Martin Johnson Heade paintings
Nancy O'Toole paintings
Pino paintings
chosen for our experiment. I saw that Billy was beginning to lose his nerve for he was shivering in his big overcoat and his feet were very still, pressed down with all his might.
“Billy,” I said, “I don’t think we need go any further; we should only be wasting time. You’ve obviously won the bet.”
And I think he would have yielded—for he was rather a child—when Craine’s voice answered for him.
“What damned nonsense. The thing isn’t begun yet. Donne’s bet that he has the nerve to go through the whole werewolf ceremony. Just getting to the place is nothing. He doesn’t yet know what he has to do. I’ve got as far as this twice before—once in Nigeria with a man of forty, but he hadn’t the nerve to go through with it, and once in Wales with the bravest thing in the world, a devoted woman; but she couldn’t do it. Donne may, because he’s young and hasn’t seen enough to make him easily frightened.”
Monday, September 29, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Francois Boucher paintings
Francois Boucher paintings
Frank Dicksee paintings
Ford Madox Brown paintings
He was leaning back from the small table, on which the tea was set, eyeing my half finished portrait. I had had a long sitting and his beautiful china tea in his thin blue and white china came as a great relief.
He looked extremely handsome, I thought, in the golden afternoon light, in his picturesque studio overall; Jewish, of course, but with a distinguished air that made one overlook his stumpy hands and other signs of ill-breeding.
“Perhaps you’d like to hear something of my life,” he said, “it has not been without interest.”
He lit another cigarette, pushed the box, a beautiful piece of Moorish inlaid work, to within my easy reach, and then drawing a deep breath of smoke, began:
Frank Dicksee paintings
Ford Madox Brown paintings
He was leaning back from the small table, on which the tea was set, eyeing my half finished portrait. I had had a long sitting and his beautiful china tea in his thin blue and white china came as a great relief.
He looked extremely handsome, I thought, in the golden afternoon light, in his picturesque studio overall; Jewish, of course, but with a distinguished air that made one overlook his stumpy hands and other signs of ill-breeding.
“Perhaps you’d like to hear something of my life,” he said, “it has not been without interest.”
He lit another cigarette, pushed the box, a beautiful piece of Moorish inlaid work, to within my easy reach, and then drawing a deep breath of smoke, began:
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Bartolome Esteban Murillo Madonna and Child painting
Bartolome Esteban Murillo Madonna and Child paintingFilippino Lippi Madonna with Child and Saints paintingLouis Aston Knight A Bend in the River painting
former Gestapo men, an Italian air-marshal and his suite, a Hungarian ballet, some Portuguese Trotskyites. The English-speaking group consisted chiefly of armed deserters from the American and British Armies of Liberation. They had huge sums of money distributed about the linings of their clothes, the reward of many months’ traffic round the docks of the central sea.
Such activity as there was took place in the hour before dawn. Then the officer in charge, husband, it seemed, of the guardian hag, would appear with lists and a handful of pas; a roll would be called and a party despatched. During the day the soldiers played poker—a fifty-dollar ante and a hundred-dollar raise. Sometimes in the hours of darkness there were newcomers. The total number at the clearing station remained fairly constant.
At last on the sixth day there was a commotion. It began at midday with a call from the chief of police. He came with sword and epaulettes and he talked intently and crossly in Neutralian with the custodian.
One of the Americans, who had picked
former Gestapo men, an Italian air-marshal and his suite, a Hungarian ballet, some Portuguese Trotskyites. The English-speaking group consisted chiefly of armed deserters from the American and British Armies of Liberation. They had huge sums of money distributed about the linings of their clothes, the reward of many months’ traffic round the docks of the central sea.
Such activity as there was took place in the hour before dawn. Then the officer in charge, husband, it seemed, of the guardian hag, would appear with lists and a handful of pas; a roll would be called and a party despatched. During the day the soldiers played poker—a fifty-dollar ante and a hundred-dollar raise. Sometimes in the hours of darkness there were newcomers. The total number at the clearing station remained fairly constant.
At last on the sixth day there was a commotion. It began at midday with a call from the chief of police. He came with sword and epaulettes and he talked intently and crossly in Neutralian with the custodian.
One of the Americans, who had picked
Marc Chagall Adam and Eve painting
Marc Chagall Adam and Eve paintingMarc Chagall The Model paintingMarc Chagall The Grand Parade painting
filled with vermilion, carefully drawn, “Old English” capitals. The T alone remained to do and for this he had selected a model from Shaw’s Alphabets, now open before him on the table. It was a florid fifteenth-century letter which needed considerable ingenuity of adaption, for he had decided to attach to it the decorative tail of the J. He worked happily, entirely absorbed, drawing in pencil, then tensely, with breath held, inking the outline with a mapping pen; then, when it was dry—how often, in his impatience, he had ruined his work by attempting this too soon—rubbing away the pencil lines. Finally he got out his watercolours and his red sable brushes. At heart he knew he was going too fast—a monk would take a week over a single letter—but he worked with intensity and in less than two hours the initial with its pendant, convoluted border was finished. Then, as he put away his brushes, the exhilaration left him. It was no good; it was botched; the ink outline varied in thickness, the curves seemed to feel their way cautiously where they should have been bold; in places the colour overran the line and everywhere in contrast to the opaque lithographic ink it was watery and transparent. It was no good.
Despondently Charles shut his drawing book and put his
filled with vermilion, carefully drawn, “Old English” capitals. The T alone remained to do and for this he had selected a model from Shaw’s Alphabets, now open before him on the table. It was a florid fifteenth-century letter which needed considerable ingenuity of adaption, for he had decided to attach to it the decorative tail of the J. He worked happily, entirely absorbed, drawing in pencil, then tensely, with breath held, inking the outline with a mapping pen; then, when it was dry—how often, in his impatience, he had ruined his work by attempting this too soon—rubbing away the pencil lines. Finally he got out his watercolours and his red sable brushes. At heart he knew he was going too fast—a monk would take a week over a single letter—but he worked with intensity and in less than two hours the initial with its pendant, convoluted border was finished. Then, as he put away his brushes, the exhilaration left him. It was no good; it was botched; the ink outline varied in thickness, the curves seemed to feel their way cautiously where they should have been bold; in places the colour overran the line and everywhere in contrast to the opaque lithographic ink it was watery and transparent. It was no good.
Despondently Charles shut his drawing book and put his
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Paul Gauguin The Vision After the Sermon painting
Paul Gauguin The Vision After the Sermon paintingPaul Gauguin The Siesta paintingPaul Gauguin Tahitian Village painting
Then she said suddenly, “You’re in love with Lucy, aren’t you?”
“Good heavens, no. What on earth put that into your head?”
“I can tell. Through loving you so much, I expect. You may not know it, but you are. And it’s no good. She loves that horrid Roger. Oh, dear, they’re coming back. I’ll come and say good-bye to you tomorrow, may I?”
“No.”
“Please. This hasn’t been how I planned it at all.”
Then Roger and Lucy came into the room with a sly look as though they had been discussing what was going on and how long they should give us. So I shook hands with Julia and went .
She came to my rooms at ten next morning. Mrs. Legge, the landlady, showed her up. She stood in the door, swinging a small parcel. “I’ve got five minutes,” she said, “the taxi’s waiting. I told Lucy I had some last-minute shopping.”
Then she said suddenly, “You’re in love with Lucy, aren’t you?”
“Good heavens, no. What on earth put that into your head?”
“I can tell. Through loving you so much, I expect. You may not know it, but you are. And it’s no good. She loves that horrid Roger. Oh, dear, they’re coming back. I’ll come and say good-bye to you tomorrow, may I?”
“No.”
“Please. This hasn’t been how I planned it at all.”
Then Roger and Lucy came into the room with a sly look as though they had been discussing what was going on and how long they should give us. So I shook hands with Julia and went .
She came to my rooms at ten next morning. Mrs. Legge, the landlady, showed her up. She stood in the door, swinging a small parcel. “I’ve got five minutes,” she said, “the taxi’s waiting. I told Lucy I had some last-minute shopping.”
Monday, September 22, 2008
Douglas Hofmann Model painting
Douglas Hofmann Model paintingDouglas Hofmann Jessica paintingRembrandt Christ In The Storm painting
imagine scenes in which a policeman would ask him to move on and be met with a wild outburst. I imagined these scenes vividly—my father in swirling cape being hustled off, waving his umbrella. Nothing of the kind occurred. My father, for all his oddity, was a man of indestructible sanity and in his later years he found a keen pleasure in contemplating the rapid deterioration of the hated buildings. “Very good news of Hill Crest Court,” he announced one day. “Typhoid and rats.” And on another occasion, “Jellaby reports the presence of tarts at St. Eustace’s. They’ll have a suicide there soon, you’ll see.” There was a suicide, and for two rapturous days my father watched the coming and going of police and journalists. After that fewer chintz curtains were visible in the windows, rents began to fall and the lift-man smoked on duty. My father observed and gleefully noted all these signs. Hill Crest Court changed hands; decorator’s, plumber’s and electrician’s boards appeared all round it; a commissionaire with a new uniform stood at the doors. On the last evening I dined with my father he told me about a visit he had made there, posing as a potential tenant. “The place is a deserted slum,” he said. “A miserable, down-at-heel kind of secretary
imagine scenes in which a policeman would ask him to move on and be met with a wild outburst. I imagined these scenes vividly—my father in swirling cape being hustled off, waving his umbrella. Nothing of the kind occurred. My father, for all his oddity, was a man of indestructible sanity and in his later years he found a keen pleasure in contemplating the rapid deterioration of the hated buildings. “Very good news of Hill Crest Court,” he announced one day. “Typhoid and rats.” And on another occasion, “Jellaby reports the presence of tarts at St. Eustace’s. They’ll have a suicide there soon, you’ll see.” There was a suicide, and for two rapturous days my father watched the coming and going of police and journalists. After that fewer chintz curtains were visible in the windows, rents began to fall and the lift-man smoked on duty. My father observed and gleefully noted all these signs. Hill Crest Court changed hands; decorator’s, plumber’s and electrician’s boards appeared all round it; a commissionaire with a new uniform stood at the doors. On the last evening I dined with my father he told me about a visit he had made there, posing as a potential tenant. “The place is a deserted slum,” he said. “A miserable, down-at-heel kind of secretary
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Marc Chagall The Three Candles painting
Marc Chagall The Three Candles paintingMarc Chagall Paris Through the Window paintingMarc Chagall Lovers in the Moonlight painting
running down the path to greet him. As summer approached they went for drives in the evening among leafy Warwickshire lanes. In June they were engaged. Tom was exhilarated, sometimes almost dizzy at the experience, but he hesitated to tell his mother. “After all,” he reflected, “it is not as though I were Gervase,” but in his own heart he knew that there would be trouble.
Gladys came of a class accustomed to long engagements seemed a remote prospect; an engagement to her signified the formal recognition that she and Tom spent their spare time in one another’s company. Her mother, with whom she lived, accepted him on these terms. In years to come, when Tom had got his place in the London showrooms, it would be time enough to think about marrying. But Tom was born to a less patient tradition. He began to speak about a in the autumn.
“It would be lovely,” said Gladys in the tones she would have employed about winning the Irish sweepstake.
He had spoken very little about his family. She understood, vaguely, that they lived
running down the path to greet him. As summer approached they went for drives in the evening among leafy Warwickshire lanes. In June they were engaged. Tom was exhilarated, sometimes almost dizzy at the experience, but he hesitated to tell his mother. “After all,” he reflected, “it is not as though I were Gervase,” but in his own heart he knew that there would be trouble.
Gladys came of a class accustomed to long engagements seemed a remote prospect; an engagement to her signified the formal recognition that she and Tom spent their spare time in one another’s company. Her mother, with whom she lived, accepted him on these terms. In years to come, when Tom had got his place in the London showrooms, it would be time enough to think about marrying. But Tom was born to a less patient tradition. He began to speak about a in the autumn.
“It would be lovely,” said Gladys in the tones she would have employed about winning the Irish sweepstake.
He had spoken very little about his family. She understood, vaguely, that they lived
Friday, September 19, 2008
Vincent van Gogh Self Portrait painting
Vincent van Gogh Self Portrait paintingVincent van Gogh Sunflowers paintingVincent van Gogh The Starry Night painting
mile or so, in a single line along the bank. There were about fifty of them; all of the same size and character, built of wattle and mud with skin-lined roofs; they seemed sturdy and in good repair. A dozen or more canoes were beached along the mud flats; some of them dug-out trees, others of a kind of basketwork covered in skins. The people were fair-skinned and fair-haired, but shaggy, and they moved with the loping gait of savages. They spoke slowly in the sing-song tones of an unlettered race who depend on oral tradition for the preservation of their lore.
Their words seemed familiar yet unintelligible. For more than an hour Rip watched the village come to life and begin the routine of its day, saw the pots slung over the fires, the men going down and muttering sagely over their boats as longshoremen do;
mile or so, in a single line along the bank. There were about fifty of them; all of the same size and character, built of wattle and mud with skin-lined roofs; they seemed sturdy and in good repair. A dozen or more canoes were beached along the mud flats; some of them dug-out trees, others of a kind of basketwork covered in skins. The people were fair-skinned and fair-haired, but shaggy, and they moved with the loping gait of savages. They spoke slowly in the sing-song tones of an unlettered race who depend on oral tradition for the preservation of their lore.
Their words seemed familiar yet unintelligible. For more than an hour Rip watched the village come to life and begin the routine of its day, saw the pots slung over the fires, the men going down and muttering sagely over their boats as longshoremen do;
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Cassius Marcellus Coolidge A Friend in Need painting
Cassius Marcellus Coolidge A Friend in Need paintingEdvard Munch Puberty 1894 paintingEdvard Munch Madonna painting
hygiene, things every young girl should know, the general dangers of sex and its particular dangers in the Tropics; the proper treatment of the other inhabitants of Matodi, etiquette towards ladies of higher rank, the leaving of cards..... “Never shake hands with natives, however well educated they think themselves. Arabs are quite different, many of them very like gentlemen ... no worse than a great many Italians, really ... Indians, luckily, you won’t have to meet ... never allow native servants to see you in your dressing gown ... and be very careful about curtains in the bathroom—natives peep ... never walk in the side streets alone—in fact you have no in them at all ... never ride outside the compound alone. There have been several cases of bandits ... an American missionary only last year, but he was some kind of non-Conformist ... We owe it to our menfolk to take no unnecessary risks ... a band of brigands commanded by a Sakuya called Joab ... the Major will soon clean him up when he gets the levy into better shape ... they find their boots very uncomfortable at present ... meanwhile it is a very safe rule to take a man with you everywhere.....”
hygiene, things every young girl should know, the general dangers of sex and its particular dangers in the Tropics; the proper treatment of the other inhabitants of Matodi, etiquette towards ladies of higher rank, the leaving of cards..... “Never shake hands with natives, however well educated they think themselves. Arabs are quite different, many of them very like gentlemen ... no worse than a great many Italians, really ... Indians, luckily, you won’t have to meet ... never allow native servants to see you in your dressing gown ... and be very careful about curtains in the bathroom—natives peep ... never walk in the side streets alone—in fact you have no in them at all ... never ride outside the compound alone. There have been several cases of bandits ... an American missionary only last year, but he was some kind of non-Conformist ... We owe it to our menfolk to take no unnecessary risks ... a band of brigands commanded by a Sakuya called Joab ... the Major will soon clean him up when he gets the levy into better shape ... they find their boots very uncomfortable at present ... meanwhile it is a very safe rule to take a man with you everywhere.....”
Pierre Auguste Renoir Dance at Bougival I painting
Pierre Auguste Renoir Dance at Bougival I paintingThomas Kinkade The Garden of Prayer paintingThomas Kinkade Stairway to Paradise painting
Gospel before the end of the week. Pretty tough job. We’re setting it in Algeria so as to get the atmosphere. Off to Hollywood next month. Don’t suppose I shall see you again. Good-bye.”
Simon lay in bed with all his energy slowly slipping away. Nothing to do. Well, he supposed, now was the time to go away to the country and get on with his novel. Or should he go abroad? Some quiet café-restaurant in the sun where he could work out those intractable last chapters. That was what he would do ... sometime ... the end of the week perhaps.
Meanwhile he leaned over on his elbow, lifted the telephone and, asking for Sylvia’s number, prepared himself for twenty-five minutes’ acrimonious reconciliation.
Gospel before the end of the week. Pretty tough job. We’re setting it in Algeria so as to get the atmosphere. Off to Hollywood next month. Don’t suppose I shall see you again. Good-bye.”
Simon lay in bed with all his energy slowly slipping away. Nothing to do. Well, he supposed, now was the time to go away to the country and get on with his novel. Or should he go abroad? Some quiet café-restaurant in the sun where he could work out those intractable last chapters. That was what he would do ... sometime ... the end of the week perhaps.
Meanwhile he leaned over on his elbow, lifted the telephone and, asking for Sylvia’s number, prepared himself for twenty-five minutes’ acrimonious reconciliation.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Thomas Gainsborough The Morning Walk painting
Thomas Gainsborough The Morning Walk paintingThomas Gainsborough River Landscape paintingThomas Gainsborough Mr and Mrs Andrews painting
The Man Who Liked Dickens," Hearst's International combined with Cosmopolitan, September 1933, and Nosh's Pall Mall Magazine, November 1933.
"Out of Depth," subtitled "An Experiment Begun in Shaftesbury Avenue and Ended in Time," Harper's Bazaar, London, December 1933.
"By Special Request," first published with the subtitle "Chapter Five, The Next Winter," as the fifth and last episode in A Flat in London (serial version of A Handful of Dust), Harper's Bazaar, New York, October 1934, and Harper's Bazaar, London, October 1934.
"Period Piece," Mr. Loveday's Little Outing, and Other Sad Stories, Chapman & Hall, London, 1936.
"On Guard," Harper's Bazaar. London, December 1934.
"Mr. Loveday's Little Outing," first published as "Mr. Crutwell's Little Outing," Harper's Bazaar, New York, March 1935, and as "Mr. Crutwell's Outing," Nash's
The Man Who Liked Dickens," Hearst's International combined with Cosmopolitan, September 1933, and Nosh's Pall Mall Magazine, November 1933.
"Out of Depth," subtitled "An Experiment Begun in Shaftesbury Avenue and Ended in Time," Harper's Bazaar, London, December 1933.
"By Special Request," first published with the subtitle "Chapter Five, The Next Winter," as the fifth and last episode in A Flat in London (serial version of A Handful of Dust), Harper's Bazaar, New York, October 1934, and Harper's Bazaar, London, October 1934.
"Period Piece," Mr. Loveday's Little Outing, and Other Sad Stories, Chapman & Hall, London, 1936.
"On Guard," Harper's Bazaar. London, December 1934.
"Mr. Loveday's Little Outing," first published as "Mr. Crutwell's Little Outing," Harper's Bazaar, New York, March 1935, and as "Mr. Crutwell's Outing," Nash's
Vincent van Gogh The Sower painting
Vincent van Gogh The Sower paintingVincent van Gogh The Night Cafe paintingVincent van Gogh Cafe Terrace at Night painting
not quell the voices in your head that command you to kill and devour those around you, it will certainly shut them up for a day or two. Not a restaurant in the true sense, Dinner In The Sky is more of a philosophy. The that if food tastes better outdoors, then it will taste even better than that suspended By making a reservation, you can guarantee you and up to 21 guests the dining experience of an extremely bizarre lifetime. At the appointed date, a Belgian crane will come and hoist your table, seats, waiters and even an entertainer into the air for a two-hour meal. The food is exceptional, and the entertainment consists of a man on all fours clutching at the ground and weeping until you are once again lowered.
With Dinner In The Sky, you will truly experience all the labia-clenching terror that height has to offer. Your seats thirteen stories in the air.
Confuse your inner psychopath by making a reservation at Cannibalistic Sushi today!
not quell the voices in your head that command you to kill and devour those around you, it will certainly shut them up for a day or two. Not a restaurant in the true sense, Dinner In The Sky is more of a philosophy. The that if food tastes better outdoors, then it will taste even better than that suspended By making a reservation, you can guarantee you and up to 21 guests the dining experience of an extremely bizarre lifetime. At the appointed date, a Belgian crane will come and hoist your table, seats, waiters and even an entertainer into the air for a two-hour meal. The food is exceptional, and the entertainment consists of a man on all fours clutching at the ground and weeping until you are once again lowered.
With Dinner In The Sky, you will truly experience all the labia-clenching terror that height has to offer. Your seats thirteen stories in the air.
Confuse your inner psychopath by making a reservation at Cannibalistic Sushi today!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Fabian Perez white and red painting
Fabian Perez white and red paintingFabian Perez Fabian Perez Venice paintingFabian Perez Fabian Perez Tango painting
of seventy-four tiny moles, all brown, were disposed about her epidermis, five of them bearing at least one hair. Her earlobes were extremely small, scarcely pendant; a thumbnail-sizecafé-au-lait birthmark was half concealed, when she stood, in the crease below her right buttock. Her anus -- unlike her lips, tongue, nipples, clitoris, and urethra -- was neither rosy nor granular, but of the same smooth beige-pink as the skin of her hams. Her navel, shallowly recessed, was bilobular, not unlike the East-Campus symbol for polarity.
"Measure me," she said. With the aid of several kinds of scales, a tape, calipers, and other devices lying about the room, I discovered that the total weight of Anastasia's body was 50.4 kilograms, of which her head and neck accounted for 2.25, her arms for a kilo apiece, her breasts for less than a half-kilo each, and her legs for almost six together. Her height was 1.63 meters standing, about six millimeters more reclining; an average hair on her head was twenty-three centimeters in length, on her armpit (not recently shaven, she said) one centimeter, on hermons veneris three. The girth of her forehead was fifty-nine
of seventy-four tiny moles, all brown, were disposed about her epidermis, five of them bearing at least one hair. Her earlobes were extremely small, scarcely pendant; a thumbnail-sizecafé-au-lait birthmark was half concealed, when she stood, in the crease below her right buttock. Her anus -- unlike her lips, tongue, nipples, clitoris, and urethra -- was neither rosy nor granular, but of the same smooth beige-pink as the skin of her hams. Her navel, shallowly recessed, was bilobular, not unlike the East-Campus symbol for polarity.
"Measure me," she said. With the aid of several kinds of scales, a tape, calipers, and other devices lying about the room, I discovered that the total weight of Anastasia's body was 50.4 kilograms, of which her head and neck accounted for 2.25, her arms for a kilo apiece, her breasts for less than a half-kilo each, and her legs for almost six together. Her height was 1.63 meters standing, about six millimeters more reclining; an average hair on her head was twenty-three centimeters in length, on her armpit (not recently shaven, she said) one centimeter, on hermons veneris three. The girth of her forehead was fifty-nine
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Self Portrait with Monkeys
Self Portrait with MonkeysSelf Portrait with Cropped HairSelf Portrait 1940
from Great Mall -- it was probably no later than half-past six. He hoped not, anyhow, for his detail was to go off duty at seven, and riot or no riot, he'd heard that the maddest party in the history of the Powerhouse was in progress, and he wanted not to miss the fun. Croaker I'd induced to ride in the sidecar, and was anyhow distracted, as were my escorts, by the sight of his passengers. Slumped in the sidecar and blindfolded, they started up at mention of my name. Pocket-torches focused on them, and I was doubly surprised: Peter Greene it was, and Leonid Alexandrov, handcuffed but I was obliged to remain on his shoulders. The streets and public buildings were dark, owing to the power-failure, and almost vacant because of the general emergency; despite the ragged navigation of the guards we made good time. My neck was sore, my stomach empty,
from Great Mall -- it was probably no later than half-past six. He hoped not, anyhow, for his detail was to go off duty at seven, and riot or no riot, he'd heard that the maddest party in the history of the Powerhouse was in progress, and he wanted not to miss the fun. Croaker I'd induced to ride in the sidecar, and was anyhow distracted, as were my escorts, by the sight of his passengers. Slumped in the sidecar and blindfolded, they started up at mention of my name. Pocket-torches focused on them, and I was doubly surprised: Peter Greene it was, and Leonid Alexandrov, handcuffed but I was obliged to remain on his shoulders. The streets and public buildings were dark, owing to the power-failure, and almost vacant because of the general emergency; despite the ragged navigation of the guards we made good time. My neck was sore, my stomach empty,
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Frederick Carl Frieseke paintings
Frederick Carl Frieseke paintings
Flamenco Dancer paintings
Franz Marc paintings
"George. . ." She drew the name out protestingly, and seemed about to weep again. To forestall her I acknowledged the truth of what she'd charged earlier -- that with regard to human ladies, at least, I understood nothing. I asked her to remedy my ignorance with plain statements.
"Is there anything you have to do this afternoon? Dr. Sear's closed the office."
She glanced apprehensively at the one-way mirror. I assured her that no one was watching, and wondered why she cared, since we were only talking.
"Your mother wants to be when Uncle Reg arrives," she said. "But that won't be until dinnertime."
"Then I'm going to get to know you," I said. "Inside out, in every way. Even if it takes the rest of the afternoon."
Her eyes doubted. "I'vetold You my whole flunkèd past, George: all the terrible things I've done thinking they were right. You know as much about me as I do."
Flamenco Dancer paintings
Franz Marc paintings
"George. . ." She drew the name out protestingly, and seemed about to weep again. To forestall her I acknowledged the truth of what she'd charged earlier -- that with regard to human ladies, at least, I understood nothing. I asked her to remedy my ignorance with plain statements.
"Is there anything you have to do this afternoon? Dr. Sear's closed the office."
She glanced apprehensively at the one-way mirror. I assured her that no one was watching, and wondered why she cared, since we were only talking.
"Your mother wants to be when Uncle Reg arrives," she said. "But that won't be until dinnertime."
"Then I'm going to get to know you," I said. "Inside out, in every way. Even if it takes the rest of the afternoon."
Her eyes doubted. "I'vetold You my whole flunkèd past, George: all the terrible things I've done thinking they were right. You know as much about me as I do."
Monday, September 8, 2008
Pablo Picasso paintings
Pablo Picasso paintings
Pierre-Auguste Cot paintings
Philip Craig paintings
whole time! But when Kennard reminded me of what You'd told me I got all mixed up, because Idon't like Mr. Greene -- notthat way, especially since last spring -- and yet Ido believe in You, George, even if You don't. But it's sohard for me to act like a. . . afloozy, You know. . ."
"That's just more smut, Dr. Sear!" Greene was declaring. "You know durn well I'm not any sawbones, say what you want, nor a headshrinker either -- excuse the expression! I'm a simple country boy that's trying to do the right thing by his wife and family and his alma mater. Don't think I don't see you're up to some naughtiness with this playing-doctor, pull-the-wool-over-my-eyeswise."
"What did you do?" I was wondering vaguely whether the net effect of a seduction of Greene by My Ladyship would be therapeutic or antitherapeutic, so to speak, in their separate cases; likewise a repetition, under present circumstances, of her previous forcible allaying. At the same time, the conversation in the Treatment Room I found more
Pierre-Auguste Cot paintings
Philip Craig paintings
whole time! But when Kennard reminded me of what You'd told me I got all mixed up, because Idon't like Mr. Greene -- notthat way, especially since last spring -- and yet Ido believe in You, George, even if You don't. But it's sohard for me to act like a. . . afloozy, You know. . ."
"That's just more smut, Dr. Sear!" Greene was declaring. "You know durn well I'm not any sawbones, say what you want, nor a headshrinker either -- excuse the expression! I'm a simple country boy that's trying to do the right thing by his wife and family and his alma mater. Don't think I don't see you're up to some naughtiness with this playing-doctor, pull-the-wool-over-my-eyeswise."
"What did you do?" I was wondering vaguely whether the net effect of a seduction of Greene by My Ladyship would be therapeutic or antitherapeutic, so to speak, in their separate cases; likewise a repetition, under present circumstances, of her previous forcible allaying. At the same time, the conversation in the Treatment Room I found more
Friday, September 5, 2008
Allan R.Banks paintings
Allan R.Banks paintings
Andrea Mantegna paintings
Arthur Hughes paintings
frightened now. "What does that mean, anyhow?"
He drew back. "Land sakes, sir, I wasn't messin' with no tapes! I just come by with ol' sweeper and hears this squallin' -- what I gone do, let the poor child get his brains et?"
His complaint -- to whom, I could not imagine -- turned into a senseless mumble, thence to a mournful snatch of song about a certain Shore where (not unlike the brothers Gruff) he looked to find his heart's desire, could he but cross to it. Then he broke off singing with a scoff.
"Pass All Fail All! Ain't no child gone die in these here stacks!" He thrust his other arm under my legs, picked me up, and started down the aisle. I protested until I heard him say -- still more to himself than to me -- "I gone fetch you out of here, fore we both gets et. Dr. Spielman know what's what."
Just then a voice I knew called, "George?" and my heart sprang up, for Max himself crossed the end of our aisle. He peered in, not recognizing me for an instant, and then hurried to us.
"Yi Billy, what's this now!"
Andrea Mantegna paintings
Arthur Hughes paintings
frightened now. "What does that mean, anyhow?"
He drew back. "Land sakes, sir, I wasn't messin' with no tapes! I just come by with ol' sweeper and hears this squallin' -- what I gone do, let the poor child get his brains et?"
His complaint -- to whom, I could not imagine -- turned into a senseless mumble, thence to a mournful snatch of song about a certain Shore where (not unlike the brothers Gruff) he looked to find his heart's desire, could he but cross to it. Then he broke off singing with a scoff.
"Pass All Fail All! Ain't no child gone die in these here stacks!" He thrust his other arm under my legs, picked me up, and started down the aisle. I protested until I heard him say -- still more to himself than to me -- "I gone fetch you out of here, fore we both gets et. Dr. Spielman know what's what."
Just then a voice I knew called, "George?" and my heart sprang up, for Max himself crossed the end of our aisle. He peered in, not recognizing me for an instant, and then hurried to us.
"Yi Billy, what's this now!"
Flamenco
FlamencoFlamenco Dancer IIchristine
depravity, and had decided that all women were trollops at heart, and he himself an "All-U failure, know-thyselfwise."him on the grounds of adultery if she preferred not to wait the required two semesters; he supplied her with full particulars not only of his rape of Anastasia but also of his current activities, sexual and otherwise, and that catalogue, perhaps, had fetched her back into the Infirmary. Though he'd not after all defected to the Nikolayans, he was become a Student-Unionist "fellow scholar" and something of a Beist as well. He smoked hempen cigarettes, went barefoot and unbarbered, carried a guitar on which with rude skill he played songs of lower-form protest, and said of The Living Sakhyan: "Man, he's got the gosh-durnmost, what I meanwise wise." He had even taken a Frumentian lady roommate, Stoker's secretary Georgina, whom he claimed to admire for her straightforwardness: she enjoyed fornication for its own flunkèd sake, he said, but loathed him personally, as he loathed himself, and slept with him mainly to
depravity, and had decided that all women were trollops at heart, and he himself an "All-U failure, know-thyselfwise."him on the grounds of adultery if she preferred not to wait the required two semesters; he supplied her with full particulars not only of his rape of Anastasia but also of his current activities, sexual and otherwise, and that catalogue, perhaps, had fetched her back into the Infirmary. Though he'd not after all defected to the Nikolayans, he was become a Student-Unionist "fellow scholar" and something of a Beist as well. He smoked hempen cigarettes, went barefoot and unbarbered, carried a guitar on which with rude skill he played songs of lower-form protest, and said of The Living Sakhyan: "Man, he's got the gosh-durnmost, what I meanwise wise." He had even taken a Frumentian lady roommate, Stoker's secretary Georgina, whom he claimed to admire for her straightforwardness: she enjoyed fornication for its own flunkèd sake, he said, but loathed him personally, as he loathed himself, and slept with him mainly to
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Pablo Picasso Girl Before a Mirror painting
Pablo Picasso Girl Before a Mirror paintingClaude Monet Sunflowers paintingFabian Perez valerie painting
where a special lift -- the only one so routed -- would take the two of us down into the Belly-room. But immense though the building was, and heavily guarded, elements of the mob outside had forced their way in; we heard shouting in a large room at the end of the hallway and were intercepted before we reached it by other uniformed patrolmen, who advised us to retreat.
"Word just came in that the Power-Line guards are dropping like flies," one of them reported. "Some crazy kind of thing they were ordered to wear around their necks on duty; makes them lose their balance." He glared at me. "Flunking wolf in sheep's clothing!"
I was disturbed less by his shocking metaphor than by his news of the unfortunate border-guards and his obvious sympathy with the demonstrators: he informed us that this fresh calamity had infuriated them beyond restraint; they'd breached entryways all around the building in search of the man they held responsible for the day's catastrophes -- and Founder help me when they got hold of me, for he himself would not.
where a special lift -- the only one so routed -- would take the two of us down into the Belly-room. But immense though the building was, and heavily guarded, elements of the mob outside had forced their way in; we heard shouting in a large room at the end of the hallway and were intercepted before we reached it by other uniformed patrolmen, who advised us to retreat.
"Word just came in that the Power-Line guards are dropping like flies," one of them reported. "Some crazy kind of thing they were ordered to wear around their necks on duty; makes them lose their balance." He glared at me. "Flunking wolf in sheep's clothing!"
I was disturbed less by his shocking metaphor than by his news of the unfortunate border-guards and his obvious sympathy with the demonstrators: he informed us that this fresh calamity had infuriated them beyond restraint; they'd breached entryways all around the building in search of the man they held responsible for the day's catastrophes -- and Founder help me when they got hold of me, for he himself would not.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)