Sunday, August 31, 2008

Leonardo da Vinci The Last Supper painting

Leonardo da Vinci The Last Supper paintingLeonardo da Vinci Mona Lisa Smile paintingRembrandt The Return of the Prodigal Son painting Please excuse me for keeping you," he said to the pair of us. "I realize how trivial this sounds in these circumstances, but I'm really quite concerned about my wife. Does either of you gentlemen happen to know where she might be?"
His smile was polite, even abashed; his tone seemed perfectly sincere. Bray explained curtly that Anastasia had taken her mother next door to her grandfather's office's; his tone suggested disapproval of Stoker's new mien.
"I'm relieved to hear that," Stoker said. "She really wasn't herself at lunch, and I was a bit concerned." He turned to me now. "You must be George, then? Perfect disguise! And a very clever idea, too." He offered his hand to shake. "Thanksever so much for your advice this morning; I wish I had time to tell you what a campus of good it's done me already. Ido hope neither of you will be EATen. . ."
"For Founder's sake, man, be yourself!" Bray rebuked him. But we could tarry no longer; the crowd had pushed through. Before I could assess the genuineness of Stoker's attitude we were obliged to retreat into the other lift -- barely large enough for

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Horace Vernet The Lion Hunt painting

Horace Vernet The Lion Hunt paintingJean Auguste Dominique Ingres The Grande Odalisque paintingPeter Paul Rubens The Judgment of Paris painting
down the middle of the pavement, I was pleased to observe), and his party dispersed, still buzzing gravely, among the other official vehicles. As no one invited my company on the one hand, or on the other denied me the privilege of returning to Great Mall as I'd come, I found a seat alone in the last sidecar of the motorcade, and modestly dissembling my elation at having accomplished two formidable Assignment-tasks in just a few hours, I instructed my began shouting at the same time, and the ring became a little mob that pressed the three of us together. Chancellor Rexford, flushing red, made some expostulation in which I caught the phrases "privileged visitor," "special credentials," and "no harm done"; his tone seemed so Leonid Andreich is one's sole surviving relative. . ." Only when he mentioned Leonid's name did I understand that by "one" he referred to himself. "One is not displeased with such a relative," he went on; "not at all displeased! One feels one could do a great deal worse indeed than to have such a son as Leonid Andreich. . ." He actually tapped my arm, an unprecedented display of feeling. "And yet, Classmate Goat-Boy, and yet" -- his eyes

Friday, August 29, 2008

Winslow Homer Children on the Beach painting

Winslow Homer Children on the Beach paintingAndrew Atroshenko What a Wonderful Life paintingAndrew Atroshenko Just for Love painting
remarked grimly, as we ascended, that passage by so cynical a pretender as Bray, at least, was most certainly failure; and in my discomfort at being so of a mind with Stoker I added that he tempted out his own failings as well as other people's. "I've seen how it pleases you when people call you the Dean o' Flunks. I'll bet you hope there reallyis a Founder, and that He'll pass you for driving so many people to disagree with you. You want to pass by acting so flunked that you pass other people."
"Oh, come on!" he teased. "You're as balled up as Max is."
We went up and down a number of times, for Stoker liked to push the elevator buttons and close the automatic doors in his employees' faces. I continued to challenge him, mainly from the surplus of my distress at Max's condition: his hope, I charged, was that Failure, deliberately elected, would somehow be equivalent to Passage, as the considered choice of a negative could be said to be an affirmation. But there was only Failure in the human university, so far as I had seen, and thus it would remain unless I could in some wise complete my Assignment and bring order and Answers to the campus.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Albert Moore silver painting

Albert Moore silver paintingRene Magritte The Blank Check paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema In the Tepidarium painting
My wife's having an attack, as you see," Dr. Sear said impatiently. "My nurse isn't here today, and she was preparing herself for treatment. For pity's sake leave this chap here and wait outside!"
The guards apologized and withdrew, promising to stand by in case their help should be required. The one's expression was resolutely sober, but Jake grinned and winked as he closed the door.
"Beasts," Dr. Sear muttered. Yet his composure had quite returned. "What on campus are you up to, George? Get him a gown, Hed." Before I could explain my naked presence he pressed upon me an explanation himself, of the extraordinary scene I'd interrupted. A portable X-ray unit was set up in the Gatehouse at registration-time, he declared, to provide free tuberculosis examinations for any who wished them. Ordinarily Anastasia assisted him, but since her services had been commandeered for the morning by Harold Bray Himself, at the Grateway Exit, Hedwig had volunteered to take her place.
As he spoke, Mrs. Sear toyed with herself shamelessly, humming the while.

Cassius Marcellus Coolidge A Friend in Need painting

Cassius Marcellus Coolidge A Friend in Need paintingEdvard Munch Puberty 1894 paintingEdvard Munch Madonna painting
Get out of here!" Dr. Sear cried, hurrying towards us. "I'm examining a patient, for Founder's sake!"
The guards apologized but pled the unusual nature of the situation -- no more able than I to turn their eyes from the startling screen. The hand and voice there quit now; the pelvis turned away, and from a curtained stall behind the machine emerged a woman -- middle-aged, untransparent -- tying a white-cotton gown about her waist.
"Crashed through the Turnstile," the guard not named Jake was explaining. "Some kind of nut. You better handle him. . ."
"Just wait outside!" Dr. Sear said crossly. He frowned at my nakedness as he herded them doorwards, and was too discomposed to return my greeting or even acknowledge yet that he knew me. But the woman's eyes unsquinted now, and crowing, "It's the Goat-Boy, Kennard!" she lurched in my direction. I recognized then the puff-eyed brittle face of Hedwig Sear, who had so relished mating me with Anastasia in the Living Room.
"Georgiedarling!" But she stumbled into a chair-arm and thence into its seat, her legs immodestly sprawled; something seemed wrong with her balance. We looked on astonished.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Edward Hopper Two on the Aisle painting

Edward Hopper Two on the Aisle paintingEdward Hopper Bridle Path paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha Savonnerie de Bagnolet painting
course."
I coughed on my beer. "WESCAC?"
"Certainly." He was sorry, he said coolly, that he could not second my own claim to that distinction -- how he knew of it I couldn't imagine. He granted that in many respects my history paralled that of the Grand-Tutorial Ideal as abstracted by WESCAC, and if I had happened to be Virginia Hector's son by the GILES, there could be little doubt of my authenticity. But seeing I was not, the best he could say for Max was that my keeper -- in his isolation, bitterness, and advancing years -- had gone soft-headed and groomed me for some preposterous scheme of redress. Max being in his opinion incapable of sustained deception -- other than self-deception -- Eierkopf concluded that in all likelihood Max really believed me to be a Grand Tutor, and would even more so if he knew of the GILES incident.
"But don't forget," he said, "you have only Spielman's word for it that you came from the Tower Hall tapelift, for example. I remember hearing stories about a crazySchwarzer finding a baby, but Max could have made up those stories -- so could theSchwarzer have -- or you might not be the same child." He smiled. "Or you might have been EATen yourself,ja ?"

Guido Reni St Jerome painting

Guido Reni St Jerome paintingGuido Reni Joseph and Potiphars' Wife paintingFrancois Boucher Shepherd and Shepherdess Reposing painting
and my own, the nature of Graduation, the character of my apparent rival Harold Bray, the question of entering WESCAC's Belly and changing its AIM (which for all I knew he might be better informed about than Max, having dealt more recently with the and sundry others. Since in any case I had nowhere to go and nothing to do until four minutes after six in the morning, and sleep was impossible under the troublous circumstances, I lingered on in the Observatory and at length accepted Dr. Eierkopf's invitation to talk through the night -- fortified and stimulated by sips of the black liquor distilled under Founder's Hill, of which Croaker located a flask. Chased by the cold pale beer it was a bracing drink; fatigue was put from me, and I found myself obliged to acknowledge that while abhorrent in general and repulsive in many particulars, my host was not devoid of attractive qualities -- as Maurice Stoker himself had not in my eyes been. He was undeniably generous in his way, ingenious, efficient, and orderly, brilliantly logical and systematic

Vincent van Gogh The Starry Night 2 painting

Vincent van Gogh The Starry Night 2 paintingVincent van Gogh The Church in Auvers paintingVincent van Gogh Lane with Poplars painting
, and had been so to speak in WESCAC's hands, awaiting the selection of a volunteer "mother" and permission from Tower Hall and the Enochist lobbies to proceed with an experimental insemination. Second, WESCAC had, in Operation Ramshorn and the much-malignedÜberkatzen experiment, demonstrated its capacity to take initiative and implement its resolves; for just that reason the Cum Laude Room had been designated temporarily off-limits to female employees, to prevent untimely accidents. Third, the precious original GILES had undeniably disappeared on the night in question, and was never found. Finally, a secret obstetrical report, which Eierkopf had seen just prior to his demotion, affirmed that Miss Virginia R. Hector quite definitely had been impregnated.
"So she's telling the truth!" I cried. So wondrous a notion then occurred to me that I stood speechless: the entire mystery of myself seemed in an instant brought to light, in a way that confirmed my hopes beyond my dreams! Enormous moment -- which Dr. Eierkopf, alas, soon dashed to campus.
"Impossible," he said. "I don't

Monday, August 25, 2008

Zhang Xiaogang Bloodline painting

Zhang Xiaogang Bloodline paintingZhang Xiaogang Big Family paintingZhang Xiaogang big family 1996 painting
premises. "O.B.G.," as Greene was wont to call his friend, had at first been reluctant, but upon Greene's offering secretly to take the girl with him and look after her, he accepted the condition.
" 'Tweren't my fault she turned out bad," he said. "I had my hands full clearin' land and huntin' meat and buildin' shelters and chasin' off redskins; I couldn't watch no sassy little pickaninny every minute."
"But you never touched her yourself?" Max demanded.
"Me touchher!" Greene grinned. "It was her pesterin'me all the time! And a-teasin'! And a-beggin'!" His eyes hardened. "And declarin' she'd tell Miss Sally Ann if I didn't watch out."
As best I could fathom it, he had permitted the Frumentian girl to share his sleeping bag, cook and wash for him, and mate with certain redskins. It was possible even to infer that his had been preserved by those same aboriginals at her behest, but the story was vague. In any case, despite her inclination, if passion, he had seldom

Piet Mondrian Avond Evening Red Tree painting

Piet Mondrian Avond Evening Red Tree paintingTalantbek Chekirov Tender Passion paintingTalantbek Chekirov Missing You painting
That was two-three years ago," he said; "before things went kerflooey."
We sat inside, in a stall with benches, and dined on cheeseburgers and fried potatoes. I could not of course stomach the meat and so made do with the buns and onions and a sheaf of paper napkins, which I found piquant with tomato catsup. Croaker on the other hand squatted on the floor and ate his raw; Max declared he had no appetite, though he'd eaten little all day, and remarked besides that Moishian custom forbade meat and dairy produce at the same board -- a rule I'd never heard him invoke before. He contented himself with occasional sips of sarsaparilla. After the original stir of our entrance, though they came to the window now and then to stare, most of the young people returned to their former pursuits, and I was able to listen undistracted except by the overwhelming novelty of the surroundings.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Vincent van Gogh The Sower painting

Vincent van Gogh The Sower paintingVincent van Gogh The Night Cafe paintingVincent van Gogh Cafe Terrace at Night painting
and the first rays of morning strike Tower Clock.
I nodded shortly, almost angrily, neither knowing nor caring what closed-circuit Telerama might be. My eyes were strong with tears now, and I was obliged to clutch G. Herrold's fleece, as well as lean upon my stick for support. A long and desolating day had been this first of my Grand-Tutorhood, whose dawn seemed ages past! Stunned with liquor and fatigue, I leaned on my friend for the last time and felt to the full his responsibility for my chance encounter in George's Gorge and its fatal issue -- which was to say, at last I was appalled by the monstrous ease of my seduction, my heartless casting-off of Max, my forswearing of every bond and precept to carouse at my savior's bier and lust for the tart who had brought him to it. Late in the day, late in the day, to come to mourning, and mine for his death. Now I resented Croaker and Stoker and Anastasia

Gustav Klimt Death and Life painting

Gustav Klimt Death and Life paintingGustav Klimt Danae (detail) paintingSalvador Dali The Rose painting
Never mind," I said thickly. It surprised me a little to hear the girl speak with such crispness of impersonal matters, from my very arms, when desire so filled my own breast, and liquor my head, that I could scarcely make a sound. I was to learn in time that this disconcerting ability was characteristic of her and shared by many of her sisters in female studentdom -- whatever her scruples and misgivings, once seized up she made herself as comfortable as if I were her favorite parlor chair.
"Way for the Bride of Enos!" Mrs. Sear called. She snatched a bowl of pretzels from someone and broadcast them like largesse, curtsyed before us, danced from one side of the aisle to the other, and time and again kissed Anastasia's hair or the arms clasped round my neck. "Way for the Bridge and Groom!"
"Honestly!" Anastasia protested. But the extravagance of Mrs. Sear's ushering made her smile. Now the orchestra commenced a processional-piece:



"Oh, listen, George," she said; "they're playing theAlma Mater Dolorosa! I love that hymn." And indeed it was most moving to hear her sweet girl voice against the stately horns:

Fabian Perez christine painting

Fabian Perez christine paintingGustav Klimt The Tree of Life paintingGustav Klimt Expectation (gold foil) painting
we passèd. The roomlights darkened once again, and the floodlit dais gleamed ahead. Dr. Sear spoke quietly and clearly into my ear. . "In the old days this was the execution-chamber of Main Detention; they use it for high official funerals now. There's a chute under the dais that leads to one of those natural ovens, like the ones you saw in the Furnace Room, and when a chancellor or vice-chancellor dies, they cremate the body from here and then sound the EAT-whistle to let the campus know. Maurice says the steam-boiler for the EAT-whistle is fired by the crematorium, but he's probably joking. Quite an honor for your late friend, actually, even though its unofficial."
But Anastasia from her slung perch disagreed. "It's just Maurice's idea of a party-joke, Kennard, and you know it. I think it'sterrible the things he does in Founder s Hill."
Dr Sear gave a mild shrug and adjusted his spectacles upon a neat small bandage on the bridge of his nose.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN MORNING painting

Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN MORNING paintingThomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS paintingWinslow Homer The Houses of Parliament painting
I saw his point: it was not a disgrace that I had no notion how to reach New Tammany and only the vaguest of what was mine there. On the contrary, neither Laertides nor any other of the wandering researchers could have completed their field-projects without special counselling. I wanted an advisor, that was all; todo the hero-assignment was my function, not to choose it. . .
"Or even to understand it," Max added when I made this point. "Look at Dean Arthur and Excelsior, his magic quill: do you think he knewwhy it always wrote the right answers? He should care!"
Yet one doubt remained to me: I could not recall that Sakhyan or Maios or Enos Enoch had needed the service of a guidance counselor. Did what applied to wandering researchers apply as well to Grand Tutors? But to my query Max replied at once, "It depends! Take in the New Syllabus where Enos Enoch cures the crazies; you know why He did it?"
"Well, He wanted the poor undergraduates to get on with their studies, and I don't suppose there was any Psych Clinic in those days."

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
fetch him up and run, and so in a moment was at my side, fending boughs off as we plunged.
"To the right, boy, not this way. Ay, George! I wouldn't believe! Just an old Moishian!"
I said nothing, but turned to the right as he directed. Shortly we were on paved road again, all things more distinct now as the light came from behind us. I went on without hesitation and at such a determined clip (being free of brambles) that Max was obliged to remain in G. Herrold's arms if he would keep pace.
"You know who you are, all right!" he said. "What you thought right along -- but who could believe such a thing? Until we proved it!"
Without looking at him I inquired, "That's why you blew the horn?"
"Ja, ja,that's just why!" More excited than ever I'd seen him, Max described the "experiments" he'd mentioned the previous day. I had, he confirmed, met nearly all the prerequisites of herohood, as far as could be judged: the mystery of

William Blake Songs of Innocence painting

William Blake Songs of Innocence paintingVincent van Gogh Red vineyards paintingVincent van Gogh Mulberry Tree painting
to New Tammany -- I'd be all right, and forever in his debt.
"Which fork, Georgie? You mean you're not sure?"
"It doesn't matter," I said at once. "There's bound to be a sign. Well, bye-bye, Max. Bye-bye, G. Herrold. I really must go."
And I struck out as if I knew my way, hoping some impulse would turn me left or rightwards if I kept myself from thinking on the choice. But of course I could not not-think; no impulse came; and unwilling either to halt again or to betray my quandary (for I was conscious of their eyes upon me), I forged ahead into the sumac.
"I believe I'll take a short-cut through here," I called back.
"Ach,George! Wait once!" Max's voice was joyous; but though I heard him call again for me and urge G. Herrold to help him overtake me, I crashed on through briars and foxgrape -- only a bit more slowly, not to rip my fleece.
"Wait Once, I got to tell you what we did!" As I would not

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Vincent van Gogh Irises painting

Vincent van Gogh Irises paintingWassily Kandinsky Farbstudie Quadrate paintingGustav Klimt The Bride painting
George Herrold the booksweep here lost interest both in our discussion and in my swaying stance; he returned to his machine, humming some tune for his own entertainment. I followed him with my eyes. After a moment Max said from behind, "Ja,I raised you; but that George Herrold, what you might say, he brought you into this campus."
I turned to him with a smile. "Georgeis a good name, isn't it?"
"A fine name," Max agreed. "There's been famous Georges." Presently he added, "His wife left him since he was EATen. I don't think he ever had any kids."
"If nobody minds," I said, "I want to be called George from now on."
Max nodded. "That's good as you could do."
I found myself then unspeakably fatigued, and proposed we go Home. Standing was one thing, walking another; Max fetched George Herrold to help, but even with their joint support I got no farther than the drinking-fountain before I was exhausted. Still I refused to go on all fours.

Tamara de Lempicka Portrait of Madame painting

Tamara de Lempicka Portrait of Madame paintingEric Wallis Girls at the Beach paintingVincent van Gogh Starry Night over the Rhone painting
inspiration of the moment, it gave me an unexpected stir of pleasure to pronounce.
Max laughed. "So what should I call you?" He reminded me that none of us knew what my proper family-name was, but he saw no reason why I shouldn't get by without one for the present. If in the meanwhile I desired a new given-name, he'd be glad to help me choose one. The goats, I knew, were named by a strict genealogical procedure, but I had no idea how humans went about their own nomination.
"Well, the Moishians anyhow," Max said, "they call their sons by the last man that died in the family, so his name don't die too." He said this lightly, but it turned our thoughts together to my dead friend, inasmuch as in goatdom we all had been brothers.
"You want to be a Tommy, boy?"
I shook my head: the burden were too painful -- and besides, noble Tom had been after all. . . a goat. For similar cause I rejectedMax III , after my keeper's father: however dignified, even dynastic, the air of such numerals in studentdom, to my mind they still suggested prize livestock.

Albert Bierstadt Fishing from a Canoe painting

Albert Bierstadt Fishing from a Canoe paintingAlbert Bierstadt The Buffalo Trail paintingAlbert Bierstadt Yosemite Valley Yellowstone Park painting
toward the road. "I've got twice as much Beist in me as you have."
She drew the waistband over her hips, and I trembled to seize what dimpled near me. Ah, Chickie! my green loins called as she followed after him: poor pretty doe fretful to be bucked, hie here if it's a beast you're after! Hie to one a-wrack with the yen to Be; one the mere sight of your haunch has caused whom to Become himself, willy-nilly, and to stand one momThe next day was the longest in the year. My lust went from me with the dew that steamed off the fields where I had lain drenched; not so my resolve. When I trotted to the barn for breakfast I met Max bringing the herd out into the pound. The does moved aside as I approached -- but not ent later again at the ready! When the coast was clear I tore out of my wrapper and frisked Chickie-like through the brush, hooting joyfully my pain. To Be, and once more to Be! To burst into all creation; only to Be, always to Be, until no thing was: no Billy Bocksfuss, goat or Graduate, no I nor you nor University, but one placeless, timeless, nameless throb of Being!

Salvador Dali Bacchanale painting

Salvador Dali Bacchanale paintingSalvador Dali Ascension paintingJuarez Machado Copacabana Palace Hotel painting
" with their smugly belligerent sloganBetter EAT than be EATen . . .
"Look at Spielman," he advised, and I pricked up my ears, though it was something else I strove to look at. "All he asked was that the not be programmed to EAT its enemies automatically. So they call him a Student-Unionist, and theystrip him of his privileges --"
"Oh dear!" the female fretted, whose leotard now went the way of Max's rank and tenure.
"So it's all meaningless," the bearded one went on. "There aren't any Finals; there's no Dean o' Flunks at the South Exit to punish us if we don't Pass. Every question is multiple-choice; there's no final point or meaning in the University, it's -- look here, it's like this: a naked physical fact!"
I gasped with Chickie.
"Like the Ismists say, it all comes down to distinctions in our minds; we can't ever get to the things themselves. We can thrust, and we can thrust. . ."
"No!"

Salvador Dali Les trois sphinx de bikini painting

Salvador Dali Les trois sphinx de bikini paintingSalvador Dali Figure at a Window paintingSalvador Dali Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a Pomegranate painting
"You're not another fake, are you, Chickie?" He seemed angry with her now, and even hesitated just a moment before returning to his work, as if uncertain of her worth. Almost fiercely he declared that nothing in the mad University mattered except Beauty: the beauty of art, of language, and above all, of simple existence. That, he took it -- and now they grappled in earnest -- was the first and farther-reaching than anything within the Ismists' compass.
"Oh Harry! My goodness!"
"There, Chickie. There."
Just consider the state of the University, he challenged her: two armed campuses, each cynically lecturing Peace of Mind while it made ready to EAT the other. Great professors of poetry went begging; yet loud-shirted engineers drew fabulous salaries for developing WESCAC's weaponry, the very testing of which bid fair to poison the minds of undergraduates not yet matriculated. In vain did student leaders like himself exhort West Campus to seize the moral initiative by deprogramming unilaterally: their credo,Better East than beast, was shouted down by misguided alma-materists and advocates of "preventive

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

William Bouguereau Birth of Venus painting

William Bouguereau Birth of Venus paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Virgin with Angels painting
This is Serious," said Pooh. "I must have an Escape." So he took his largest pot of honey and escaped with it to a broad branch of his tree, well above the water, and then he climbed down again and escaped with another pot . . . and when the whole Escape was finished, there was Pooh sitting on his branch dangling his legs, and there, beside him, were ten pots of honey....Two days later, there was Pooh, sitting on his branch, dangling his legs, and there, beside him, were four pots of honey.... Three days later, there was Pooh, sitting on his branch, dangling his legs, and there beside him, was one pot of honey. Four days later, there was Pooh . . . And it was on the morning of the fourth day that Piglet's bottle came floating past him, and with one loud cry of "Honey!" Pooh plunged into the water, seized the bottle, and struggled back to his tree again. "Bother!" said Pooh, as he opened it. "All that wet for nothing. What's that bit of paper doing?" He took it out and looked at it. "It's a Missage," he said to himself, "that's what it is. And that

Leonardo da Vinci Portrait of Ginevra Benci painting

Leonardo da Vinci Portrait of Ginevra Benci paintingLeonardo da Vinci The Madonna of the Carnation paintingRembrandt rembrandt nightwatch painting painting
rained and it rained and it rained. Piglet told himself that never in all his lif, and he was goodness knows how old--three, was it, or four?--never had he seen so much rain. Days and days and days. "If only," he thought, as he looked out of the window, "I had been in Pooh's house, or Christopher Robin's house, or Rabbit's house when it began to rain, then I should have had Company all this time, instead of being here all alone, with nothing to do except wonder when it will stop." And he imagined himself with Pooh, saying, "Did you ever see such rain, Pooh?" and Pooh saying, "Isn't it awful, Piglet?" and Piglet saying, "I wonder how it is over Christopher Robin's way," and Pooh saying, "I should think poor old Rabbit is about flooded out by this time." It would have been jolly to talk like this, and really, it wasn't much good having anything exciting like floods, if you couldn't share them with somebody.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Joseph Mallord William Turner Mortlake Terrace painting

Joseph Mallord William Turner Mortlake Terrace paintingJoseph Mallord William Turner Rain, Steam and Speed - The Great Western Railway paintingGustave Courbet Marine painting
crossed Schmendrick's face, rather like a raincloud drifting over dry country. Slowly he asked, "And what use have you for wine, with no tongue to taste it, no ribby palate to savor it, no gullet to gulp it down? Fifty years dead, can it be that you still remember, still desire—?"Schmendrick shook his head, grinning. He said, "Eloquent, but I've been feeling a bit spiteful myself lately." For a third time, he lifted the empty flask, and the skull groaned in mortal misery.
Out of pity, Molly Grue began to say, "But it isn't—" but the magician stepped on her foot. "Of course," he mused aloud, "if you should happen to remember the entrance to the Red Bull's cavern as well as you remember wine, we might bargain yet." He twiddled the flask casually between two fingers
"Fifty years dead, what else can I do?" The skull had ceased its grotesque twitching, but frustration had made its voice almost human. "I remember," it said. "I remember more than wine. Give me a swallow, that's all—give me a sip—and I'll taste it as you never will, with all your runny flesh, all your buds and organs. I've had time to think. I know what wine is like. Give it to me."

Ford Madox Brown Romeo and Juliet painting

Ford Madox Brown Romeo and Juliet paintingTheodore Robinson Girl at Piano paintingPierre Auguste Renoir At The Theatre painting
clock struck twenty-nine—at least, it was at that point that Molly lost count. The rusty strokes were still clanking to the floor when Schmendrick suddenly shook both fists at the skull and shouted, "All right, all right for you, you pretentious kneecap! How would you like a punch in the eye?" On the last words, his voice unraveled completely into a snarl of misery and rage.
"That's right," the skull said. "Yell. Wake up old Haggard." Its own voice sounded like branches creaking and knocking together in the wind. "Yell louder," it said. "The old man's probably around here somewhere. He doesn't sleep much."
Molly gave a small cry of delight, and even the Lady Amalthea moved a step nearer. Schmendrick stood with his fists shut and no triumph in his face. The skull said, "Come on. Ask me how to find the Red Bull. You can't go wrong asking my advice. I'm the king's watchman, set to guard the way to the Bull. Even Prince Lir doesn't know the secret way, but I do."

Edmund Blair Leighton Off painting

Edmund Blair Leighton Off paintingFrancois Boucher The Marquise de Pompadour paintingFrancois Boucher Nude on a Sofa painting
THE GREAT HALL of King Haggard's castle, the clock struck six. Actwindows to let in the scouring wind. That was daytime.
But at night, as some trees hold a living light all day, hold it with the undersides of their leaves until long after sundown —so at night the castle was charged and swarming with darkness, alive with darkness. Then the great hall was cold for a reason; then the small sounds that slept by day woke up to patter and scratch in the corners. It was night when the old smell of the stones seemed to rise from far below the floor.
"Light a light," Molly Grue said. "Please, can you make a lightually, it was eleven minutes past midnight, but the hall was little darker than it had been at six o'clock, or at noon. Yet those who lived in the castle told time by the difference in the dark. There were hours when the hall was cold simply for want of warmth and gloomy for lack of light; when the air was stale and still, and the stones stank of old water because there

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema Welcome Footsteps painting

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema Welcome Footsteps paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema promise of spring paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema Courtship the Proposal painting
due her. 'Look at me and see yourselves,' she rasped. 'That's the true test of a town, or of a king. A lord who cheats an ugly old witch will cheat his own folk by and by-Stop him while you can, before you grow used to him.'" Drinn sipped his wine and thoughtfully filled Schmendrick's glass once more.
"Haggard paid her no money," he went on, "and Hagsgate,
alas, paid her no heed. She was treated politely and referred to the proper authorities, whereupon she flew into a fury and screamed that in our eagerness to make no enemies at all, we had now made two." He paused, covering his eyes with lids so thin that Molly was sure he could see through them, like a bird. With his eyes closed, he said, "It was then that she cursed Haggard's castle, and cursed our town as well. Thus his greed brought ruin upon us all."
In the sighing silence, Molly Grue's voice came down like a hammer on a horseshoe, as though she were again berating poor Captain Cully. "Haggard's less at fault than you yourselves," she mocked the folk of Hagsgate, "for he was only one thief, and you were many. You earned your trouble by your own avarice, not your king's."
Drinn opened his eyes and gave her an angry look. "We earned nothing

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Unknown Artist Heighton After Hours painting

Unknown Artist Heighton After Hours paintingUnknown Artist Brent Lynch Evening Lounge paintingUnknown Artist Brent Lynch Coastal Drive painting
HE TOWN of Hagsgate was shaped like a footprint: long toes splaying from a broad paw and ending in the dark claws of a digger. And indeed, where the other towns of King Haggard's realm seemed to scratch like sparrows at the mean land, Hagsgate was well and deeply dug in. Its glowed, and its proud houses might have grown up out of the earth, like trees. Lights shone in every window, and the three travelers could hear voices, and dogs barking, and dishes being scrubbed until they squeaked. They halted by a high hedge, wondering.
"Do you suppose we took a wrong turn somewhere, and this isn't Hagsgate at all?" Molly whispered. She brushed foolishly at her hopeless rags and tatters. "I knew I should have brought my good dress." She sighed.
Schmendrick rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "It's Hagsgate," he answered her. "It must be Hagsgate, and yet there's no smell of sorcery, no air of black magic. But why the legends, then, why the fables and fairy tales? Very confusing, especially when you've had half a turnip

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

William Bouguereau Little Thieves painting

William Bouguereau Little Thieves painting

Bernhard Gutmann Lady in Pink painting

Claude Monet Haystack at Giverny painting

Night came quickly, perhaps because the harpy hurried h on. The sun sank into dirty clouds like a stone into the sea, and with about as much chance of rising again, and there was no moon, or any stars. Mommy Fortuna made her gliding rounds of the cages. The harpy did not move when she drew near, and that made the old woman stand and stare at her for a long while.
"Not yet," she muttered at last, "not yet," but her voice was weary and doubtful. She peered briefly at the unicorn, her eyes a stir of yellow in the greasy gloom. "Well, one day more," she said in a cackling sigh, and turned away again.
There was no sound in the Carnival after she was gone. All the beasts were asleep, save the spider, who wove, and the harpy, who waited. Yet the night creaked tighter and tighter, until the unicorn expected it to split wide open, ripping a seam down the sky, to reveal— More bars, she thought Where is the magician?
At last he came

Raphael Madonna of Belvedere painting

Raphael Madonna of Belvedere paintingRaphael Madonna of Loreto paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Virgin of the Lilies painting
CHMENDRICK CAME BACK a little before dawn, slipping between the cages as silently as water. Only the harpy made a sound as he went by. "I couldn't get away any sooner," he told the unicorn. "She's set Rukh to watching me, and he hardly ever sleeps. But I asked him a riddle, and it always takes him all night to solve riddles. Next time, I'll tell him a joke and keep him busy for a week."
The unicorn was gray and still. "There is magic on me," she said. "Why did you not tell me?"
"I thought you knew," the magician answered gently. "After all, didn't you wonder how it could be that they recognized you?" Then he smiled, which made him look a little older. "No, of course not. You never would wonder about that."
"There has never been a spell

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Claude Monet The Fields of Poppies painting

Claude Monet The Fields of Poppies paintingClaude Monet The Corner of the Garden at Montgeron paintingClaude Monet The Cape Martin painting
and back to the Mediro, a rocky plateau far inland from the southernmost canebrakes of the great south continent.
The Aq stone farers gather in spring, coming overland or by cane raft from their various villages to Gatbam, a small port near the equator on the west coast. There a fleet of cane-and-canvas sailboats awaits them. The sailors and navigators are all Daqo of the south continent. They are professional sailors, mostly fishermen; some of them "sail the faring" every year for decades. The Aq pilgrims have nothing to pay them with, arriving with provisions for the journey but nothing else. While at Riqim, the Daqo sailors will net and salt fish from those rich waters, a catch which makes their journey profitable. But they never go to fish off Riqim except with the stone-faring fleet.
The journey takes several weeks. The voyage north is the dangerous one, made early in the year so that the return voyage, carrying the cargo, may be made at the optimal time. Now and then boats or even whole fleets are lost in the wild tropical storms ofthat wide sea.

Claude Monet Venice The Doge Palace painting

Claude Monet Venice The Doge Palace paintingClaude Monet The Waterloo Bridge The Fog painting
Indeed the Daqo attitude to the Aq is hard to define. Wariness is part of it; a kind of unease that is not suspicion or distrust; a watchfulness that, surprisingly, stops short of animosity or contempt, and may even become conciliating.
It is even harder to say what the Aq think of the Daqo. The two populations communicate in a pidgin or jargon containing elements from both languages, but it appears that no individual ever learns the other species' language. The two species seem to have settled on . They have nothing to do with each other except for these occasional, slightly abrasive contacts at the edges of southern Daqo settlements—and a limited, very strange collaboration having to do with what I can only call the specific obsession of the Aq.
I am not comfortable with the phrase "specific obsession," but "cultural instinct" is worse.

Bernhard Gutmann Lady in Pink painting

Bernhard Gutmann Lady in Pink paintingClaude Monet Haystack at Giverny paintingClaude Monet Cliffs near Dieppe 2 painting
THE PLANE OF QOQ is unusual in having two rational, or more or less rational, species.
The Daqo are stocky, greenish-tan-colored humanoids. The Aq are taller and a little greener than the Daqo. The two species, though diverged from a common simioid ancestor, cannot interbreed.
Something over four thousand years ago the Daqo had what the Planar Encyclopedia refers to as an EEPT: a period of explosive expansion of population and technology.
Before it, the two species had seldom come in contact. The Aq inhabited the southern continent, the Daqo were in the northern hemisphere. The Daqo population escalated, spreading out over the three landmasses of the northern hemisphere and then to the south. As they conquered their world, they incidentally conquered the Aq.

Gustav Klimt Malcesine on Lake Garda painting

Gustav Klimt Malcesine on Lake Garda paintingDaniel Ridgway Knight Woman in Landscape paintingDaniel Ridgway Knight Waiting painting
tape marked Private Property, No Trespassing, Keep Out, No Hunting, Fishing, or Accounting—even then there is no truth in them.
Insofar as one can trust the promotional copy, the world of Great Joy is mostly a warm, shallow ocean dotted with small islands. They look flatter than our volcanic Pacific islands, more like big sandbars. The climate is said to be warm and pleasant. There must be, or must have been, native plants and animals, but there is nothing about them in the advertising. The only trees in the photographs are firs and coconut palms in large pots. There is nothing about the people, either, unless you count references to "the friendly, colorful natives."
The largest island, or anyhow the one with by far the most elaborate advertising copy, is Christmas Island.
That is where Cousin Sulie goes

Gustav Klimt Women Friends painting

Gustav Klimt Women Friends paintingGustav Klimt Schubert at the Piano paintingGustav Klimt Portrait of Margaret Stonborough Wittgenstei painting
imagine that the native population was spread out over many small islands and that they were very poor, or fatally hospitable, or both. Evidently they were ready and willing, through innocent hope of gain or love of novelty, to adopt a new . At any rate, ready or not, they learned to do what they were told to do and behave the way they were taught to behave by the Great Joy Corporation.
Great Joy has a kind of Chinese sound to it, but all the promotional literature Cousin Sulie brought me was printed in the United States. The Great Joy Corporation owns the trade-marked name of the plane and issues the PR. Beyond that, I know nothing about Great Joy. I have not tried to investigate it.
It's no use. There is no information about corporations. There is only disinformation. Even after they collapse, imploding into a cratered ruin stinking of burnt stockholder and surrounded by an impenetrable barrier formed by members of Congress and other government officials holding hands and wearing

Monday, August 11, 2008

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida paintings

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida paintings
Joseph Mallord William Turner paintings
Julien Dupre paintings
For the first year or so she would talk to her kidnapper, who, aside from the abominable cruelty of his action, seems to have begun by treating her kindly enough. His knowledge of the Asonu language was limited, and she saw no one else but a small group of sectarians who came to gaze worshipfully at her and listen to her talk. Her vocabulary and syntax gained no enlargement, and began to atrophy. She became increasingly silent.
Frustrated, the zealot decided to teach her English so that she would be able to express her innate Wisdom in a different tongue. We have only his report, which is that she "refused to learn," was silent or spoke almost inaudibly when he tried to make her repeat words, and "did not obey." He ceased to let other people see her. When some members of the sect finally notified the civil authorities, the child was about seven. She had spent three years hidden in a basement room. For a year or more she had been whipped and beaten regularly "to teach her to talk," her captor explained, "because she's stubborn." She was dumb, cowering, undernourished, and brutalised

Henri Fantin-Latour paintings

Henri Fantin-Latour paintings
Horace Vernet paintings
Irene Sheri paintings
. Spoken in answer to a young grandchild who asked, "Will you be at the big feast, Grandmother?"
9. Spoken in answer to the same child, who asked, "Are you going to be dead like Great-Auntie?"
10. Said to a baby who was toddling towards a firepit where the flames were invisible in the sunlight.
11. Last words, spoken the day before the Elder's death.
The last six Sayings were all spoken in the last half year of the , as if the approach of death had made the Elder loquacious. Five of the Sayings were spoken to, or in at least in the presence of, young children who were still at the talking stage.
Speech from an adult must be very impressive to an Asonu child. Like the foreign linguists, Asonu babies learn the language by listening to older children. The mother and other adults encourage the child to speak only by attentive listening and prompt, affectionate, wordless response.
The Asonu live in close-knit, extended-family groups, in frequent contact

Friday, August 8, 2008

Alphonse Maria Mucha La Dame aux Camelias painting

Alphonse Maria Mucha La Dame aux Camelias paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha JOB paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha Gismonda painting
Rest assured that no woman who has known Karezza in its ideal, its "Heaven" and "Peace" form, remains dry, nor is she left with any trace of congestion, or restlessness. On the contrary, she often sinks into a blissful slumber in the very midst of the embrace, just after its sweetest delights.
In truth I have often thought that a very plausible arg sex, which is far from what my critic desires.
In Dr. Max Huner's Disorders of the Sexual System, a work in which the woman's need of the orgasm is strongly insisted on, I find these significant words: "'Whenever a woman states that she remains dry after coitus it generally means a lack of orgasm." In other words, it is very common in the ordinary orgasmal embrace, for the man ument might be advanced for the claim that in Karezza the woman really did have an orgasm, only in such a very gradual form, spread over so long a time, and so sweetly sublimated and exalted in love, that the usual symptoms did not appear or were unrecognized as such.

Edward Hopper Cape Cod Morning painting

Edward Hopper Cape Cod Morning paintingAmedeo Modigliani the Reclining Nude paintingAmedeo Modigliani Seated Nude painting
lady physician of my acquaintance thinks that a woman would be left congested in her sexual organs, probably, by Karezza, did she not have the orgasm, and the result would finally be disease.
I have not found it so in practice, and the criticism would almost appear to have come from one who had not known Karezza in its perfect form. If valid, it would apply to the man as well and would destroy all force of the case for Karezza for either sex, which is far from what my critic desires.
In Dr. Max Huner's Disorders of the Sexual System, a work in which the woman's need of the orgasm is strongly insisted on, I find these significant words: "'Whenever a woman states that she remains dry after coitus it generally means a lack of orgasm." In other words, it is very common

Thursday, August 7, 2008

George Frederick Watts The Three Graces painting

George Frederick Watts The Three Graces paintingGeorge Frederick Watts Charity paintingFrancisco de Goya Clothed Maja painting
Hagrid, who had been weeping silently into his large, spotted handkerchief throughout this conversation, now raised puffy red eyes and croaked, "I dunno, Professor . . . that's fer the Heads of House an the headmistress ter decide ..."
"Professor Dumbledore always valued your views," said Professor McGonagall kindly, "and so do I."
"Well, I'm stayin," said Hagrid, fat tears still leaking out of the corners of his eyes and trickling down into his tangled beard. "It's me home, it's bin me Home since I was thirteen. An' if there's kids who wan' me ter teach 'em, I'll do it. But... I dunno ... Hogwarts without Dumbledore .. ." He gulped and disappeared behind his handkerchief once more, and there was silence.
"Very well," said Professor McGonagall, glancing out of the window at the grounds, checking to see whether the Minister was yet approaching, "then I must agree with Filius that the right thing to do is to consult the governors, who will make the final decision.
"Now, as to getting students Home . . . there is an argument for doing

Leonardo da Vinci picture of the last supper painting

Leonardo da Vinci picture of the last supper paintingLeonardo da Vinci picture of last supper paintingGustav Klimt lady with fan painting
Thank you, Everard," said Professor McGonagall, and she turned quickly to her teachers.
"I want to talk about what happens to Hogwarts before he gets here," she said quickly. "Personally, I am not convinced that the school should reopen next year. The death of the headmaster at the hands of one of our colleagues is a terrible stain upon Hogwarts's history. It is horrible."
"I am sure Dumbledore would have wanted the school to remain open," said Professor Sprout. "I feel that if a single pupil wants to come, then the school ought to remain open for that pupil."
"But will we have a single pupil after this?" said Slughorn, now dabbing his sweating brow with a silken handkerchief. "Parents will want to keep their children at Home and I can't say I blame them. Personally, I don't think we're in more danger at Hogwarts than we are anywhere else, but you can't expect mothers to think like that. They'll want to keep their families together, it's only natural."

Caravaggio The Entombment of Christ painting

Caravaggio The Entombment of Christ paintingCaravaggio The Crucifixion of Saint Peter painting
McGonagall back down the ward. The corridors outside were deserted and the only sound was the distant phoenix song. It was several minutes before Harry became aware that they were not heading for Professor McGonagall's office, but for Dumbledore's, and another few seconds before he realized that of course, she had been deputy headmistress, . . . Apparently she was now headmistress ... so the room behind the gargoyle was now hers.
In silence they ascended the moving spiral staircase and entered the circular office. He did not know what he had expected: that the room would be draped in black, perhaps, or even that Dumbledore's body might be lying there. In fact, it looked almost exactly as it had done when he and Dumbledore had left it mere hours previously: the silver instruments whirring and puffing on their spindle legged tables, Gryffindor's sword in its glass case gleaming in the moonlight, the Sorting Hat on a shelf behind the desk, the Fawkes's perch stood empty, he was still crying his lament to the grounds. And a new portrait had joined the ranks of the dead headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts: Dumbledore was slumbering in a golden frame over the desk, his half-moon spectacle perched upon his crooked nose, looking peaceful and untroubled

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Salvador Dali Bacchanale painting

Salvador Dali Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a Pomegranate painting
Salvador Dali Bacchanale painting
Salvador Dali Bacchanale painting

Salvador Dali Mirage painting

Salvador Dali Paysage aux papillons (Landscape with Butterflies) painting
Salvador Dali Mirage painting
Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wag-ging his finger reprovingly at Riddle, though winking at the same time. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."
Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.
"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite —" Several of the boys tittered again. "— I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple, I have ex-cellent contacts at the Ministry."
Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. Harry noticed that he was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but that they all seemed to look to him as their leader.

Gustav Klimt The Beethoven Frieze painting

Gustav Klimt The Beethoven Frieze paintingGustav Klimt Schloss Kammer Am Attersee II painting
— in his office," said Nick. "I believe, from what the Baron said, that he had Business to attend to before turning in —"
"Yeah, he has," said Harry, excitement blazing in his chest at the prospect of telling Dumbledore he had secured the memory. He wheeled about and sprinted off again, ignoring the Fat Lady who was calling after him.
"Come back! All right, I lied! I was annoyed you woke me up! The password's still 'tapeworm'!"
But Harry was already hurtling back along the corridor and within minutes, he was saying "toffee eclairs" to Dumbledore's gar-goyle, which leapt aside, permitting Harry entrance onto the spiral staircase.
"Enter," said Dumbledore when Harry knocked. He sounded exhausted. Harry pushed open the door. There was Dumbledore's office, looking the same as ever, but with black, star-strewn skies beyond the windows.
"Good gracious, Harry," said Dumbledore in surprise. "To what do I owe this very late pleasure?"

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Vincent van Gogh Wheat Field with Crows painting

Vincent van Gogh Wheat Field with Crows paintingVincent van Gogh Vase with Twelve Sunflowers painting
badger," murmured Voldemort, examining the engraving upon the cup. "Then this was . . . ?"
"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" said Hepzibah, leaning forward with a loud creaking of corsets and actually pinching his hollow cheek. "Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here. . . ."
She hooked the cup back off Voldemort's long forefinger and restored it gently to its box, too intent upon settling it carefully back into position to notice the shadow that crossed Voldemort's face as the cup was taken away.
"Now then," said Hepzibah happily, "where’s Hokey? Oh yes, there you are — take that away now, Hokey."

Georges Seurat Le Chahut painting

Georges Seurat Le Chahut paintingUnknown Artist Jasper Johns three flags painting
The house-elf had come dashing back into the room carrying a tray of little cakes, which she set at her mistress's elbow.
"Help yourself, Tom," said Hepzibah, "I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop, I've said it a hundred times. ..."
Voldemort smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered.
"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" she asked, bat-ring her lashes.
"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armor," said Voldemort. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair —"
"Now, now, not so fast, or I’ll think you're only here for my trinkets!" pouted Hepzibah.
"I am ordered here because of them," said Voldemort quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to inquire —"

Paul Gauguin The Siesta painting

Paul Gauguin The Siesta paintingPaul Gauguin Tahitian Village painting
Harry got to his feet and bent once more over the rippling silver contents of the stone basin until his face touched them. He tumbled through dark nothingness and landed in a sitting room in front of an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig and a brilliant pink set of robes that flowed all around her, giving her the look of a melting iced cake. She was looking into a small jeweled mirror and dabbing rouge onto her already scarlet cheeks with a large powder puff, while the tiniest and oldest house-elf Harry had ever seen laced her fleshy feet into tight satin slippers.
"Hurry up, Hokey!" said Hepzibah imperiously. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"
She tucked away her powder puff as the house-elf straightened up. The top of the elf's head barely reached the seat of Hepzibah's chair, and her papery skin hung off her frame just like the crisp linen sheet she wore draped like a toga.
"How do I look?" said Hepzibah, turning her head to admire the various angles of her face in the mirror.
"Lovely, madam," squeaked Hokey.

Monday, August 4, 2008

Salvador Dali Ascension painting

Salvador Dali Ascension paintingJuarez Machado Copacabana Palace Hotel painting
definitely not interested," said Harry firmly, "and I've just seen a friend of mine, sorry." He pulled Luna after him into the crowd; he had indeed just seen a long mane of brown hair disappear between what looked like two members of the Weird Sisters.
"Hermione! Hermione !"
"Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna !"
"What's happened to you?" asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare.
"Oh, I've just escaped — I mean, I've just left Cormac," she said. "Under the mistletoe," she added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.
"Serves you right for coming with him," he told her severely. "I thought he'd annoy Ron most," said Hermione dispassion-ately. "I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —"

Salvador Dali Metamorphosis of Narcissus painting

Salvador Dali Metamorphosis of Narcissus paintingSalvador Dali Melting Watch painting
Whether it had been built that way, or because he had used magical trickery to make it so, Slughorn's office was much larger than the usual teacher's study. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson , and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the center of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light. Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like little roving tables.
"Harry, m'boy!" boomed Slughorn, almost as soon as Harry and Luna had squeezed in through the door. "Come in, come in, so many people I'd like you to meet!"

Gustav Klimt Portrait of Adele Bloch (gold foil) painting

Gustav Klimt Portrait of Adele Bloch (gold foil) paintingGustav Klimt Judith II (gold foil) painting
And she moved on down the table to sit with Dean. Harry tried to feel pleased that Ginny was glad he was taking Luna to the party but could not quite manage it. A long way along the table Hermione was sitting alone, playing with her stew. Harry noticed Ron looking at her furtively.
"You could say sorry , " suggested Harry bluntly.
"What , and get attacked by another flock of canaries?" muttered Ron.
"What did you have to imitate her for?"
"She laughed at my mustache!"
"So did I, it was the stupidest thing I've ever seen."
But Ron did not seem to have he a rd; Lavender had just arrived with Parvati. Squeezing herself in between Harry and Ron, Lavender flung her arms around Ron's neck.
"Hi, Harry," said Parvati who, like Harry, looked faintly embarrassed

Friday, August 1, 2008

Amedeo Modigliani Landscape painting

Amedeo Modigliani Landscape paintingAmedeo Modigliani Caryatid 1 paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha Summer painting
sprang to life at once; long, prickly, bramblelike vines flew out of the top and whipped through the air. One tangled itself in Hermione's hair, and Ron beat it back with a pair of secateurs; Harry succeeded in trapping a couple of vines and knotting them together; a hole opened in the middle of all the tentaclelike branches; Hermione plunged her arm bravely into this hole, which closed like a trap around her elbow; Harry and Ron tugged and wrenched at the vines, forcing the hole to open again, and Hermi-one snatched her arm free, clutching in her fingers a pod just like Neville's. At once, the prickly vines shot back inside, and the gnarled stump sat there looking like an innocently dead lump of wood.
"You know, I don't think I'll be having any of these in my garden when I've got my own place," said Ron, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead and wiping sweat from his face.

Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN MEMORIES painting

Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN MEMORIES paintingThomas Kinkade Evening Glow paintingThomas Kinkade CHRISTMAS MEMORIES painting
they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one.
"And lastly — I hope you are not too sleepy to pay attention to this, Harry — the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behavior, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this magpie-like tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later.
"And now, it really is time for bed."
Harry got to his feet. As he walked across the room, his eyes fell I upon the little table on which Marvolo Gaunt's ring had rested last I time, but the ring was no longer there.

Francois Boucher The Interrupted Sleep painting

Francois Boucher The Interrupted Sleep paintingFrancois Boucher Leda and the Swan paintingJohannes Vermeer the Milkmaid painting
Dumbledore.
"Did you know — then?" asked Harry.
"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?" said Dumbledore. "No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and friendless, but which, already, I felt I ought to do for others' sake as much as his.
"His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and — most interestingly and ominously of all — he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. And as you saw, they were not the random experiments