Igor V.Babailov paintings
John Collier paintings
Jose Royo paintings
And then came to the Warden the full realization of the imperishable obligations of precedent, the memory of the head of the Bursar, the appreciation of the greatness of families not unconnected with his own. Almost the first thing which Toby said to me when we met was, “Imogen is in London again.”
Even to Toby to whom this could never mean as much as to the rest of us, it seemed the only thing of immediate importance; to me, more than as pleasure or pain, though, of course, it was both of these, it came as a breaking away of near memories.
“At least, I think it must have been then,” Anne said as she turned up the light.
Monday 29 September 2008
Sunday 28 September 2008
John Collier paintings
John Collier paintings
Jose Royo paintings
Juarez Machado paintings
consulting the matron at all, he generally raised the house to something like its former standard and on the whole people liked it, for fundamentally men rather like being kept in order if it is done in the right way.
For the first three weeks all went well—too well really. Then came the Monday afternoon parade in which the corps started organizing for the House Platoons Shield. Ross delivered a violent little speech and, as in most of his speeches, he said rather more than he meant to. “Stand easy and pay attention. The display that you have given so far has been perfectly monstrous. I’ve never seen such marching in mybefore—might be a whole lot of boy scouts. I can tell you, that if you think that because this House has been disgustingly slack in the past, you are going to be disgustingly slack now, you are quite wrong for once in your lives. You’re going to sweat for this—sweat your guts out—and I’m going to make you! Got that?” and he called the platoon up.
The House looked on him with undisguised amazement and disgust and slowly
Jose Royo paintings
Juarez Machado paintings
consulting the matron at all, he generally raised the house to something like its former standard and on the whole people liked it, for fundamentally men rather like being kept in order if it is done in the right way.
For the first three weeks all went well—too well really. Then came the Monday afternoon parade in which the corps started organizing for the House Platoons Shield. Ross delivered a violent little speech and, as in most of his speeches, he said rather more than he meant to. “Stand easy and pay attention. The display that you have given so far has been perfectly monstrous. I’ve never seen such marching in mybefore—might be a whole lot of boy scouts. I can tell you, that if you think that because this House has been disgustingly slack in the past, you are going to be disgustingly slack now, you are quite wrong for once in your lives. You’re going to sweat for this—sweat your guts out—and I’m going to make you! Got that?” and he called the platoon up.
The House looked on him with undisguised amazement and disgust and slowly
Thursday 25 September 2008
Joseph Mallord William Turner Dido Building Carthage painting
Joseph Mallord William Turner Dido Building Carthage paintingJoseph Mallord William Turner Chichester Canal paintingJoseph Mallord William Turner Mortlake Terrace painting
announced Dr. Antonic. He asked for him to be sent up.
The Croat entered and sat by his bed.
“So you have acquired the Neutralian custom of the siesta. I am too old. I cannot adapt myself to new customs. Everything in this country is as strange to me as when I first came here.
“I was at the Foreign Office this morning enquiring about my papers of naturalization and I heard by chance you were still here. So I came at once. I do not intrude? I thought you would have left by now. You have heard of our misfortunes? Poor Dr. Fe is disgraced. All his offices taken from him. More than this there is trouble with his accounts. He spent more, it appears, on the Bellorius celebrations than the Treasury authorized. Since he is out of office he has no access to the books and cannot adjust them. They say he will be prosecuted, perhaps sent to the islands.”
“And you, Dr. Antonic?”
“I am never fortunate. I relied on Dr. Fe for my naturalization. Whom shall I turn to now? My wife thought that perhaps you could do something
announced Dr. Antonic. He asked for him to be sent up.
The Croat entered and sat by his bed.
“So you have acquired the Neutralian custom of the siesta. I am too old. I cannot adapt myself to new customs. Everything in this country is as strange to me as when I first came here.
“I was at the Foreign Office this morning enquiring about my papers of naturalization and I heard by chance you were still here. So I came at once. I do not intrude? I thought you would have left by now. You have heard of our misfortunes? Poor Dr. Fe is disgraced. All his offices taken from him. More than this there is trouble with his accounts. He spent more, it appears, on the Bellorius celebrations than the Treasury authorized. Since he is out of office he has no access to the books and cannot adjust them. They say he will be prosecuted, perhaps sent to the islands.”
“And you, Dr. Antonic?”
“I am never fortunate. I relied on Dr. Fe for my naturalization. Whom shall I turn to now? My wife thought that perhaps you could do something
Vincent van Gogh Still Life with Iris painting
Vincent van Gogh Still Life with Iris paintingVincent van Gogh Harvest Landscape paintingVincent van Gogh Fishing in Spring painting
decanters and dessert, foxes’ heads and running hounds for sporting announcements, ecclesiastical devices and monograms, crowns, Odd Fellows’ arms, the wood-cut of a prize bull, decorative bands, the splendid jumble of a century of English job-printing.
“I say, sir, what fun. You could do all sorts of things with these.”
“We will, Charles.”
Tamplin looked at the amateurs with disgust. “I say, sir, I’ve just remembered something I must do. Do you mind awfully if I don’t stay?”
“Run along, old Tamplin.” When he had gone, Mr. Graves said, “I’m sorry Tamplin doesn’t like me.”
“Why can he not let things pass?” thought Charles. “Why does he always have to comment on everything?”
“You don’t like me either, Charles. But you like the press.”
“Yes,” said Charles, “I like the press.”
decanters and dessert, foxes’ heads and running hounds for sporting announcements, ecclesiastical devices and monograms, crowns, Odd Fellows’ arms, the wood-cut of a prize bull, decorative bands, the splendid jumble of a century of English job-printing.
“I say, sir, what fun. You could do all sorts of things with these.”
“We will, Charles.”
Tamplin looked at the amateurs with disgust. “I say, sir, I’ve just remembered something I must do. Do you mind awfully if I don’t stay?”
“Run along, old Tamplin.” When he had gone, Mr. Graves said, “I’m sorry Tamplin doesn’t like me.”
“Why can he not let things pass?” thought Charles. “Why does he always have to comment on everything?”
“You don’t like me either, Charles. But you like the press.”
“Yes,” said Charles, “I like the press.”
Wednesday 24 September 2008
Rene Magritte Donna painting
Rene Magritte Donna paintingArthur Hughes The King's Orchard paintingArthur Hughes Phyllis painting
Did I answer?”
“No. So then all the Literary Club took to admiring you instead of Gilbert Warwick.”
“Because I didn’t answer letters?”
“Yes. You see, it showed you were a real artist and didn’t care a bit for your public, and just lived for your work.”
“I see.”
After dinner Roger said, “Has little Julia been boring you frightfully?”
“Yes.”
“I thought she was. She’s very pretty. It’s a great evening for her.”
Eventually we returned to the drawing room and sat about. Roger did not know how to manage this stage of this party. He talked vaguely of going on somewhere to dance and of playing a new parlour game that had lately arrived from New York. No one encouraged him. I did not speak to Lucy until I came to say good-bye, which was very early, as soon as the first guest moved and everyone, on the instant, rose too. When I said good-bye to her, Julia said, “Please, I must tell you. You’re a thousand times grander than I ever imagined. It was half a before—now it’s serious.”
I could imagine the relief in the house as the last of us left, Roger and
Did I answer?”
“No. So then all the Literary Club took to admiring you instead of Gilbert Warwick.”
“Because I didn’t answer letters?”
“Yes. You see, it showed you were a real artist and didn’t care a bit for your public, and just lived for your work.”
“I see.”
After dinner Roger said, “Has little Julia been boring you frightfully?”
“Yes.”
“I thought she was. She’s very pretty. It’s a great evening for her.”
Eventually we returned to the drawing room and sat about. Roger did not know how to manage this stage of this party. He talked vaguely of going on somewhere to dance and of playing a new parlour game that had lately arrived from New York. No one encouraged him. I did not speak to Lucy until I came to say good-bye, which was very early, as soon as the first guest moved and everyone, on the instant, rose too. When I said good-bye to her, Julia said, “Please, I must tell you. You’re a thousand times grander than I ever imagined. It was half a before—now it’s serious.”
I could imagine the relief in the house as the last of us left, Roger and
Monday 22 September 2008
Pablo Picasso Seated Bather painting
Pablo Picasso Seated Bather paintingPablo Picasso Mandolin and Guitar paintingPablo Picasso Large Nude in Red Armchair painting
unassuming, professional name of Fatima. Other girls of the place called themselves “Lola” and “Fifi”; there was even an arrogant, coal-black Sudanese named “Whiskey-soda.” But Fatima had none of these airs; she was a cheerful, affectionate girl working hard to collect her dot; she professed to like everyone in the house, even the proprietress, a forbidding Jewess from Tetuan, and the proprietress’s Algerian husband, who wore a European suit, carried round the mint tea, put records on the gramophone and collected the money. (The Moors are a strict people and take no share in the profits of the Moulay Abdullah.)
To regular and serious customers it was an inexpensive place—fifteen francs to the house, ten to Fatima, five for the mint tea, a few sous to the old fellow who tidied Fatima’s alcove and blew up the brazier of sweet gum. Soldiers paid less, but they had to make way for more important customers; often they were penniless men from the Foreign Legion who dropped in merely to hear the gramophone and left nothing behind them but cigarette ends. Now and then tourists appeared with a guide from the big hotel, and the
unassuming, professional name of Fatima. Other girls of the place called themselves “Lola” and “Fifi”; there was even an arrogant, coal-black Sudanese named “Whiskey-soda.” But Fatima had none of these airs; she was a cheerful, affectionate girl working hard to collect her dot; she professed to like everyone in the house, even the proprietress, a forbidding Jewess from Tetuan, and the proprietress’s Algerian husband, who wore a European suit, carried round the mint tea, put records on the gramophone and collected the money. (The Moors are a strict people and take no share in the profits of the Moulay Abdullah.)
To regular and serious customers it was an inexpensive place—fifteen francs to the house, ten to Fatima, five for the mint tea, a few sous to the old fellow who tidied Fatima’s alcove and blew up the brazier of sweet gum. Soldiers paid less, but they had to make way for more important customers; often they were penniless men from the Foreign Legion who dropped in merely to hear the gramophone and left nothing behind them but cigarette ends. Now and then tourists appeared with a guide from the big hotel, and the
Sunday 21 September 2008
Paul Gauguin Tahitian Village painting
Paul Gauguin Tahitian Village paintingPaul Gauguin Still Life with Oranges paintingPaul Gauguin Joyousness painting
read in one of Tom’s letters that he was proposing to return to England on a visit, with a fiancée and a future father-in-law; that in fact he had already started, was now on the sea and due to arrive in London in a fortnight. Had she read his earlier letters with attention she might have found hints of such an attachment, but she had not done so, and the announcement came to her as a wholly unpleasant surprise.
“Your brother is coming back.”
“Oh, good! When?”
“He is bringing a farmer’s daughter to whom he is engaged—and the farmer. They want to come here.”
“I say, that’s rather a bore. Let’s tell them we’re having the boilers cleaned.”
“You don’t seem to realize that this is a serious matter, Gervase.”
“Oh, well, you fix things up. I dare say it would be all right if they came next month. We’ve got to have the Anchorages some time. We might get both over together
read in one of Tom’s letters that he was proposing to return to England on a visit, with a fiancée and a future father-in-law; that in fact he had already started, was now on the sea and due to arrive in London in a fortnight. Had she read his earlier letters with attention she might have found hints of such an attachment, but she had not done so, and the announcement came to her as a wholly unpleasant surprise.
“Your brother is coming back.”
“Oh, good! When?”
“He is bringing a farmer’s daughter to whom he is engaged—and the farmer. They want to come here.”
“I say, that’s rather a bore. Let’s tell them we’re having the boilers cleaned.”
“You don’t seem to realize that this is a serious matter, Gervase.”
“Oh, well, you fix things up. I dare say it would be all right if they came next month. We’ve got to have the Anchorages some time. We might get both over together
Friday 19 September 2008
Michelangelo Buonarroti Creation of Adam painting
Michelangelo Buonarroti Creation of Adam paintingThomas Kinkade The Rose Garden paintingCaravaggio Amor Vincit Omnia painting
minutes your drunken steps will have straddled the centuries. Tell me, Sir Alastair,” he asked, his face alight with ghastly, facetious courtesy, “have you any preference with regard to your translation? You may choose any age you like.”
“Oh, I say, jolly decent of you ... Never was much of a dab at History you know.”
“Say.”
“Well, any time really. How about Ethelred the Unready?—always had a soft spot for him.”
“And you, Mr. Van Winkle?”
“Well, if I’ve got to be moved about, being an American, I’d sooner go forwards—say five hundred years.”
Dr. Kakophilos drew himself up. “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.”
“I can answer that one. ‘Love is the law, Love under will.’”
“God, we’ve been a long time in that house,” said Alastair as at length they regained the Bentley. “Awful old humbug. Comes of getting tight.”
“Hell, I could do with another,” said Rip. “Know anywhere?”
minutes your drunken steps will have straddled the centuries. Tell me, Sir Alastair,” he asked, his face alight with ghastly, facetious courtesy, “have you any preference with regard to your translation? You may choose any age you like.”
“Oh, I say, jolly decent of you ... Never was much of a dab at History you know.”
“Say.”
“Well, any time really. How about Ethelred the Unready?—always had a soft spot for him.”
“And you, Mr. Van Winkle?”
“Well, if I’ve got to be moved about, being an American, I’d sooner go forwards—say five hundred years.”
Dr. Kakophilos drew himself up. “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.”
“I can answer that one. ‘Love is the law, Love under will.’”
“God, we’ve been a long time in that house,” said Alastair as at length they regained the Bentley. “Awful old humbug. Comes of getting tight.”
“Hell, I could do with another,” said Rip. “Know anywhere?”
Vincent van Gogh Bedroom Arles painting
Vincent van Gogh Bedroom Arles paintingVincent van Gogh Almond Branches in Bloom paintingJoseph Mallord William Turner The Grand Canal Venice painting
than was good for me that morning and it was very hot, so with one thing and another, when I went to change into riding breeches I fell asleep and did not wake up until after dinnertime. And perhaps that is the last we shall ever see of her ...” and two vast tears rolled down his cheeks.
This unmanly spectacle preserved the peace, for Benson and Kentish had already begun to advance upon the remittance man with a menacing air. But there is little satisfaction in castigating one who is already in the profound depths of self-pity and the stern tones of Major Lepperidge called them sharply to order. “Benson, Kentish, I don’t say I don’t sympathize with you boys and I know exactly what I’d do myself under the circumstances. The story we have just heard may or may not be the truth. In either case I think I know
than was good for me that morning and it was very hot, so with one thing and another, when I went to change into riding breeches I fell asleep and did not wake up until after dinnertime. And perhaps that is the last we shall ever see of her ...” and two vast tears rolled down his cheeks.
This unmanly spectacle preserved the peace, for Benson and Kentish had already begun to advance upon the remittance man with a menacing air. But there is little satisfaction in castigating one who is already in the profound depths of self-pity and the stern tones of Major Lepperidge called them sharply to order. “Benson, Kentish, I don’t say I don’t sympathize with you boys and I know exactly what I’d do myself under the circumstances. The story we have just heard may or may not be the truth. In either case I think I know
Thursday 18 September 2008
Johannes Vermeer The Concert painting
Johannes Vermeer The Concert paintingGustave Courbet The Origin of the World paintingGustave Courbet Plage de Normandie painting
For three weeks Simon and Miss Grits (he always thought of her by this name in spite of all subsequent intimacies) worked together in complete harmony. His life was re-directed and transfigured. No longer did he lie in bed, glumly preparing himself for the coming day; no longer did he say every morning ‘I must get down to the country and finish that book’ and every evening find himself slinking back to the same urban flat; no longer did he sit over supper tables with Sylvia, idly bickering; no more listless explanations over the telephone. Instead he pursued a routine of incalculable variety, summoned by telephone at all hours to conferences which rarely assembled; sometimes to Hampstead, sometimes to the studios, once to Brighton. He spent long periods of work pacing up and down his sitting room, with Miss Grits pacing backwards and forwards along the other wall and Miss Dawkins obediently perched between them, as the two dictated, corrected and redrafted their scenario. There were meals at improbable times and vivid, unsentimental passages of love with Miss Grits. He
For three weeks Simon and Miss Grits (he always thought of her by this name in spite of all subsequent intimacies) worked together in complete harmony. His life was re-directed and transfigured. No longer did he lie in bed, glumly preparing himself for the coming day; no longer did he say every morning ‘I must get down to the country and finish that book’ and every evening find himself slinking back to the same urban flat; no longer did he sit over supper tables with Sylvia, idly bickering; no more listless explanations over the telephone. Instead he pursued a routine of incalculable variety, summoned by telephone at all hours to conferences which rarely assembled; sometimes to Hampstead, sometimes to the studios, once to Brighton. He spent long periods of work pacing up and down his sitting room, with Miss Grits pacing backwards and forwards along the other wall and Miss Dawkins obediently perched between them, as the two dictated, corrected and redrafted their scenario. There were meals at improbable times and vivid, unsentimental passages of love with Miss Grits. He
Tuesday 16 September 2008
Bill Brauer The Gold Dress painting
Bill Brauer The Gold Dress paintingUnknown Artist Pink Floyd Back Catalogue paintingClaude Monet Water Lilies painting
expect she ate too much. One does with Adam, don’t you find?”
“Just libido.”
“But you know, I’m rather proud of that character all the same. I wonder why none of us ever thought of Dublin before.”
“Basil, do you think Imogen can have been having an affaire with Adam, really?”
Circumstances
NOTE.—No attempt, beyond the omission of some of the aspirates, has been made at a phonetic rendering of the speech of Gladys and Ada; they are the cook and house-parlourmaid from a small house in Earls Court, and it is to be supposed that they speak as such.
The conversations in the film are deduced by the experienced picture-goer from the gestures of the actors; only those parts which appear in capitals are actual “captions.”
expect she ate too much. One does with Adam, don’t you find?”
“Just libido.”
“But you know, I’m rather proud of that character all the same. I wonder why none of us ever thought of Dublin before.”
“Basil, do you think Imogen can have been having an affaire with Adam, really?”
Circumstances
NOTE.—No attempt, beyond the omission of some of the aspirates, has been made at a phonetic rendering of the speech of Gladys and Ada; they are the cook and house-parlourmaid from a small house in Earls Court, and it is to be supposed that they speak as such.
The conversations in the film are deduced by the experienced picture-goer from the gestures of the actors; only those parts which appear in capitals are actual “captions.”
Fabian Perez Man in Black Suit painting
Fabian Perez Man in Black Suit paintingFabian Perez Lucy paintingFabian Perez Flamenco painting
The five types of men that women go for:
The Bad Boy—He may not have a pot to p*ss in or a window to throw it out, but, if he's a thug or some other type of bad boy, women will want him. BAD. They'll wanna fight other women for him. They'll wanna be his baby mama. They'll wanna be the one that he settles for. Guess what? This dude's not gonna settle! He loves the attention and he'll play a woman as long as she lets him. And if you leave him? So what. There's another woman waiting around the corner to take your place. Turns out he's been seeing her on the side anyway.
The Brainiac—Women are turned on by a certain part of a man where the bigger, the better. I'm talking about his brain, of course! We love a man who can challenge our intellect and enlighten us on a few subjects, whether it be, mechanical engineering, or whatever subject matter we're lacking knowledge in. It's sexy when a man can hold a stimulating conversation and actually look us in the eye. It doesn't hurt when he can answer a few questions while playing Trivial Pursuit, either.
The Charmer—Charisma is extremely important. Nobody wants to end up with someone who will bore them
The five types of men that women go for:
The Bad Boy—He may not have a pot to p*ss in or a window to throw it out, but, if he's a thug or some other type of bad boy, women will want him. BAD. They'll wanna fight other women for him. They'll wanna be his baby mama. They'll wanna be the one that he settles for. Guess what? This dude's not gonna settle! He loves the attention and he'll play a woman as long as she lets him. And if you leave him? So what. There's another woman waiting around the corner to take your place. Turns out he's been seeing her on the side anyway.
The Brainiac—Women are turned on by a certain part of a man where the bigger, the better. I'm talking about his brain, of course! We love a man who can challenge our intellect and enlighten us on a few subjects, whether it be, mechanical engineering, or whatever subject matter we're lacking knowledge in. It's sexy when a man can hold a stimulating conversation and actually look us in the eye. It doesn't hurt when he can answer a few questions while playing Trivial Pursuit, either.
The Charmer—Charisma is extremely important. Nobody wants to end up with someone who will bore them
Sunday 14 September 2008
Diane Romanello Diane Romanello Sunset Beach painting
Diane Romanello Diane Romanello Sunset Beach paintingGustav Klimt The Virgins (Le Vergini) paintingGustav Klimt The Fulfillment (detail I) painting
"Let me be the man," her chest boomed into the stethoscope, "and You be the woman."
But I put down the instrument and shook my head. "I don't know, Anastasia. I don't see --"
I was interrupted by a vigorous pounding on the one-way mirror. Anastasia first gasped and snatched about her for cover, then thought better of it, let go the sheet she'd half torn from the examination-table, and beckoned with her finger at the unknown pounder, with the other hand displaying her pudenda in the manner of those carvenshelah-na-gigs -- which she must have noted upon my stick. Peter Greene burst into the room, all crimson face and orange hair and blinking eyes; he it was who'd pounded; but he'd not come at her beck -- nor to berate her, though he cried, "I seen what you was up to, Lacey Stoker, what I mean lewdwise! Trying to flunk the Grand Tutor!" Anastasia blushed red as Greene, either at his rebuke or at her nakedness before him; but she contrived to stay her ground, put her hands on her hips, and regard him with her eyes half closed and her head half turned -- a really quite provocative stance, considering how unnaturally it came to her. Greene got to the point of his alarum.
"Let me be the man," her chest boomed into the stethoscope, "and You be the woman."
But I put down the instrument and shook my head. "I don't know, Anastasia. I don't see --"
I was interrupted by a vigorous pounding on the one-way mirror. Anastasia first gasped and snatched about her for cover, then thought better of it, let go the sheet she'd half torn from the examination-table, and beckoned with her finger at the unknown pounder, with the other hand displaying her pudenda in the manner of those carvenshelah-na-gigs -- which she must have noted upon my stick. Peter Greene burst into the room, all crimson face and orange hair and blinking eyes; he it was who'd pounded; but he'd not come at her beck -- nor to berate her, though he cried, "I seen what you was up to, Lacey Stoker, what I mean lewdwise! Trying to flunk the Grand Tutor!" Anastasia blushed red as Greene, either at his rebuke or at her nakedness before him; but she contrived to stay her ground, put her hands on her hips, and regard him with her eyes half closed and her head half turned -- a really quite provocative stance, considering how unnaturally it came to her. Greene got to the point of his alarum.
Thursday 11 September 2008
The Crucifixion of Saint Peter
The Crucifixion of Saint PeterCaravaggio The CardsharpsAlof de Wignacourt
I'll show you both," I said; "I'm going back to Great Mall."
Stoker fired his pistol into the air. "Flunk all this! Who the Dunce do you think you are, Goat-Boy? The Grand Tutor Himself?"
I regarded him closely. "Have your men drive them to the Infirmary first and then to the Pedal Inn. If Dr. Eierkopf's all right, he and Croaker can wait in the Powerhouse until the Frumentians come tomorrow. Why don't you take me to Tower Hall yourself?"
"You're coming with me, all right," he said, "but not to Tower Hall! Get in that sidecar!" He commanded his men to ignore what I'd said; Greene and Leonidwere to be delivered to the Infirmary for treatment of their wounds and then left at the Pedal Inn -- but not at my direction, only because that had been his plan all along. The amnesty, he explained crossly, forbade him the use of Main Detention. Similarly, Croaker and Eierkopf (who was stirring now as his roommate licked his head) were to be taken to the Living Room, but purely because he, Stoker, hoped thereby to chase Rexford out; the guards were to see to it that Eierkopf directed Croaker to that end. As for me, if I thought he meant
I'll show you both," I said; "I'm going back to Great Mall."
Stoker fired his pistol into the air. "Flunk all this! Who the Dunce do you think you are, Goat-Boy? The Grand Tutor Himself?"
I regarded him closely. "Have your men drive them to the Infirmary first and then to the Pedal Inn. If Dr. Eierkopf's all right, he and Croaker can wait in the Powerhouse until the Frumentians come tomorrow. Why don't you take me to Tower Hall yourself?"
"You're coming with me, all right," he said, "but not to Tower Hall! Get in that sidecar!" He commanded his men to ignore what I'd said; Greene and Leonidwere to be delivered to the Infirmary for treatment of their wounds and then left at the Pedal Inn -- but not at my direction, only because that had been his plan all along. The amnesty, he explained crossly, forbade him the use of Main Detention. Similarly, Croaker and Eierkopf (who was stirring now as his roommate licked his head) were to be taken to the Living Room, but purely because he, Stoker, hoped thereby to chase Rexford out; the guards were to see to it that Eierkopf directed Croaker to that end. As for me, if I thought he meant
Wednesday 10 September 2008
Jacques-Louis David paintings
Jacques-Louis David paintings
John Everett Millais paintings
James Jacques Joseph Tissot paintings
perfect insight would see its imperfections; had he not been naïve to think himself not naïve? His first prescription, therefore, had been to commit himself to the custody of his wife, who had regressed to the or tails of. limited practice. Anastasia had returned to assist him on the conditions that she be obliged no longer to offer sexual therapy to anyone, even
" 'Heis a Grand Tutor!' " she said he'd said of me. "I told himYou said You weren't, and he said, 'That's the point! That's what I mean!' " She sighed (still a little poutish): thereafter Sear had pressed her in vain to return to the practice of sexual therapy; and it was he, I now learned, who had psychological age of five. But much as he'd enjoyed playing "Doctor" with her in the sandbox of the chronic-ward playground, he'd come to realize that however correct his diagnosis and prescription, they were invalid perforce, as he'd arrived at them himself.
"So this morning he askedme
John Everett Millais paintings
James Jacques Joseph Tissot paintings
perfect insight would see its imperfections; had he not been naïve to think himself not naïve? His first prescription, therefore, had been to commit himself to the custody of his wife, who had regressed to the or tails of. limited practice. Anastasia had returned to assist him on the conditions that she be obliged no longer to offer sexual therapy to anyone, even
" 'Heis a Grand Tutor!' " she said he'd said of me. "I told himYou said You weren't, and he said, 'That's the point! That's what I mean!' " She sighed (still a little poutish): thereafter Sear had pressed her in vain to return to the practice of sexual therapy; and it was he, I now learned, who had psychological age of five. But much as he'd enjoyed playing "Doctor" with her in the sandbox of the chronic-ward playground, he'd come to realize that however correct his diagnosis and prescription, they were invalid perforce, as he'd arrived at them himself.
"So this morning he askedme
Monday 8 September 2008
Guercino paintings
Guercino paintings
Henry Peeters paintings
Hessam Abrishami paintings
one infirmity, I saw now, was having thought such goatly gifts in need of cure, and that infirmity was overcome. Studentdom it was that limped: hobbled by false distinction, crippled by categories! I returned unflinchingly the stares of male and female undergraduates thronging the sidewalks, and reasoned one strong step further: my infirmity was that Ihad thought myself first goat, then wholly human boy, when in fact I was a goat-boy, both and neither: a walking refutation of such false conceits. If I chose, withal, to comport me goatly now awhile, it was not to deny my humanness (of what was the GILES decocted if not the seed of the whole student body?) but to correct it, in the spirit of my new advisings. To that end, as I drew near the Psychiatric Annex of the great Infirmary I goated it the more -- "went to the bathroom" where no bathroom was, as in pasture days; bleated twice or thrice at the passersby's dismay; and skipped up the marble entrance steps on all fours -- the point being that Iwasn't justCapra hircus, any more than the white-coat pair of watchers at the top were simplyHomo sapiens.
Henry Peeters paintings
Hessam Abrishami paintings
one infirmity, I saw now, was having thought such goatly gifts in need of cure, and that infirmity was overcome. Studentdom it was that limped: hobbled by false distinction, crippled by categories! I returned unflinchingly the stares of male and female undergraduates thronging the sidewalks, and reasoned one strong step further: my infirmity was that Ihad thought myself first goat, then wholly human boy, when in fact I was a goat-boy, both and neither: a walking refutation of such false conceits. If I chose, withal, to comport me goatly now awhile, it was not to deny my humanness (of what was the GILES decocted if not the seed of the whole student body?) but to correct it, in the spirit of my new advisings. To that end, as I drew near the Psychiatric Annex of the great Infirmary I goated it the more -- "went to the bathroom" where no bathroom was, as in pasture days; bleated twice or thrice at the passersby's dismay; and skipped up the marble entrance steps on all fours -- the point being that Iwasn't justCapra hircus, any more than the white-coat pair of watchers at the top were simplyHomo sapiens.
Friday 5 September 2008
Georgia O'Keeffe paintings
Georgia O'Keeffe paintings
Gustave Clarence Rodolphe Boulanger paintings
Guillaume Seignac paintings
terrible as the two Campus Riots had been, they were in one sense almost trifling, the result not of basic contradictions between the belligerents but of old-collegiate pride (what he calledmilitant alma-materism ) and unfavorable balances in the informational economy between Siegfried, for example, and its fellow West-Campus colleges. All the while, however, as it were in the background of the two riots, a farther-reaching conflict had developed: a contradiction of first principles that cut across , literature, pedagogy; even agriculture and religion.
"What I mean," he said soberly, "is Student-Unionism versus Informationalism. You'll learn about it as you go along: it's the biggest varsity fact the campus has got to live with these days, and nobody can explain it all at once." For the present I had to content myself with understanding that many semesters ago, in what history professors called the Rematriculation Period, the old West-Campus faith in such things as an all-powerful
Gustave Clarence Rodolphe Boulanger paintings
Guillaume Seignac paintings
terrible as the two Campus Riots had been, they were in one sense almost trifling, the result not of basic contradictions between the belligerents but of old-collegiate pride (what he calledmilitant alma-materism ) and unfavorable balances in the informational economy between Siegfried, for example, and its fellow West-Campus colleges. All the while, however, as it were in the background of the two riots, a farther-reaching conflict had developed: a contradiction of first principles that cut across , literature, pedagogy; even agriculture and religion.
"What I mean," he said soberly, "is Student-Unionism versus Informationalism. You'll learn about it as you go along: it's the biggest varsity fact the campus has got to live with these days, and nobody can explain it all at once." For the present I had to content myself with understanding that many semesters ago, in what history professors called the Rematriculation Period, the old West-Campus faith in such things as an all-powerful
Thursday 4 September 2008
The Garden of Prayer
The Garden of PrayerStairway to ParadiseSpirit of Christmas
floor, black-shawled and -dressed, the New Syllabus on her lap as always, she flapped at me her thrice-weekly peanut-butter sandwich and crooned, "Come, Billy! Come, love! Come!"
Anxious as I was for my Nikolayan cellmate, I laid my head in her lap, pretended to hunger for the ritual food, and chewed the pages of antique wisdom she tore out for me, though they tasted sourly of much thumbing.
"Now then, love, let me see. . ." She adjusted her spectacles, brightly licked her forefingertip, and opened the book to a dogeared page. "People ought to use bookmarks!" she fussed. "And there's a verse marked, too. Peopleshouldn't mark in library-books." Her tone softened. "Oh, but look what it is, Billikins: I'mso proud of the things you write!"
Such was her gentle madness, she thought me at once Billy Bocksfuss in the hemlock-grove, the baby GILES she'd Bellied -- and, alas, the long-Commencèd Enos Enoch.
"Passèd are the flunked,"she read, very formally. "My, but that's a nice thought. Don't you think?"
I didn't answer, not alone because my tongue was peanut-buttered, but because those dark and famous words from the Seminar-on-the-Hill brought me
floor, black-shawled and -dressed, the New Syllabus on her lap as always, she flapped at me her thrice-weekly peanut-butter sandwich and crooned, "Come, Billy! Come, love! Come!"
Anxious as I was for my Nikolayan cellmate, I laid my head in her lap, pretended to hunger for the ritual food, and chewed the pages of antique wisdom she tore out for me, though they tasted sourly of much thumbing.
"Now then, love, let me see. . ." She adjusted her spectacles, brightly licked her forefingertip, and opened the book to a dogeared page. "People ought to use bookmarks!" she fussed. "And there's a verse marked, too. Peopleshouldn't mark in library-books." Her tone softened. "Oh, but look what it is, Billikins: I'mso proud of the things you write!"
Such was her gentle madness, she thought me at once Billy Bocksfuss in the hemlock-grove, the baby GILES she'd Bellied -- and, alas, the long-Commencèd Enos Enoch.
"Passèd are the flunked,"she read, very formally. "My, but that's a nice thought. Don't you think?"
I didn't answer, not alone because my tongue was peanut-buttered, but because those dark and famous words from the Seminar-on-the-Hill brought me
Tuesday 2 September 2008
John William Godward Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder painting
John William Godward Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder paintingJohn William Waterhouse Echo and Narcissus paintingJohn William Waterhouse The Lady of Shalott painting
exit, the foe I had thought EATen!
Choked with dismay I cried, "Flunk you!"
"And Pass you, sir!" Bray exclaimed, as though joyously. "Pass you to the end of terms! Take these, Grand Tutor of the Western Campus, and go to the head of your class!"
He pressed into my hand what turned out to be my ID-card and Assignment-list.
"You admit you're a fraud!" I challenged him. Outside, the crowd commenced to chant again:"Give us the Goat! All the way with Bray!" Knees to knees now on the floor, facing each other across the exit, we shouldered against the outward-pressing waves. "How come you're not EATen?"
"I'mnot a fraud, sir!" he said happily, and even wiped an eye. "Oh, pass you,pass you!" He owed his preservation, he declared, to the fact of WESCAC's having chosen him, some time past, for the work now all but accomplished: the role of proph-prof, foil, and routed antigiles. As John the Bursar had been necessary to declare Enos Enoch's matriculation and administer to him the rites of enrollment, so he Bray
exit, the foe I had thought EATen!
Choked with dismay I cried, "Flunk you!"
"And Pass you, sir!" Bray exclaimed, as though joyously. "Pass you to the end of terms! Take these, Grand Tutor of the Western Campus, and go to the head of your class!"
He pressed into my hand what turned out to be my ID-card and Assignment-list.
"You admit you're a fraud!" I challenged him. Outside, the crowd commenced to chant again:"Give us the Goat! All the way with Bray!" Knees to knees now on the floor, facing each other across the exit, we shouldered against the outward-pressing waves. "How come you're not EATen?"
"I'mnot a fraud, sir!" he said happily, and even wiped an eye. "Oh, pass you,pass you!" He owed his preservation, he declared, to the fact of WESCAC's having chosen him, some time past, for the work now all but accomplished: the role of proph-prof, foil, and routed antigiles. As John the Bursar had been necessary to declare Enos Enoch's matriculation and administer to him the rites of enrollment, so he Bray
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