Gustav Klimt paintings
Georgia O'Keeffe paintings
Gustave Clarence Rodolphe Boulanger paintings
Poxe in the bathroom, very white and dejected. I asked him about the murder.
“Well, I suppose I’ve rather rotted things up this time. I can’t remember a thing about it except that I was furious about some grass, and that two people put me to bed. It’s a melancholy Business. They can’t hang me, can they?”
I suggested inebriates’ asylum and had my bath. I was sincerely sorry about poor Poxe, but felt he would probably be better shut up. After all it was not safe to have a man who did that sort of thing about the college; it was not as though he was seldom drunk. I went to breakfast at the Old Oak tea rooms and found Edward there. He was in great form, and for this I disliked him that he should be in good form at breakfast; however, he was really rather amusing about the Poxe murder as it was already called.
Edward asked if he might work in my rooms—he knew I never used them—as he had had a fire in his. I said that I wanted them this morning and advised the Union. Then I went back.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida paintings
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida paintings
Joseph Mallord William Turner paintings
Julien Dupre paintings
Then Ross spoke. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Merrivale’s bayonet has got to be clean before he goes for any run.”
Stewart was genuinely astounded. “D’you mean to say you put your ruddy platoon shield before the Five Mile Jerry?” he demanded.
“You put it rather crudely” drawled Ross, “but that is what, I suppose, it comes to eventually.”
Then Stewart lost his temper. “There’s one thing you’re forgetting” he said, “and that’s that I’m not going to try and train a team with you getting in my light all the time. I’m a house-captain and needn’t run if I don’t want to. If you don’t chuck your corps-mania I shan’t run in the five-mile.”
Stewart of course meant this as a threat that could not be argued against, the idea that he would be taken at his word was unthinkable, as indeed in a cooler moment it would have been to Ross. But now he was out to score. “Then I suppose Caven will have
Joseph Mallord William Turner paintings
Julien Dupre paintings
Then Ross spoke. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Merrivale’s bayonet has got to be clean before he goes for any run.”
Stewart was genuinely astounded. “D’you mean to say you put your ruddy platoon shield before the Five Mile Jerry?” he demanded.
“You put it rather crudely” drawled Ross, “but that is what, I suppose, it comes to eventually.”
Then Stewart lost his temper. “There’s one thing you’re forgetting” he said, “and that’s that I’m not going to try and train a team with you getting in my light all the time. I’m a house-captain and needn’t run if I don’t want to. If you don’t chuck your corps-mania I shan’t run in the five-mile.”
Stewart of course meant this as a threat that could not be argued against, the idea that he would be taken at his word was unthinkable, as indeed in a cooler moment it would have been to Ross. But now he was out to score. “Then I suppose Caven will have
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Edmund Blair Leighton Off painting
Edmund Blair Leighton Off paintingFrancois Boucher The Marquise de Pompadour paintingFrancois Boucher Nude on a Sofa painting
twiddled a new-fangled fountain pen; a multiplicity of pencils protruding from his breast pocket and his face seemed to suggest that he expected one of the telephones on his desk to ring at any moment with a message about something far more important than the matter under discussion; he was for all the world, Scott-King thought, like the clerk in the food office at Granchester.
Scott-King’s had been lived far from chanceries, but once, very many years ago at Stockholm, he had been asked to luncheon, by mistake for someone else, at the British Embassy. Sir Samson Courtenay had been chargé d’affaires at the time and Scott-King gratefully recalled the air of nonchalant benevolence with which he had received a callow undergraduate where he had expected a Cabinet Minister. Sir Samson had not gone far in his profession but for one man at least, for Scott-King, he remained the fixed type of English diplomat.
twiddled a new-fangled fountain pen; a multiplicity of pencils protruding from his breast pocket and his face seemed to suggest that he expected one of the telephones on his desk to ring at any moment with a message about something far more important than the matter under discussion; he was for all the world, Scott-King thought, like the clerk in the food office at Granchester.
Scott-King’s had been lived far from chanceries, but once, very many years ago at Stockholm, he had been asked to luncheon, by mistake for someone else, at the British Embassy. Sir Samson Courtenay had been chargé d’affaires at the time and Scott-King gratefully recalled the air of nonchalant benevolence with which he had received a callow undergraduate where he had expected a Cabinet Minister. Sir Samson had not gone far in his profession but for one man at least, for Scott-King, he remained the fixed type of English diplomat.
John Singer Sargent House and Garden painting
John Singer Sargent House and Garden paintingJohn Singer Sargent Girl Fishing paintingJohn Singer Sargent Dorothy Barnard painting
1946 Scott-King had been classical master at Granchester for twenty-one years. He was himself a Granchesterian and had returned straight from the University after failing for a fellowship. There he had remained, growing slightly bald and slightly corpulent, known to generations of boys first as “Scottie,” then of late years, while barely middle-aged, as “old Scottie”; a school “institution,” whose precise and slightly nasal lamentations of modern decadence were widely parodied.
Granchester is not the most illustrious of English public schools but it is, or, as Scott-King would maintain, was, entirely respectable; it plays an annual cricket match at Lord’s; it numbers a dozen or so famous men among its old boys, who, in general, declare without apology: “I was at Granchester”—unlike the sons of lesser places who are apt to say: “As a matter of fact I was at a place called —. You see at the time my father ...”
When Scott-King was a boy and when he first returned as a master, the school was almost equally divided into a Classical and a Modern Side, with a group of negligible and neglected specialists called “the Army Class.” Now the case was altered and
1946 Scott-King had been classical master at Granchester for twenty-one years. He was himself a Granchesterian and had returned straight from the University after failing for a fellowship. There he had remained, growing slightly bald and slightly corpulent, known to generations of boys first as “Scottie,” then of late years, while barely middle-aged, as “old Scottie”; a school “institution,” whose precise and slightly nasal lamentations of modern decadence were widely parodied.
Granchester is not the most illustrious of English public schools but it is, or, as Scott-King would maintain, was, entirely respectable; it plays an annual cricket match at Lord’s; it numbers a dozen or so famous men among its old boys, who, in general, declare without apology: “I was at Granchester”—unlike the sons of lesser places who are apt to say: “As a matter of fact I was at a place called —. You see at the time my father ...”
When Scott-King was a boy and when he first returned as a master, the school was almost equally divided into a Classical and a Modern Side, with a group of negligible and neglected specialists called “the Army Class.” Now the case was altered and
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Paul Cezanne Leda with Swan painting
Paul Cezanne Leda with Swan paintingPaul Cezanne House and Trees paintingPaul Cezanne Card Players painting
Was she not a little over-formal in repeating the place and time? Had she written straight off, without thinking, or had she sucked the top of her pen a little?
The paper was presumably the choice of their landlord, in unobtrusive good taste. I smelled it and thought I detected a whiff of soap.
At this point I lost patience with myself; it was ludicrous to sit brooding over a note of this kind. I began, instead, to wonder whom I should ask to meet her—certainly none of the gang she had learned to look on as “Roger’s friends.” On the other hand it must be clear that the party was for her. Roger would be the first to impute that they were being made use of. In the end, after due thought and one or two failures, I secured a middle-aged, highly reputable woman-novelist and Andrew Desert and his wife—an eminently sociable couple. When Roger saw his fellow guests he was more puzzled than ever. I could see him all through luncheon trying to work it out, why I should have spent five pounds in this peculiar.
I enjoyed my party. Lucy began by talking about my father’s painting
Was she not a little over-formal in repeating the place and time? Had she written straight off, without thinking, or had she sucked the top of her pen a little?
The paper was presumably the choice of their landlord, in unobtrusive good taste. I smelled it and thought I detected a whiff of soap.
At this point I lost patience with myself; it was ludicrous to sit brooding over a note of this kind. I began, instead, to wonder whom I should ask to meet her—certainly none of the gang she had learned to look on as “Roger’s friends.” On the other hand it must be clear that the party was for her. Roger would be the first to impute that they were being made use of. In the end, after due thought and one or two failures, I secured a middle-aged, highly reputable woman-novelist and Andrew Desert and his wife—an eminently sociable couple. When Roger saw his fellow guests he was more puzzled than ever. I could see him all through luncheon trying to work it out, why I should have spent five pounds in this peculiar.
I enjoyed my party. Lucy began by talking about my father’s painting
Monday, September 22, 2008
Tamara de Lempicka Women at the Bath painting
Tamara de Lempicka Women at the Bath paintingTamara de Lempicka Girl Sleeping paintingTamara de Lempicka Femme a la Colombe painting
me her cigarettes.”
She asked about my I had told her I exported dates.
The date market was steady, I assured her.
When I was in the Moulay Abdullah I almost believed in this aspect of myself as a philo-progenitive fruiterer; St. John’s Wood and Mountrichard Castle seemed equally remote. That was the charm of the quarter for me—not its simple pleasures but its privacy and anonymity, the hide-and-seek with one’s own personality which redeems vice of its tedium.
That night there was a rude interruption. The gramophone suddenly stopped playing; there was a scuttling among the alcoves; two seedy figures in raincoats strode across the room and began questioning the proprietress; a guard of military police stood at the street door. Raids of this kind, to round up bad characters, are common enough in French Protectorates. It was the first time I had been caught in one. The girls were made to stand along one wall while the detectives checked their medical certificates. Then two or three soldiers stood to attention and gave a satisfactory account of themselves. Then I was asked for my carte d’identité. By the capitulations the French police had little authority over British subjects, and since the criminal class of Morocco mostly possessed Maltese
me her cigarettes.”
She asked about my I had told her I exported dates.
The date market was steady, I assured her.
When I was in the Moulay Abdullah I almost believed in this aspect of myself as a philo-progenitive fruiterer; St. John’s Wood and Mountrichard Castle seemed equally remote. That was the charm of the quarter for me—not its simple pleasures but its privacy and anonymity, the hide-and-seek with one’s own personality which redeems vice of its tedium.
That night there was a rude interruption. The gramophone suddenly stopped playing; there was a scuttling among the alcoves; two seedy figures in raincoats strode across the room and began questioning the proprietress; a guard of military police stood at the street door. Raids of this kind, to round up bad characters, are common enough in French Protectorates. It was the first time I had been caught in one. The girls were made to stand along one wall while the detectives checked their medical certificates. Then two or three soldiers stood to attention and gave a satisfactory account of themselves. Then I was asked for my carte d’identité. By the capitulations the French police had little authority over British subjects, and since the criminal class of Morocco mostly possessed Maltese
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Unknown Artist Brent Lynch Coastal Drive painting
Unknown Artist Brent Lynch Coastal Drive paintingUnknown Artist Brent Lynch Cigar Bar paintingUnknown Artist Paris Eiffel Tower painting
entered under Subject and Author.
It was a system that should keep a boy employed for some time, and it was with vexation, therefore, that, a few days after the task was commenced, she paid a surprise visit to the scene of his labour and found Tom sitting, almost lying, in an armchair, with his feet on a rung of the library steps, reading.
“I am glad you have found something interesting,” she said in a voice that conveyed very little gladness.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I think I have,” said Tom, and showed her the book.
It was the manuscript journal kept by a Colonel Jasper Cumberland during the Peninsular War. It had no startling literary merit, nor did its criticisms of the general staff throw any new light upon the strategy of the campaign, but it was a lively, direct, day-to-day narrative, redolent of its period; there was a sprinkling of droll anecdotes, some vigorous descriptions of fox-hunting behind the lines of Torres Vedras, of the Duke of Wellington
entered under Subject and Author.
It was a system that should keep a boy employed for some time, and it was with vexation, therefore, that, a few days after the task was commenced, she paid a surprise visit to the scene of his labour and found Tom sitting, almost lying, in an armchair, with his feet on a rung of the library steps, reading.
“I am glad you have found something interesting,” she said in a voice that conveyed very little gladness.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I think I have,” said Tom, and showed her the book.
It was the manuscript journal kept by a Colonel Jasper Cumberland during the Peninsular War. It had no startling literary merit, nor did its criticisms of the general staff throw any new light upon the strategy of the campaign, but it was a lively, direct, day-to-day narrative, redolent of its period; there was a sprinkling of droll anecdotes, some vigorous descriptions of fox-hunting behind the lines of Torres Vedras, of the Duke of Wellington
Friday, September 19, 2008
Guido Reni The Archangel Michael painting
Guido Reni The Archangel Michael paintingFrancois Boucher The Rape of Europa paintingMichelangelo Buonarroti The Creation of Adam painting
stare at him until peremptorily told to keep their distance. The nightmare journey continued.
Arrival at the coast; a large military station; uniforms of leather and fur; black faces; flags; saluting. A pier with a large steamer alongside; barracks and a government house. A Negro anthropologist with vast spectacles. Impressions became more vivid and more brief; momentary illumination like flickering lightning. Someone earnestly trying to talk to Rip. Saying English words very slowly; reading to him from a book, familiar words with an extraordinary accent; a black man trying to read Shakespeare to Rip. Someone measured his skull with calipers. Growing blackness and despair; restraint and strangeness; moments of illumination rarer and more fantastic.
At night when Rip woke up and lay alone with his thoughts quite clear and desperate, he said: “This is not a dream. It is simply that I have gone mad.” Then more blackness and wildness.
The officers and officials came and went. There was a talk of sending him “home.”
stare at him until peremptorily told to keep their distance. The nightmare journey continued.
Arrival at the coast; a large military station; uniforms of leather and fur; black faces; flags; saluting. A pier with a large steamer alongside; barracks and a government house. A Negro anthropologist with vast spectacles. Impressions became more vivid and more brief; momentary illumination like flickering lightning. Someone earnestly trying to talk to Rip. Saying English words very slowly; reading to him from a book, familiar words with an extraordinary accent; a black man trying to read Shakespeare to Rip. Someone measured his skull with calipers. Growing blackness and despair; restraint and strangeness; moments of illumination rarer and more fantastic.
At night when Rip woke up and lay alone with his thoughts quite clear and desperate, he said: “This is not a dream. It is simply that I have gone mad.” Then more blackness and wildness.
The officers and officials came and went. There was a talk of sending him “home.”
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Salvador Dali clock melting clocks painting
Salvador Dali clock melting clocks paintingJean Beraud Pont des arts paintingJean Beraud Boulevard des capucines painting
It’s very kind of you, but I must be going. We arrived on Tuesday in the Ngoma. No, I didn’t see any shows. You see, I was down at Bournemouth most of the time.”
“One before you go.”
“No really, thanks, I must get back. My daughter will be waiting. Thanks all the same. See you both later.”
Daughter.....?
II
There were eight Englishwomen in Matodi, counting Mrs. Bretherton’s two-year-old daughter; nine if you included Mrs. Macdonald (but no one did include Mrs. Macdonald who came from Bombay and betrayed symptoms of Asiatic blood. Besides, no one knew who Mr. Macdonald had been. Mrs. Macdonald kept an ill-frequented pension on the outskirts of the town named “The Bougainvillea”). All who were of marriageable age were married; they led
It’s very kind of you, but I must be going. We arrived on Tuesday in the Ngoma. No, I didn’t see any shows. You see, I was down at Bournemouth most of the time.”
“One before you go.”
“No really, thanks, I must get back. My daughter will be waiting. Thanks all the same. See you both later.”
Daughter.....?
II
There were eight Englishwomen in Matodi, counting Mrs. Bretherton’s two-year-old daughter; nine if you included Mrs. Macdonald (but no one did include Mrs. Macdonald who came from Bombay and betrayed symptoms of Asiatic blood. Besides, no one knew who Mr. Macdonald had been. Mrs. Macdonald kept an ill-frequented pension on the outskirts of the town named “The Bougainvillea”). All who were of marriageable age were married; they led
Caravaggio Judith Beheading Holofernes painting
Caravaggio Judith Beheading Holofernes paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Abduction of Psyche paintingPierre-Auguste Cot spring painting
mind I’ll go to sleep for twenty minutes. You’ll find a thermos of cocoa and some rabbit pie in the basket on the floor.”
“Does Sir James live on cocoa and rabbit pie?”
“No; those are the remains of his supper. Please don’t talk. I want to sleep.”
Simon disregarded the pie, but James. “Sure to be something of the kind. I’ll let you know without delay. Thanks for dropping in.” He put down his cup of cocoa and held out his hand with unaffected cordiality. “Good night, my dear boy.” He rang the bell for the night-butler. “Sanders, I want Benson to run Mr. Lent back.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Benson has just gone down to the studio to fetch Miss Grits.”
“Pity,” said Sir James. “Still, I expect
mind I’ll go to sleep for twenty minutes. You’ll find a thermos of cocoa and some rabbit pie in the basket on the floor.”
“Does Sir James live on cocoa and rabbit pie?”
“No; those are the remains of his supper. Please don’t talk. I want to sleep.”
Simon disregarded the pie, but James. “Sure to be something of the kind. I’ll let you know without delay. Thanks for dropping in.” He put down his cup of cocoa and held out his hand with unaffected cordiality. “Good night, my dear boy.” He rang the bell for the night-butler. “Sanders, I want Benson to run Mr. Lent back.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Benson has just gone down to the studio to fetch Miss Grits.”
“Pity,” said Sir James. “Still, I expect
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Claude Monet The Water Lily Pond painting
Claude Monet The Water Lily Pond paintingFrancisco de Goya Nude Maja paintingchilde hassam Wayside Inn Sudbury Massachusetts painting
Drinking three or more cups of tea a day is as good for you as drinking plenty of water and may even have extra benefits, say researchers. These polyphenol antioxidants are found in many foods and plants, including tea leaves, and have been shown to help prevent cell damage.
Tea replaces fluids and contains antioxidants so its got two things going for it ------Lead author Dr Ruxton
Public health nutritionist Dr Carrie Ruxton, and colleagues at Kings collegeLondon, looked at published studies on the health effects of tea consumption.
The work in the European Journal of Clinicaldispels the common belief that tea dehydrates.
Tea not only rehydrates as well as water does, but it can also protect against heart disease and some cancers, UK nutritionists found.
Experts believe flavonoids are the key ingredient in tea that promote .
Drinking three or more cups of tea a day is as good for you as drinking plenty of water and may even have extra benefits, say researchers. These polyphenol antioxidants are found in many foods and plants, including tea leaves, and have been shown to help prevent cell damage.
Tea replaces fluids and contains antioxidants so its got two things going for it ------Lead author Dr Ruxton
Public health nutritionist Dr Carrie Ruxton, and colleagues at Kings collegeLondon, looked at published studies on the health effects of tea consumption.
The work in the European Journal of Clinicaldispels the common belief that tea dehydrates.
Tea not only rehydrates as well as water does, but it can also protect against heart disease and some cancers, UK nutritionists found.
Experts believe flavonoids are the key ingredient in tea that promote .
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Wassily Kandinsky Wassily Kandinsky Composition VIII painting
Wassily Kandinsky Wassily Kandinsky Composition VIII paintingVincent van Gogh Vincent van Gogh The Bedroom paintingVincent van Gogh Vincent van Gogh Reaper painting
arms: what was it that looked through the optics of that respiring female organism and said "I love you"? And to what did those voweled noises speak? To what refer?I. Love. You. The idea was as preposterous as it was dark! No, I'd not seen through My Ladyship, no more myself, and if that was my infirmity, it was yet to be overcome; indeed, it had overcome me. Very well (I reminded myself as we went up to the Cataloguing Office, Mother pressing the lift-button out of habit), then I had failed that part of my Assignment, even on my own terms, and Failure is Passage. But elation was fled, even grim satisfaction; I began to feel desolate. If only Mother were not demented, I thought, and Max not detained (if indeed he still was, after the amnesty): how good it would be to discuss the problem with them!
We passed through the spoke-filed room, in whose hub the empty Scroll-case stood. It being Saturday afternoon and nearly dinnertime, only a few scholars were about. The door to Mother's former office was locked, and bore a small sign that read CACAFILEOUT OF ORDER . It occurred to that I had no clear reason for coming there
arms: what was it that looked through the optics of that respiring female organism and said "I love you"? And to what did those voweled noises speak? To what refer?I. Love. You. The idea was as preposterous as it was dark! No, I'd not seen through My Ladyship, no more myself, and if that was my infirmity, it was yet to be overcome; indeed, it had overcome me. Very well (I reminded myself as we went up to the Cataloguing Office, Mother pressing the lift-button out of habit), then I had failed that part of my Assignment, even on my own terms, and Failure is Passage. But elation was fled, even grim satisfaction; I began to feel desolate. If only Mother were not demented, I thought, and Max not detained (if indeed he still was, after the amnesty): how good it would be to discuss the problem with them!
We passed through the spoke-filed room, in whose hub the empty Scroll-case stood. It being Saturday afternoon and nearly dinnertime, only a few scholars were about. The door to Mother's former office was locked, and bore a small sign that read CACAFILEOUT OF ORDER . It occurred to that I had no clear reason for coming there
Thursday, September 11, 2008
The Water Nymph
The Water NymphJohn Collier SpringPriestess of Delphi
Never mind," I said. "Look: you and Pete have ended your quarrel. Re-defect! Tell your stepfather his confession was selfish: he wants them to kill him so he won't have to kill himself. Then tell himthat's all right! Do you see?"
"George!" Leonid's forehead wrinkled above the bandage. "Passness of me, that's nothing! Even Classmate X, I love so, that's nothing to pass! But the self of Studentness --He matters! And you teach me He's flunkèd selfish! How He's pass?"
"Probably He can't," I said. "Try and see."
Red tears oozed into his bandage. "Failure is Passage, yes? No?"
I clapped him on the shoulder; the handcuff fell from his wrist.
"See here, now!" Stoker protested.
"Da!"Leonid cried. "Tomorrow, after Max: redefectness!"
"I'll take you to Founder's Hill," Peter Greene said, suddenly determined. "Look here: we'll meet my daughter at the Pedal Inn and stay the night; tomorrow we'll go to the Shafting together, for old Doc Spielman's sake."
"The flunk you will!" Stoker said. "You stay where you are!"
I took Greene's hand. "What then, Pete?"
He swallowed a number of times. "I got right smart of work to do back
Never mind," I said. "Look: you and Pete have ended your quarrel. Re-defect! Tell your stepfather his confession was selfish: he wants them to kill him so he won't have to kill himself. Then tell himthat's all right! Do you see?"
"George!" Leonid's forehead wrinkled above the bandage. "Passness of me, that's nothing! Even Classmate X, I love so, that's nothing to pass! But the self of Studentness --He matters! And you teach me He's flunkèd selfish! How He's pass?"
"Probably He can't," I said. "Try and see."
Red tears oozed into his bandage. "Failure is Passage, yes? No?"
I clapped him on the shoulder; the handcuff fell from his wrist.
"See here, now!" Stoker protested.
"Da!"Leonid cried. "Tomorrow, after Max: redefectness!"
"I'll take you to Founder's Hill," Peter Greene said, suddenly determined. "Look here: we'll meet my daughter at the Pedal Inn and stay the night; tomorrow we'll go to the Shafting together, for old Doc Spielman's sake."
"The flunk you will!" Stoker said. "You stay where you are!"
I took Greene's hand. "What then, Pete?"
He swallowed a number of times. "I got right smart of work to do back
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
John Singleton Copley paintings
John Singleton Copley paintings
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida paintings
Joseph Mallord William Turner paintings
He opened and closed his hands and admitted he'd like nothing better than to watch us from the eyes it's all the same, isn't it?"
I shrugged. "You may be right, sir. But what the heck anyhow."
He put a fist to his bandaged brow. "I see, I see!" He might have embraced me again, but Greene held up a finger and said, "Ah-ah."inadvisable to add that he needn't worry if the plan misfired again, since failure and passage, rightly conceived, were not different. Judging from what he'd told Anastasia, he was acquainted with the truth of that paradox. "Forget about Taliped and Gynander as well as yourself," I advised him. "Keep telling yourself that you'll live happily ever after."
"WhatI always say to myself,"
"Flunk me for ever doubting You, George! You reallyare the Grand Tutor!"
I shook my head, but Mother in Observation Room, but acceded to Greene's veto of that idea. He could not refrain from pointing out, however
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida paintings
Joseph Mallord William Turner paintings
He opened and closed his hands and admitted he'd like nothing better than to watch us from the eyes it's all the same, isn't it?"
I shrugged. "You may be right, sir. But what the heck anyhow."
He put a fist to his bandaged brow. "I see, I see!" He might have embraced me again, but Greene held up a finger and said, "Ah-ah."inadvisable to add that he needn't worry if the plan misfired again, since failure and passage, rightly conceived, were not different. Judging from what he'd told Anastasia, he was acquainted with the truth of that paradox. "Forget about Taliped and Gynander as well as yourself," I advised him. "Keep telling yourself that you'll live happily ever after."
"WhatI always say to myself,"
"Flunk me for ever doubting You, George! You reallyare the Grand Tutor!"
I shook my head, but Mother in Observation Room, but acceded to Greene's veto of that idea. He could not refrain from pointing out, however
Monday, September 8, 2008
Igor V.Babailov paintings
Igor V.Babailov paintings
John Collier paintings
Jose Royo paintings
were flunkèd as her husband, she said, who'd detained me as a common felon. They grumbled apologies and unhanded me, cowed by her temper if not persuaded by her representation; still flushed with outrage, she nevertheless agreed not to report their misjudgment to Dr. Sear, and dismissed them.
"A regular nut-house," Bill said disgustedly to his colleague.
Anastasia led me into the Reception Room (where I was surprised to see my mother, placidly knitting) and at once hugged me and made tears -- not at all the chilly woman she had been being! "I'm soglad You're out of Detention," she exclaimed, and although she added, "everything's so mixed up, I don't knowwhat to do!" I was pleased to believe her glad of my release apart from any aid she might require. And her recaptured warmth so gratified me that I kissed her mouth. Nibbled her even, ardently, whereupon she drew back with her usual wonder, but did not oppose my doing it again. "Don't justallow me!" I rebuked her -- still holding her against me. "Either stop me or join in."
She looked fretfully to Mother, who however regarded us with blank
John Collier paintings
Jose Royo paintings
were flunkèd as her husband, she said, who'd detained me as a common felon. They grumbled apologies and unhanded me, cowed by her temper if not persuaded by her representation; still flushed with outrage, she nevertheless agreed not to report their misjudgment to Dr. Sear, and dismissed them.
"A regular nut-house," Bill said disgustedly to his colleague.
Anastasia led me into the Reception Room (where I was surprised to see my mother, placidly knitting) and at once hugged me and made tears -- not at all the chilly woman she had been being! "I'm soglad You're out of Detention," she exclaimed, and although she added, "everything's so mixed up, I don't knowwhat to do!" I was pleased to believe her glad of my release apart from any aid she might require. And her recaptured warmth so gratified me that I kissed her mouth. Nibbled her even, ardently, whereupon she drew back with her usual wonder, but did not oppose my doing it again. "Don't justallow me!" I rebuked her -- still holding her against me. "Either stop me or join in."
She looked fretfully to Mother, who however regarded us with blank
Friday, September 5, 2008
Federico Andreotti paintings
Federico Andreotti paintings
Fra Angelico paintings
Frederic Edwin Church paintings
, they suffered "mental burn-out" in varying degrees, like overloaded fuses. For those at the center of the quad, instant death; for the next nearest, complete catalepsy. In the first rings of classrooms, disintegration of personality, loss of identity, and inability to choose, act, or move except on impulse. Throughout the several rings of dormitories beyond the classrooms, madness of various types: suicidal despair, hysteria, vertiginous self-consciousness. And about the periphery of the signal, impotency, nervous collapse, and more or less severe neuroses. All of the damage was functional and therefore "permanent" -- terminable, that is, only by the death of the victim, which in thousands of cases followed soon after.
"Think of a suddenly filled with madmen!" Max cried. "Everybody busy at their work, but all gone mad in the same instant!" Bus-drivers, he declared, had smashed their vehicles into buildings and gibbering pedestrians; infirmary-surgeons had knifed their patients, construction-workers had walked casually off high scaffoldings. The murder and suicide rates shot up a thousand-fold, as did the incidence of accidental death. Untended boilers exploded; fires broke out everywhere, while student firemen sat paralyzed
Fra Angelico paintings
Frederic Edwin Church paintings
, they suffered "mental burn-out" in varying degrees, like overloaded fuses. For those at the center of the quad, instant death; for the next nearest, complete catalepsy. In the first rings of classrooms, disintegration of personality, loss of identity, and inability to choose, act, or move except on impulse. Throughout the several rings of dormitories beyond the classrooms, madness of various types: suicidal despair, hysteria, vertiginous self-consciousness. And about the periphery of the signal, impotency, nervous collapse, and more or less severe neuroses. All of the damage was functional and therefore "permanent" -- terminable, that is, only by the death of the victim, which in thousands of cases followed soon after.
"Think of a suddenly filled with madmen!" Max cried. "Everybody busy at their work, but all gone mad in the same instant!" Bus-drivers, he declared, had smashed their vehicles into buildings and gibbering pedestrians; infirmary-surgeons had knifed their patients, construction-workers had walked casually off high scaffoldings. The murder and suicide rates shot up a thousand-fold, as did the incidence of accidental death. Untended boilers exploded; fires broke out everywhere, while student firemen sat paralyzed
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Sunday
SundayMorning SunReclining Nude
the aisle; had seized the bottle and was forcing air into his mouth -- for he had ceased to breathe. Then, thinking better, I released Max for that work and went to fetch help, running four-footed for speed and letting myself without hesitation through half a dozen barred doors on the way. No guards were on duty; so lax was their warden's discipline, and so many the obstacles to our freedom, they often loitered in the exercise-yard or gathered in the cells of wanton lady girls. The first official I encountered was Stoker himself, and that not until I'd climbed to the highest tier of cells, at ground-level: those reserved theoretically for apatheticC -students and professors too open-minded to have opinions. At sight of me Stoker smiled, stepped aside, and indicated with his arm the final gate, which opened into the Visitation Room and thence to the offices and freedom, as if inviting me to continue on my way.
"It's you I was looking for," I said.
"How droll. I was just coming foryou. You have visitors." I explained the emergency. Amused, Stoker sniffed the deadly bottle, now only half full, and returned it to me.
the aisle; had seized the bottle and was forcing air into his mouth -- for he had ceased to breathe. Then, thinking better, I released Max for that work and went to fetch help, running four-footed for speed and letting myself without hesitation through half a dozen barred doors on the way. No guards were on duty; so lax was their warden's discipline, and so many the obstacles to our freedom, they often loitered in the exercise-yard or gathered in the cells of wanton lady girls. The first official I encountered was Stoker himself, and that not until I'd climbed to the highest tier of cells, at ground-level: those reserved theoretically for apatheticC -students and professors too open-minded to have opinions. At sight of me Stoker smiled, stepped aside, and indicated with his arm the final gate, which opened into the Visitation Room and thence to the offices and freedom, as if inviting me to continue on my way.
"It's you I was looking for," I said.
"How droll. I was just coming foryou. You have visitors." I explained the emergency. Amused, Stoker sniffed the deadly bottle, now only half full, and returned it to me.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Gustav Klimt Sea Serpents painting
Gustav Klimt Sea Serpents paintingVincent van Gogh Self Portrait paintingVincent van Gogh Sunflowers painting
meters away, which I took to be the face of the display-screen. No matter: though I exulted at the recognition that I was unharmed -- indeed, relief made me feel strangely that fearful place, as if I were nestled at Mary Appenzeller's flank -- I lost no time confirming my rival's fate, but went at once to the lambent bar. No longer than my index finger, and as wide, it floated green and fuzzy as though in mid-chamber -- projected there, I assumed, by some optical means. I could only suppose it to be the preliminary question; and surely enough, through the lenses on my stick it resolved into five words:
ARE YOU MALE OR FEMALE
Curious inquiry! Had it not been established already that the GILES could not be female? But as I felt for the answer-button-box I realized that the question was more cunning than superfluous; I pressed the right-hand button. At once a different, longer question shimmered in my glass:
HAVE YOU COMPLETED YOUR ASSIGNMENT
AT ONCE, IN NO TIME
Reluctantly I answeredno, thinking that I had after
meters away, which I took to be the face of the display-screen. No matter: though I exulted at the recognition that I was unharmed -- indeed, relief made me feel strangely that fearful place, as if I were nestled at Mary Appenzeller's flank -- I lost no time confirming my rival's fate, but went at once to the lambent bar. No longer than my index finger, and as wide, it floated green and fuzzy as though in mid-chamber -- projected there, I assumed, by some optical means. I could only suppose it to be the preliminary question; and surely enough, through the lenses on my stick it resolved into five words:
ARE YOU MALE OR FEMALE
Curious inquiry! Had it not been established already that the GILES could not be female? But as I felt for the answer-button-box I realized that the question was more cunning than superfluous; I pressed the right-hand button. At once a different, longer question shimmered in my glass:
HAVE YOU COMPLETED YOUR ASSIGNMENT
AT ONCE, IN NO TIME
Reluctantly I answeredno, thinking that I had after
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