a weapon to EAT the Bonifacists with. . ."
"What's this WESCAC everybody talks about?" I demanded. "Some kind of troll, that eats everybody up?"
Max nodded. "That's just right, Bill. WESCAC is worse than anything in the storybooks: what would you think of a herd of goats that learned how to make a troll all by themselves, that could eat up the University in half an hour?"
"Why would they do that?" I wanted to know.
The Bride
The BrideHopeThe Seine At Argenteuil
Max nodded, unimpressed. "You he tells that, you should do like the Dean o' Flunks, and hope to pass on account you show others what is it to be flunked. Only you'll flunk on account you lead them to thinkPass andFail aren't two sides the same page. Which they are. So dear Anastasia, that she has a little touch nymphomaniac, she's got to express it instead of suppress, she should Commence. Not so, George?"
And I would merely nod, for though I followed these explications with care and often saw flaws in them (which I couldn't always have articulated), I did not choose to defend or explain myself to Stoker -- or to anyone else except myself. My whole concern was to feel a way through the contradictions of my new Answer, in order to apply it to the several problems of my Tutees when I should leave Main Detention. Therefore I gravely listened, but spoke only now and then to clarify a point or correct a misunderstanding. When for example Stoker asked why I didn't simply walk out of his prison, since I seemed able to open any door, Max's reply was that I wouldn't work wonders at the tempting of the Dean o' Flunks.
Max nodded, unimpressed. "You he tells that, you should do like the Dean o' Flunks, and hope to pass on account you show others what is it to be flunked. Only you'll flunk on account you lead them to thinkPass andFail aren't two sides the same page. Which they are. So dear Anastasia, that she has a little touch nymphomaniac, she's got to express it instead of suppress, she should Commence. Not so, George?"
And I would merely nod, for though I followed these explications with care and often saw flaws in them (which I couldn't always have articulated), I did not choose to defend or explain myself to Stoker -- or to anyone else except myself. My whole concern was to feel a way through the contradictions of my new Answer, in order to apply it to the several problems of my Tutees when I should leave Main Detention. Therefore I gravely listened, but spoke only now and then to clarify a point or correct a misunderstanding. When for example Stoker asked why I didn't simply walk out of his prison, since I seemed able to open any door, Max's reply was that I wouldn't work wonders at the tempting of the Dean o' Flunks.
Thursday 4 September 2008
Water Lily Pond
Water Lily PondThe Water Lily PondNude Maja
plus!" that lady said, whom I would not for the campus have seen harmed.
"You're stir-crazy," Stoker grumbled, nonetheless plainly unsettled. "You talk as if True and False were different Answers."
"And they're not!" I cried. "That's the Answer! My whole mistake was to think they were different -- so that's whatyou've got to think, if you really want to flunk!"
We spoke no more then, because Stoker, to my great satisfaction, lost his temper and collared me cellwards. "Pass All Fail All!" I cried to the tiers of flunks. "It's the same thing!"
Stoker took a billy from a passing guard and clubbed me dumb.
As if, in that timeless cave, time's lost track had doubled on itself, I woke again to the voices of Max and Leonid arguing:
"Would-notship, Classmate, sir!"
"Na, my boy, you're mistaken. . ."
"But you think was wrong, that suicideness?"
"That's what George thought, Leonid. Why else should he
plus!" that lady said, whom I would not for the campus have seen harmed.
"You're stir-crazy," Stoker grumbled, nonetheless plainly unsettled. "You talk as if True and False were different Answers."
"And they're not!" I cried. "That's the Answer! My whole mistake was to think they were different -- so that's whatyou've got to think, if you really want to flunk!"
We spoke no more then, because Stoker, to my great satisfaction, lost his temper and collared me cellwards. "Pass All Fail All!" I cried to the tiers of flunks. "It's the same thing!"
Stoker took a billy from a passing guard and clubbed me dumb.
As if, in that timeless cave, time's lost track had doubled on itself, I woke again to the voices of Max and Leonid arguing:
"Would-notship, Classmate, sir!"
"Na, my boy, you're mistaken. . ."
"But you think was wrong, that suicideness?"
"That's what George thought, Leonid. Why else should he
Tuesday 2 September 2008
Frank Dicksee La Belle Dame Sans Merci painting
Frank Dicksee La Belle Dame Sans Merci paintingEdward Hopper Nighthawks paintingFrederic Edwin Church Sunset painting
magnified. "Give us the Goat, the Goat, the Goat!" they cried, and though a few seemed more in carnival-spirits than in murderous -- linking arms with their lady girls and lifting emblazoned steins -- the most looked dangerous enough. A half-circle of riot-officers held them from the lift-doors as a man in a neat woolen suit explained our intention through a megaphone.
"Please remain orderly," he implored them. "Surely you don't want to injure the Grand Tutor, and you can't tell which is which. They're going to the Belly now; you'll see the results at the rear exit. Please remain orderly, and do be careful with fire. . ."
I was startled to recognize the voice, and then the face, as Maurice Stoker's. Anastasia's report notwithstanding, it was difficult to believe that this tidy, bare-chinned chap -- whom I now saw full on, quietly exhorting one of his men to remain calm in the face of the mob's provocation -- was not some pallid, obverse twin of the Power-Plant Director. The crowd paid little heed except to jeer him, and threatened at any
magnified. "Give us the Goat, the Goat, the Goat!" they cried, and though a few seemed more in carnival-spirits than in murderous -- linking arms with their lady girls and lifting emblazoned steins -- the most looked dangerous enough. A half-circle of riot-officers held them from the lift-doors as a man in a neat woolen suit explained our intention through a megaphone.
"Please remain orderly," he implored them. "Surely you don't want to injure the Grand Tutor, and you can't tell which is which. They're going to the Belly now; you'll see the results at the rear exit. Please remain orderly, and do be careful with fire. . ."
I was startled to recognize the voice, and then the face, as Maurice Stoker's. Anastasia's report notwithstanding, it was difficult to believe that this tidy, bare-chinned chap -- whom I now saw full on, quietly exhorting one of his men to remain calm in the face of the mob's provocation -- was not some pallid, obverse twin of the Power-Plant Director. The crowd paid little heed except to jeer him, and threatened at any
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