Francisco de Zurbaran paintings
Guan zeju paintings
Gustav Klimt paintings
October before we’re settled down again. Still, I suppose Julia must have her enjoyment the same as other young ladies, though what they always want to go to London for in the best of the summer and the all out, I never have understood. Father Phipps was here on Thursday and I said exactly the same to him,’ she added as though she had thus acquired sacerdotal authority for her opinion.
‘D’you say Julia’s here?’
‘Yes, dear, you must have just missed her. It’s the Conservative Women. Her Ladyship was to have done them, but she’s poorly. Julia won’t be long; she’s leaving immediately after her speech, before the tea.’
‘I’m afraid we may miss her again.’
‘Don’t do that, dear, it’ll be such a surprise to her seeing you, though she ought to wait for the tea, I told her, it’s what the Conservative Women come for. Now what’s the news? Are you studying hard at your books?’
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Edwin Lord Weeks paintings
Edwin Lord Weeks paintings
Frida Kahlo paintings
Frederick Carl Frieseke paintings
His eyes fell on the broken window. ‘Has that been entered in the barrack damages?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘Not yet? I wonder when it would have been, if I hadn’t seen it. ‘
He was not at ease with me, and much of his bluster rose from timidity, but I thought none the better of it for that.
He led me behind the huts to a wire fence which divided my area from the carrier-platoon’s, skipped briskly over, and made for an overgrown ditch and bank which had once been a field boundary on the farm. Here he began grubbing with his stick like a truffling pig and presently gave a cry of triumph. He had disclosed one of those deposits of rubbish which are dear to the private soldier’s sense of order: the head of a broom, the lid of a stove, a bucket rusted through, a sock, a loaf of bread, lay under the dock and nettle among cigarette packets and empty tins.
‘Look at that,’ said the commanding officer. ‘Fine impression
Frida Kahlo paintings
Frederick Carl Frieseke paintings
His eyes fell on the broken window. ‘Has that been entered in the barrack damages?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘Not yet? I wonder when it would have been, if I hadn’t seen it. ‘
He was not at ease with me, and much of his bluster rose from timidity, but I thought none the better of it for that.
He led me behind the huts to a wire fence which divided my area from the carrier-platoon’s, skipped briskly over, and made for an overgrown ditch and bank which had once been a field boundary on the farm. Here he began grubbing with his stick like a truffling pig and presently gave a cry of triumph. He had disclosed one of those deposits of rubbish which are dear to the private soldier’s sense of order: the head of a broom, the lid of a stove, a bucket rusted through, a sock, a loaf of bread, lay under the dock and nettle among cigarette packets and empty tins.
‘Look at that,’ said the commanding officer. ‘Fine impression
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Louise Abbema paintings
Louise Abbema paintings
Leonardo da Vinci paintings
Lord Frederick Leighton paintings
Sir Alfred James, a great collector of books, one day chanced to look at an old volume which had the curious name of “Multa Pecunia,” which told him that under his house there was a cave in which was untold of wealth. He did not trouble to read any more, for he had heard the yarn before, and did not believe it.
When Tom came Home, being Sir Alfred’s son, he was treated with great respect by the servants and therefore was allowed to go into every nook and corner of the house. He was in a little poky room one day, when he saw this carving “Multa Pecunia.” He stared for some time at the carving, when suddenly he remembered seeing a book in the library with the same title. Immediately he ran to the library and took out the catalogue. There he saw these words, “Multa Pecunia, shelf 7, place 13.” He was immediately at shelf 7, but place 13 was empty!
Leonardo da Vinci paintings
Lord Frederick Leighton paintings
Sir Alfred James, a great collector of books, one day chanced to look at an old volume which had the curious name of “Multa Pecunia,” which told him that under his house there was a cave in which was untold of wealth. He did not trouble to read any more, for he had heard the yarn before, and did not believe it.
When Tom came Home, being Sir Alfred’s son, he was treated with great respect by the servants and therefore was allowed to go into every nook and corner of the house. He was in a little poky room one day, when he saw this carving “Multa Pecunia.” He stared for some time at the carving, when suddenly he remembered seeing a book in the library with the same title. Immediately he ran to the library and took out the catalogue. There he saw these words, “Multa Pecunia, shelf 7, place 13.” He was immediately at shelf 7, but place 13 was empty!
Friday, September 26, 2008
Caravaggio Supper at Emmaus painting
Caravaggio Supper at Emmaus paintingCaravaggio Judith Beheading Holofernes paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Abduction of Psyche painting
quantity or quality.
Major Gordon did not forget the Jews. Their plight oppressed him on his daily walks in the s, where the leaves were now falling fast and burning smokily in the misty air. The Jews were numbered, very specially, among his allies and the partisans lapsed from his friendship. He saw them now as a part of the thing he had set out hopefully to fight in the days when there had been a plain, unequivocal issue between right and wrong. Uppermost in his conscious mind was resentment against the General and Commissar for their reprimand. By such strange entrances does compassion sometimes slip, disguised, into the human heart.
At the end of the fortnight he was elated to receive the signal: “Central Government approves in principle evacuation Jews stop Dispatch two repeat two next plane discuss problem with Unrra.”
Major Gordon went with this signal to the Minister of the Interior who was lying in bed drinking weak tea. Bakic explained, “He’s sick and don’t know nothing. You better talk to de Commissar.”
quantity or quality.
Major Gordon did not forget the Jews. Their plight oppressed him on his daily walks in the s, where the leaves were now falling fast and burning smokily in the misty air. The Jews were numbered, very specially, among his allies and the partisans lapsed from his friendship. He saw them now as a part of the thing he had set out hopefully to fight in the days when there had been a plain, unequivocal issue between right and wrong. Uppermost in his conscious mind was resentment against the General and Commissar for their reprimand. By such strange entrances does compassion sometimes slip, disguised, into the human heart.
At the end of the fortnight he was elated to receive the signal: “Central Government approves in principle evacuation Jews stop Dispatch two repeat two next plane discuss problem with Unrra.”
Major Gordon went with this signal to the Minister of the Interior who was lying in bed drinking weak tea. Bakic explained, “He’s sick and don’t know nothing. You better talk to de Commissar.”
Thursday, September 25, 2008
William Bouguereau The Wasp's Nest painting
William Bouguereau The Wasp's Nest paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Nymphaeum paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Nut Gatherers painting
hoped it would be used in the High Schools but it is not. There is jealousy and intrigue everywhere—even at the Ministry of Education.” lost to him. He swigged his wine with relish, sighing after each draught and tapping the glass with his knife to call the waiter’s attention to the need of refilling it. Often he jammed glasses on his nose and studied the menu, not so much, it seemed, for fear of missing anything, as to fix in his memory the fleeting delights of the moment. It is not entirely easy
At this moment a splendid figure at the centre of the table rose to make the first speech. “Now to work,” said his neighbour, produced a noteband pencil and began busily in shorthand. “In the new Neutralia we all work.”
The speech was long and provoked much applause
hoped it would be used in the High Schools but it is not. There is jealousy and intrigue everywhere—even at the Ministry of Education.” lost to him. He swigged his wine with relish, sighing after each draught and tapping the glass with his knife to call the waiter’s attention to the need of refilling it. Often he jammed glasses on his nose and studied the menu, not so much, it seemed, for fear of missing anything, as to fix in his memory the fleeting delights of the moment. It is not entirely easy
At this moment a splendid figure at the centre of the table rose to make the first speech. “Now to work,” said his neighbour, produced a noteband pencil and began busily in shorthand. “In the new Neutralia we all work.”
The speech was long and provoked much applause
Lord Frederick Leighton Solitude painting
Lord Frederick Leighton Solitude paintingLord Frederick Leighton Return of Persephone paintingLord Frederick Leighton Perseus on Pegasus Hastening to the Rescue of Andromeda painting
that, as the face of Europe coarsened and the war, as it appeared in the common-room newspapers and the common-room wireless, cast its heroic and chivalrous disguise and became a sweaty tug-of-war between teams of indistinguishable louts, Scott-King, who had never set foot there, became Neutralian in his loyalty and as an act of homage resumed with fervour the task on which he had intermittently worked, the translation of Bellorius into Spenserian stanzas. The work was finished at the time of the Normandy landings—translation, introduction, notes. He sent it to the Oxford University Press. It came back to him. He put it away in a drawer of the pitch-pine desk in his smoky gothic study above the Granchester quadrangle. He did not repine. It was his opus, his monument to dimness.
But still the shade of Bellorius stood at his elbow demanding placation. There was unfinished between these two. You cannot keep close company with a man, even though he be dead three centuries, without incurring obligations. Therefore at the time of the peace celebrations Scott-King distilled his learning and wrote a little essay, 4000 words
that, as the face of Europe coarsened and the war, as it appeared in the common-room newspapers and the common-room wireless, cast its heroic and chivalrous disguise and became a sweaty tug-of-war between teams of indistinguishable louts, Scott-King, who had never set foot there, became Neutralian in his loyalty and as an act of homage resumed with fervour the task on which he had intermittently worked, the translation of Bellorius into Spenserian stanzas. The work was finished at the time of the Normandy landings—translation, introduction, notes. He sent it to the Oxford University Press. It came back to him. He put it away in a drawer of the pitch-pine desk in his smoky gothic study above the Granchester quadrangle. He did not repine. It was his opus, his monument to dimness.
But still the shade of Bellorius stood at his elbow demanding placation. There was unfinished between these two. You cannot keep close company with a man, even though he be dead three centuries, without incurring obligations. Therefore at the time of the peace celebrations Scott-King distilled his learning and wrote a little essay, 4000 words
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Jean Fragonard The Bathers painting
Jean Fragonard The Bathers paintingAlexandre Cabanel Nymph and Satyr paintingThomas Gainsborough Mrs Sheridan painting
three meetings with him.
“You’d be doing us all a great service if you could keep him to that,” I said.
It is a most painful experience to find, when one has been rude, that one has caused no surprise. That is how Lucy received my remark. She merely said, “We’ve got to go out almost at once. We’re going to the theatre in Finsbury and it starts at seven.”
“Very inconvenient.”
“It suits the workers,” she said. “They have to get up earlier than we do, you see.”
Then Roger and Basil came in with the drinks. Roger said, “We’re just going out. They’re doing the Tractor Trilogy at Finsbury. Why don’t you come too. We could probably get another seat, couldn’t we, Lucy?”
“I doubt it,” said Lucy. “They’re tremendously booked up.”
“I don’t think I will,” I said.
“Anyway join us afterwards at the Café Royal.”
“I might,” I said.
“What have you and Lucy been talking about?”
three meetings with him.
“You’d be doing us all a great service if you could keep him to that,” I said.
It is a most painful experience to find, when one has been rude, that one has caused no surprise. That is how Lucy received my remark. She merely said, “We’ve got to go out almost at once. We’re going to the theatre in Finsbury and it starts at seven.”
“Very inconvenient.”
“It suits the workers,” she said. “They have to get up earlier than we do, you see.”
Then Roger and Basil came in with the drinks. Roger said, “We’re just going out. They’re doing the Tractor Trilogy at Finsbury. Why don’t you come too. We could probably get another seat, couldn’t we, Lucy?”
“I doubt it,” said Lucy. “They’re tremendously booked up.”
“I don’t think I will,” I said.
“Anyway join us afterwards at the Café Royal.”
“I might,” I said.
“What have you and Lucy been talking about?”
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Johannes Vermeer The Kitchen Maid painting
Johannes Vermeer The Kitchen Maid paintingPierre Auguste Renoir Girls at The Piano paintingDiane Romanello Sunset Beach painting
mind—“... fulfilling the broken promise of the young Millais ... Winterhalter suffused with the spirit of Dickens ... English painting as it might have been, had there not been any Aesthetic Movement ... the age of the Prince Consort in contrast to the age of Victoria ...” and with the phrases my esteem for my father took form and my sense of loss became tangible and permanent.
No good comes of this dependence on verbal forms. It saves nothing in the end. Suffering is none the less acute and much more lasting when it is put into words. In the house my memories had been all of myself—of the countless and departures of thirty-three years, of adolescence like a stained tablecloth—but in the studio my thoughts were of my father and , nearly a week delayed, overtook and overwhelmed me. It had been delayed somewhat by the strangeness of my surroundings and the of travel, but most by this literary habit; it had lacked words. Now the words came; I began, in my mind, to lament my father with prose cadences and classical allusions, addressing, as it were, a funeral oration to my own literary memories
mind—“... fulfilling the broken promise of the young Millais ... Winterhalter suffused with the spirit of Dickens ... English painting as it might have been, had there not been any Aesthetic Movement ... the age of the Prince Consort in contrast to the age of Victoria ...” and with the phrases my esteem for my father took form and my sense of loss became tangible and permanent.
No good comes of this dependence on verbal forms. It saves nothing in the end. Suffering is none the less acute and much more lasting when it is put into words. In the house my memories had been all of myself—of the countless and departures of thirty-three years, of adolescence like a stained tablecloth—but in the studio my thoughts were of my father and , nearly a week delayed, overtook and overwhelmed me. It had been delayed somewhat by the strangeness of my surroundings and the of travel, but most by this literary habit; it had lacked words. Now the words came; I began, in my mind, to lament my father with prose cadences and classical allusions, addressing, as it were, a funeral oration to my own literary memories
Sunday, September 21, 2008
William Bouguereau Lambs painting
William Bouguereau Lambs paintingClaude Theberge White Tulips paintingClaude Theberge Jazz in Montreal painting
sight of the school; they all crowded to the dormitory windows to see it sinking slowly in a globe of pink flame. A very young master whose rendered him unfit for military service danced on the headmaster’s tennis court crying, “There go the baby killers.” Tom made a collection of “War Relics,” including a captured German helmet, shell-splinters, The Times for August 4th, 1914, buttons, cartridge cases, and cap badges, that was voted the best in the school.
The event which radically changed the of the brothers was the death, early in 1915, of their father. Neither knew him well nor particularly liked him. He had represented the division in the House of Commons and spent much of his time in London while the children were at Tomb. They only saw him on three occasions after he joined the army. Gervase and Tom were called out of the classroom and told of his death by the headmaster’s wife. They cried, since it was expected of them, and for some days were treated with marked deference by the masters and the rest of the school.
It was in the subsequent holidays that the importance
sight of the school; they all crowded to the dormitory windows to see it sinking slowly in a globe of pink flame. A very young master whose rendered him unfit for military service danced on the headmaster’s tennis court crying, “There go the baby killers.” Tom made a collection of “War Relics,” including a captured German helmet, shell-splinters, The Times for August 4th, 1914, buttons, cartridge cases, and cap badges, that was voted the best in the school.
The event which radically changed the of the brothers was the death, early in 1915, of their father. Neither knew him well nor particularly liked him. He had represented the division in the House of Commons and spent much of his time in London while the children were at Tomb. They only saw him on three occasions after he joined the army. Gervase and Tom were called out of the classroom and told of his death by the headmaster’s wife. They cried, since it was expected of them, and for some days were treated with marked deference by the masters and the rest of the school.
It was in the subsequent holidays that the importance
Friday, September 19, 2008
Michelangelo Buonarroti The Creation of Adam painting
Michelangelo Buonarroti The Creation of Adam paintingMichelangelo Buonarroti Creation of Adam paintingThomas Kinkade The Rose Garden painting
momentary delirium he saw the fading light of the November afternoon, the raw mist spreading over the playing fields; overheated youth in the scrum; frigid youth at the touchline, shuffling on the duckboards, chafing their fingers and, when their mouths were emptied of biscuit crumbs, cheering their house team to further exertion.
“You will wait for me, won’t you?” he said.
“Yes, darling.”
“And you will write?”
“Yes, darling,” she replied more doubtfully, “sometimes ... at least I’ll try. is not my best thing, you know.”
“I shall think of you all the time Out There,” said Hector. “It’s going to be terrible—miles of impassable waggon track between me and the nearest white man, blinding sun, lions, mosquitoes, hostile natives, work from dawn until sunset singlehanded against the forces of nature, fever, cholera ... But soon I shall be able to send for you to join me.”
“Yes, darling.”
momentary delirium he saw the fading light of the November afternoon, the raw mist spreading over the playing fields; overheated youth in the scrum; frigid youth at the touchline, shuffling on the duckboards, chafing their fingers and, when their mouths were emptied of biscuit crumbs, cheering their house team to further exertion.
“You will wait for me, won’t you?” he said.
“Yes, darling.”
“And you will write?”
“Yes, darling,” she replied more doubtfully, “sometimes ... at least I’ll try. is not my best thing, you know.”
“I shall think of you all the time Out There,” said Hector. “It’s going to be terrible—miles of impassable waggon track between me and the nearest white man, blinding sun, lions, mosquitoes, hostile natives, work from dawn until sunset singlehanded against the forces of nature, fever, cholera ... But soon I shall be able to send for you to join me.”
“Yes, darling.”
Thomas Moran Forest Scene painting
Thomas Moran Forest Scene paintingThomas Moran Autumn Landscape paintingJean Francois Millet The Gleaners painting
conjectural. None of the inhabitants of the district, except Mr. McMaster, had ever heard of the republic of Colombia, Venezuela, Brazil or Bolivia, each of whom had at one time or another claimed its possession.
Mr. McMaster’s house was larger than those of his neighbours, but similar in character—a palm thatch roof, breast high walls of mud and wattle, and a mud floor. He owned the dozen or so head of puny cattle which grazed in the savannah, a plantation of cassava, some banana and mango trees, a dog, and, unique in the neighbourhood, a single-barrelled, breech-loading shotgun. The few commodities which he employed from the outside world came to him through a long succession of traders, passed from hand to hand, bartered for in a dozen languages at the extreme end of one of the longest threads in the web of commerce that spreads from Manáos into the remote fastness of the forest.
One day while Mr. McMaster was engaged in filling some cartridges, a Shiriana came to
conjectural. None of the inhabitants of the district, except Mr. McMaster, had ever heard of the republic of Colombia, Venezuela, Brazil or Bolivia, each of whom had at one time or another claimed its possession.
Mr. McMaster’s house was larger than those of his neighbours, but similar in character—a palm thatch roof, breast high walls of mud and wattle, and a mud floor. He owned the dozen or so head of puny cattle which grazed in the savannah, a plantation of cassava, some banana and mango trees, a dog, and, unique in the neighbourhood, a single-barrelled, breech-loading shotgun. The few commodities which he employed from the outside world came to him through a long succession of traders, passed from hand to hand, bartered for in a dozen languages at the extreme end of one of the longest threads in the web of commerce that spreads from Manáos into the remote fastness of the forest.
One day while Mr. McMaster was engaged in filling some cartridges, a Shiriana came to
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Edgar Degas Four Dancers painting
Edgar Degas Four Dancers paintingEdgar Degas dance class paintingEdgar Degas Ballet Rehearsal painting
Suddenly, in the new light, all the decorations looked bogus and tawdry; the waiters hurried away to change their sham liveries. Boris understood what I was feeling. The of Tom Watch and Angela Trench-Troubridge was, perhaps, as unimportant an event as has occurred within living memory. No feature was lacking in the previous histories of the two young people, in their engagement, or their , that could make them completely typical of all that was most unremarkable in modern social conditions. The evening paper recorded:
“This has been a busy week at St. Margaret’s. The third of the week took place there this afternoon, between Mr. Tom Watch and Miss Angela Trench-Troubridge. Mr. Watch, who, like so many young men nowadays, works in the city, is the second son of the late Hon. Wilfrid Watch of Holyborne House, Shaftesbury; the bride’s father, Colonel Trench-Troubridge, is well known as a spman, and has stood several
“I know,” he said. “It is not Russian. It is not anything even to own a popular night club when one has lost one’s country.”
Suddenly, in the new light, all the decorations looked bogus and tawdry; the waiters hurried away to change their sham liveries. Boris understood what I was feeling. The of Tom Watch and Angela Trench-Troubridge was, perhaps, as unimportant an event as has occurred within living memory. No feature was lacking in the previous histories of the two young people, in their engagement, or their , that could make them completely typical of all that was most unremarkable in modern social conditions. The evening paper recorded:
“This has been a busy week at St. Margaret’s. The third of the week took place there this afternoon, between Mr. Tom Watch and Miss Angela Trench-Troubridge. Mr. Watch, who, like so many young men nowadays, works in the city, is the second son of the late Hon. Wilfrid Watch of Holyborne House, Shaftesbury; the bride’s father, Colonel Trench-Troubridge, is well known as a spman, and has stood several
“I know,” he said. “It is not Russian. It is not anything even to own a popular night club when one has lost one’s country.”
Claude Monet Monet Water Lillies I painting
Claude Monet Monet Water Lillies I paintingClaude Monet Boulevard des Capucines paintingHorace Vernet Judith and Holofernes painting
So, you see, you are after all come to the beginning of another day.” And as he spoke, he took from his pocket the envelope addressed to Imogen and tore it into small pieces. Like wounded birds they tumbled and fluttered, until reaching the water they became caught up in its movement and were swept out of sight round the bend of the river towards the city, which Adam had just left.
The reflection answered: “Yes, I think that that was well done. After all, ‘imperatrix’ is not a particularly happy epithet to apply to Imogen, is it?—and, by the way, are you certain that she can understand Latin? Suppose that she had had to ask Henry to translate it to her!
“But, tell me, does this rather picturesque gesture mean that you have decided to go on living? You seemed so immovably resolved on instant death yesterday, that I find it hard to believe you can have changed your mind.”
Adam: I find it hard to believe that it was I who yesterday was so immovably
So, you see, you are after all come to the beginning of another day.” And as he spoke, he took from his pocket the envelope addressed to Imogen and tore it into small pieces. Like wounded birds they tumbled and fluttered, until reaching the water they became caught up in its movement and were swept out of sight round the bend of the river towards the city, which Adam had just left.
The reflection answered: “Yes, I think that that was well done. After all, ‘imperatrix’ is not a particularly happy epithet to apply to Imogen, is it?—and, by the way, are you certain that she can understand Latin? Suppose that she had had to ask Henry to translate it to her!
“But, tell me, does this rather picturesque gesture mean that you have decided to go on living? You seemed so immovably resolved on instant death yesterday, that I find it hard to believe you can have changed your mind.”
Adam: I find it hard to believe that it was I who yesterday was so immovably
Monday, September 15, 2008
Claude Monet Monet Water Lillies I painting
Claude Monet Monet Water Lillies I paintingClaude Monet Boulevard des Capucines paintingHorace Vernet Judith and Holofernes painting
not see), where the sun fast sank upon the distant reaches of East Campus. Peter Greene was on the right, similarly bandaged, and flanked, to my surprise, by Stoker's secretary Georgina and a pretty young white girl whom I concluded must be Greene's daughter. But she was the very image of Chickie, that co-ed girl I'd watched disporting years ago with the Beist-in-the-buckwheat! The same uncombed locks; the taunty eyes! And if anything younger, though I her witness had aged seven years in body, thrice that in spirit, since the night I'd heard her beg to Be. She could not be the original Chickie, then; wry speculations came to mind once again about Miss Sally Ann -- but I put them aside as immaterial to Greene's Candidacy and Assignment; also to attend Dr. Eierkopf, who, despite the bandage around his forehead and his general want of robustness, was fairly bouncing on Croaker's shoulders. Round about them, come to retrieve their errant colleague, sat the delegation of visiting scholars from Frumentius, in the colorful garb of their alma maters. Outfitted with cameras and clipboards, they appeared to be making a careful record of the proceedings.
not see), where the sun fast sank upon the distant reaches of East Campus. Peter Greene was on the right, similarly bandaged, and flanked, to my surprise, by Stoker's secretary Georgina and a pretty young white girl whom I concluded must be Greene's daughter. But she was the very image of Chickie, that co-ed girl I'd watched disporting years ago with the Beist-in-the-buckwheat! The same uncombed locks; the taunty eyes! And if anything younger, though I her witness had aged seven years in body, thrice that in spirit, since the night I'd heard her beg to Be. She could not be the original Chickie, then; wry speculations came to mind once again about Miss Sally Ann -- but I put them aside as immaterial to Greene's Candidacy and Assignment; also to attend Dr. Eierkopf, who, despite the bandage around his forehead and his general want of robustness, was fairly bouncing on Croaker's shoulders. Round about them, come to retrieve their errant colleague, sat the delegation of visiting scholars from Frumentius, in the colorful garb of their alma maters. Outfitted with cameras and clipboards, they appeared to be making a careful record of the proceedings.
Pablo Picasso Gertrude Stein painting
Pablo Picasso Gertrude Stein paintingTamara de Lempicka Portrait of Madame paintingEric Wallis Girls at the Beach painting
confided sadly, "and the way I've carried on the last few months, I don't dare stay his execution now; I'd have a mutiny in the Department. But I love that old man. It's things like this that make you wish you weren't the flunkèd Chancellor."
I listened attentively, studying his bright eyes. His admiration for Max was entirely sincere, and his regret for the Shafting; but that he wished not to be Chancellor, his whole presence denied.
"How is it you're not angry with me for the trouble I've caused, Mr. Rexford?"
"Who says I'm not?" His smile was shrewd. "I think I see what you were trying to teach me. But I guess Commencement isn't for administrators." In painful sobriety after his debauch, he said, he had resolved to abandon his yen for Graduation and merely "do his flunkèd best" for his alma mater, by his own lights, however benighted. To this end he had reopened secret economic dealings with Ira Hector, much as he deplored that necessity
confided sadly, "and the way I've carried on the last few months, I don't dare stay his execution now; I'd have a mutiny in the Department. But I love that old man. It's things like this that make you wish you weren't the flunkèd Chancellor."
I listened attentively, studying his bright eyes. His admiration for Max was entirely sincere, and his regret for the Shafting; but that he wished not to be Chancellor, his whole presence denied.
"How is it you're not angry with me for the trouble I've caused, Mr. Rexford?"
"Who says I'm not?" His smile was shrewd. "I think I see what you were trying to teach me. But I guess Commencement isn't for administrators." In painful sobriety after his debauch, he said, he had resolved to abandon his yen for Graduation and merely "do his flunkèd best" for his alma mater, by his own lights, however benighted. To this end he had reopened secret economic dealings with Ira Hector, much as he deplored that necessity
Sunday, September 14, 2008
William Bouguereau The Two Sisters painting
William Bouguereau The Two Sisters paintingWilliam Bouguereau William Bouguereau Two Sisters paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Wasp's Nest painting
I closed my eyes. No matter that accessory features of the denouement were changed; it was the same old plot. As Croaker croaked and Hedwig wailed, I shrugged and swung myself off the sidecar, to make an end of it. No such luck: even before my death-wrench could sound the horn, I was hoist on mighty shoulders. The shophar flew; the rope went slack. I opened my eyes and found myself astride Croaker's neck, as once in the Living Room. A swath of tumbled undergraduates marked his path from me to Hedwig, who now embraced upon the ground her comatose if not deceased spouse.
"Everybody keep your shirts on!" ex-Chancellor Hector cried over the loudspeakers. But the unfelled bystanders clambered over one another to safety. Several sooty guards had drawn their pistols and were advancing towards us; armed with my stick, which he must have espied near the side-car, Croaker growled and made ready for combat. A young man whose dress and forelock suggested administrative responsibility stepped between us to warn the guards about intercollegiate repercussions and New Tammany's
I closed my eyes. No matter that accessory features of the denouement were changed; it was the same old plot. As Croaker croaked and Hedwig wailed, I shrugged and swung myself off the sidecar, to make an end of it. No such luck: even before my death-wrench could sound the horn, I was hoist on mighty shoulders. The shophar flew; the rope went slack. I opened my eyes and found myself astride Croaker's neck, as once in the Living Room. A swath of tumbled undergraduates marked his path from me to Hedwig, who now embraced upon the ground her comatose if not deceased spouse.
"Everybody keep your shirts on!" ex-Chancellor Hector cried over the loudspeakers. But the unfelled bystanders clambered over one another to safety. Several sooty guards had drawn their pistols and were advancing towards us; armed with my stick, which he must have espied near the side-car, Croaker growled and made ready for combat. A young man whose dress and forelock suggested administrative responsibility stepped between us to warn the guards about intercollegiate repercussions and New Tammany's
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Paul Gauguin Tahitian Village
Paul Gauguin Tahitian VillageStill Life with OrangesPaul Gauguin Joyousness
Then you weren't beholden to the Goat-Boy for that idea," Bray asked again. "Is that correct?"
"I make my own decisions," the ex-Chancellor grumbled. "I don't pass the buck. I'm my own man. An officer's responsible for the mistakes of his subordinates."
Touched by his sense of honor, however confused it was, I apologized for the counsel he now denied I'd given him, and agreed that it had been mistaken, though for other reasons than his.
"Every man for himself," he snapped,
"Hear hear!" his loyal former receptionist applauded, taking his good arm and flashing her glasses at me defiantly, as if I'd been put in my place. I turned to Bray and explained, with a mixture of new respect and old resentment, the fault I'd found with his Certification of Reginald Hector: reading the citation"No class shall pass" to mean that his famous self-reliance was my grandfather's key to Commencement Gate, I had bid him
Then you weren't beholden to the Goat-Boy for that idea," Bray asked again. "Is that correct?"
"I make my own decisions," the ex-Chancellor grumbled. "I don't pass the buck. I'm my own man. An officer's responsible for the mistakes of his subordinates."
Touched by his sense of honor, however confused it was, I apologized for the counsel he now denied I'd given him, and agreed that it had been mistaken, though for other reasons than his.
"Every man for himself," he snapped,
"Hear hear!" his loyal former receptionist applauded, taking his good arm and flashing her glasses at me defiantly, as if I'd been put in my place. I turned to Bray and explained, with a mixture of new respect and old resentment, the fault I'd found with his Certification of Reginald Hector: reading the citation"No class shall pass" to mean that his famous self-reliance was my grandfather's key to Commencement Gate, I had bid him
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Diane Romanello paintings
Diane Romanello paintings
Diego Rivera paintings
Don Li-Leger paintings
means Riot!" It was his aides then who led him, one at each arm, out to the motorcade on the mall. I entered the Light House.
A number of the Chancellor's assistants were in the entrance-hall; they wore gray suits and had similar youthful faces, but their forelocks were combed back now, and instead of bustling they lounged about in leather chairs and window-seats. I approached the nearest and announced my wish to see Chancellor Rexford at once. He turned from the window, smiling slightly, and congratulated me upon my release from Main Detention. The voice, though less, was unmistakable.
"You're the Chancellor!" I couldn't conceal my surprise: without his grin, his white suit, his springy force and forelock, he seemed blander than his aides. His face was tired but placid; he looked ten years older.
"I won't be, next term, if the polls mean anything," he said, shaking my hand. "Assuming thereis a next term."
I'd expected a less cordial reception, in view of the consequences of my former advice, but though no one actually welcomed me into the Chancellor's office,
Diego Rivera paintings
Don Li-Leger paintings
means Riot!" It was his aides then who led him, one at each arm, out to the motorcade on the mall. I entered the Light House.
A number of the Chancellor's assistants were in the entrance-hall; they wore gray suits and had similar youthful faces, but their forelocks were combed back now, and instead of bustling they lounged about in leather chairs and window-seats. I approached the nearest and announced my wish to see Chancellor Rexford at once. He turned from the window, smiling slightly, and congratulated me upon my release from Main Detention. The voice, though less, was unmistakable.
"You're the Chancellor!" I couldn't conceal my surprise: without his grin, his white suit, his springy force and forelock, he seemed blander than his aides. His face was tired but placid; he looked ten years older.
"I won't be, next term, if the polls mean anything," he said, shaking my hand. "Assuming thereis a next term."
I'd expected a less cordial reception, in view of the consequences of my former advice, but though no one actually welcomed me into the Chancellor's office,
Monday, September 8, 2008
Salvador Dali paintings
Salvador Dali paintings
Stephen Gjertson paintings
Sir Henry Raeburn paintings
flew in and out of the Belfry, hopped upon his shoulders, and squatted on his pate beneath the skirt of the bell. They or other birds had woven a nest of straw around his neck and under his chin. Most had food in their beaks when they entered the tower-bread-crusts, sunflower seeds, or kernels of dry field-corn -- and I was astonished to see that now and then one would drop a morsel into Dr. Eierkopf's open mouth. He chewed and swallowed without other motion.
"Are you all right?" I cried.
He showed no sign of having heard me. I scrambled up through gears and cables to examine him more closely. Two Eierkopfian lenses, each inscribed .D.E .Q were clipped onto his spectacles; behind them his eyes were open and glazed. No question but he was alive -- a drop of dew ran off the bell and he caught it neatly upon his tongue -- but he either could not or would not hear me, how anxiously soever I begged him to ignore my old advice.
Stephen Gjertson paintings
Sir Henry Raeburn paintings
flew in and out of the Belfry, hopped upon his shoulders, and squatted on his pate beneath the skirt of the bell. They or other birds had woven a nest of straw around his neck and under his chin. Most had food in their beaks when they entered the tower-bread-crusts, sunflower seeds, or kernels of dry field-corn -- and I was astonished to see that now and then one would drop a morsel into Dr. Eierkopf's open mouth. He chewed and swallowed without other motion.
"Are you all right?" I cried.
He showed no sign of having heard me. I scrambled up through gears and cables to examine him more closely. Two Eierkopfian lenses, each inscribed .D.E .Q were clipped onto his spectacles; behind them his eyes were open and glazed. No question but he was alive -- a drop of dew ran off the bell and he caught it neatly upon his tongue -- but he either could not or would not hear me, how anxiously soever I begged him to ignore my old advice.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Warren Kimble paintings
Warren Kimble paintings
Wassily Kandinsky paintings
William Etty paintings
suspect I was still alive: poor George having heard my cries and been partially EATen by WESCAC for entering its Belly to rescue me, he was able afterwards neither to keep his brave deed secret nor to give a lucid account of it. That he was not made a hero of or even pensioned off, but quietly dismissed, argued that my enemy knew the deed was out -- how must he have suffered then not to know further what George had done with me! Or if he did know me to be alive and in Max Spielman's hands (no friend then of the powers-that-were), and yet permitted George and me both to go on living, one of two oilier things must have been the case: Did he rather risk exposure by the mad book-sweep or the "crazy old Moishian" -- as Max's foes called him -- than repeat and compound his felony? Was it that the perpetrator of the deed, like Snow White's forestry-major, was not its instigator, but had only followed orders that he was glad to see miscarry, and had dared not then
Wassily Kandinsky paintings
William Etty paintings
suspect I was still alive: poor George having heard my cries and been partially EATen by WESCAC for entering its Belly to rescue me, he was able afterwards neither to keep his brave deed secret nor to give a lucid account of it. That he was not made a hero of or even pensioned off, but quietly dismissed, argued that my enemy knew the deed was out -- how must he have suffered then not to know further what George had done with me! Or if he did know me to be alive and in Max Spielman's hands (no friend then of the powers-that-were), and yet permitted George and me both to go on living, one of two oilier things must have been the case: Did he rather risk exposure by the mad book-sweep or the "crazy old Moishian" -- as Max's foes called him -- than repeat and compound his felony? Was it that the perpetrator of the deed, like Snow White's forestry-major, was not its instigator, but had only followed orders that he was glad to see miscarry, and had dared not then
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Salvador Dali The Crucifixion painting
Salvador Dali The Crucifixion paintingSalvador Dali Les Elephants paintingMark Rothko Orange and Yellow painting
from their walls and smirked at the rumors that Mrs. Rexford's vacation from Great Mall would be permanent. Yet they submitted to the Open-Book reforms to a degree bespeaking some basic sympathy with their spirit. Criminal violence became rare; so too did loud merrymaking. Sharp cheeses and unsliced rye bread disappeared from menus. Nearly everyone had aC average. Greene Timber and Plastics (in the owner's absence) developed a synthetic material said to be almost indistinguishable from real plastic, and a more efficient way of packaging containers. It was with a faint smile, a faint sigh, or a faint shrug that people nicknamed Tower Hall "Dead Center." No one was happy; on the other hand, no demonstrations were mounted or measures proposed to repeal the new laws.
The Chancellor himself was only moderately concerned about these developments; neither did it stir him to hear that the Founder's Scroll had got lost in the CACAFILE -- which, reprogrammed by Mother's office in accordance with my directive, seemed to have declared every volume in the Librarysui generis and would file no two in the same category
from their walls and smirked at the rumors that Mrs. Rexford's vacation from Great Mall would be permanent. Yet they submitted to the Open-Book reforms to a degree bespeaking some basic sympathy with their spirit. Criminal violence became rare; so too did loud merrymaking. Sharp cheeses and unsliced rye bread disappeared from menus. Nearly everyone had aC average. Greene Timber and Plastics (in the owner's absence) developed a synthetic material said to be almost indistinguishable from real plastic, and a more efficient way of packaging containers. It was with a faint smile, a faint sigh, or a faint shrug that people nicknamed Tower Hall "Dead Center." No one was happy; on the other hand, no demonstrations were mounted or measures proposed to repeal the new laws.
The Chancellor himself was only moderately concerned about these developments; neither did it stir him to hear that the Founder's Scroll had got lost in the CACAFILE -- which, reprogrammed by Mother's office in accordance with my directive, seemed to have declared every volume in the Librarysui generis and would file no two in the same category
Monday, September 1, 2008
Edward Hopper Nighthawks painting
Edward Hopper Nighthawks paintingFrederic Edwin Church Sunset paintingTitian The Fall of Man painting
After a few minutes Anastasia reported, with some concern, that Stoker had not appeared at the Powerhouse all day, nor had his new secretary at Main Detention seen him since mid-morning; the former office was particularly alarmed because of some threatening situation in the Furnace Room -- I trembled to imagine it -- that required his management. At least, however, she was free to go with me; we left the Infirmary after a brief dispute with the orderlies (who wanted proof of my discharge from custody and only reluctantly accepted my Clean Bill of he and Anastasia's endorsement in lieu of the regular form), and as we rode Librarywards in a double-sidecar taxi, Anastasia explained what had disturbed her at luncheon.
"Maurice has never done anythinglike it before!" she said. "Coming right to the Infirmary and taking me out to eat! He'd even shaved, and bought a necktie!" Moreover -- what I agreed was unimaginable -- he had treated her with courtesy; had opened doors for her, praised her coiffure (as she reported this she touched her hair, still incredulous
After a few minutes Anastasia reported, with some concern, that Stoker had not appeared at the Powerhouse all day, nor had his new secretary at Main Detention seen him since mid-morning; the former office was particularly alarmed because of some threatening situation in the Furnace Room -- I trembled to imagine it -- that required his management. At least, however, she was free to go with me; we left the Infirmary after a brief dispute with the orderlies (who wanted proof of my discharge from custody and only reluctantly accepted my Clean Bill of he and Anastasia's endorsement in lieu of the regular form), and as we rode Librarywards in a double-sidecar taxi, Anastasia explained what had disturbed her at luncheon.
"Maurice has never done anythinglike it before!" she said. "Coming right to the Infirmary and taking me out to eat! He'd even shaved, and bought a necktie!" Moreover -- what I agreed was unimaginable -- he had treated her with courtesy; had opened doors for her, praised her coiffure (as she reported this she touched her hair, still incredulous
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