Johannes Vermeer Girl with a Pearl Earring painting

Johannes Vermeer Girl with a Pearl Earring paintingJohannes Vermeer girl with the pearl earring paintingGustav Klimt The Three Ages of Woman painting
window and Dr. Sear into the Receiving Room.
"Founder's sake, George!" The doctor's brows drew down around his little bandage at sight of me, but his frown was amused. He looked back quickly to assure himself that he'd closed the door, and glanced about at the empty office.
"Greene's in there with the dog-people," I said; "I'm not sure about the cat-girl." As he searched my expression for a hint of how much I knew, I smiled and apologized for once again interrupting his wife's therapy. Hastily then I explained why I had sent Greene to him for sophisticating, especially in the matter of Anastasia's innocence, and echoed his own suggestion that the treatment-in-progress might be as therapeutic for Greene to witness as it no doubt was for Mrs. Sear to receive -- the more so in view of Mrs. Stoker's new forwardness.
"Frightfully irregular," Dr. Sear said, apropos equally of my proposal and Anastasia's behavior. "Officeful of patients. . ." But when I volunteered to assist the proceedings

Thomas Kinkade Paris City of Lights painting

Thomas Kinkade Paris City of Lights paintingThomas Kinkade New Horizons paintingThomas Kinkade Mountain Paradise painting
had for a moment put by the reserve that characteristically went with his good now it was stiffly in place again. "I suppose, from a Grand Tutor's point of view. . ."
"From Entelechus's!" I insisted. "From your own, sir!" We had drawn up by this time before a many-storied glass slab, where throngs of students and policemen awaited the Chancellor's arrival. A small herd of black-gowned dignitaries came down the entrance-steps towards us; a uniformed ROTC officer opened our sidecar door and snapped to attention with a fixed salute. But the Chancellor half-raised a hand to stay the greeters, smiled his most mischievous smile at me, and said, "Obviously we mustn't EAT each other. How wouldyou handle the Boundary Dispute? Take a whole minute if you need to."
I drew a breath. "I'd separate the Power Lines."
"What?" His expression was offended.
"Adjourn the Symposium," I said. "Double the distance between the Power Lines. Tell WESCAC to separate its circuitry completely from EASCAC's."

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
These disclosures were surprising news to me; even so I failed to see what gain there was in losing his fiancée, for example, or endowing the Philophilosophical Fund.
His smile was chelonian: "Why should I pay for the woman's keep, when I could get her for nothing anytime I wanted?" Referring to Reginald's wife, Anastasia's grandmother.
"Is that what you did?"s don't pay off." As for the P.P.F. and the lying-in hospital, they were manifold assets, he insisted, providing him with tax write-offs, opportunities for graft and patronage, and such entertainments as playing doctor with patient young ladies when the whim took him. He had, for example, assisted in the delivery-room when his niece, Virginia R. Hector, gave birth, and had quite enjoyed the show even though she'd brought forth neither monster nor GILES, as had been predicted in some quarters, but only Anastasia, a normal baby girl whom he then raised to serve his pleasures.
"But youdid try to help Anastasia," I said, no longer certain however of my point. "She told me so."

Vincent van Gogh Red vineyards painting

Vincent van Gogh Red vineyards paintingVincent van Gogh Mulberry Tree paintingVincent van Gogh Bedroom Arles painting
It stung me to hear as it were the capital letters in which she spoke of him."He says!" I burst out. "You're fickle, Anastasia!" And to Bray I cried, "You know very well you aren't what you say you are! You're an impostor!"
Anastasia started off her stool. "George. . ." But Bray restrained her, with a hand long-fingered for one so heavy.
"No matter, my dear," he said. I loathed the bony sight of his hand on her arm; was moved almost to strike it.
"You'd understand if you'd seen whatI've seen," Anastasia protested: "WESCAC didn't do a thing when He went down in the Belly, and Scrapegoat Grate opens right up for Him! It's really wonderful, George. . ."
"Nothing at all," Bray said. His face never changed expression, nor did his voice, yet I imagined him much flattered by her awe. Her defense was vain: I'd not forgotten the sight of her kneeling in Bray's presence before he'd done these alleged wonders, and it enraged me to supposehe lusted for her too.

Talantbek Chekirov Embrace in Paris painting

Talantbek Chekirov Embrace in Paris paintingTalantbek Chekirov Close Encounter paintingMartin Johnson Heade Rio de Janeiro Bay painting
open for general admission, either automatically by WESCAC or upon executive order. Too soon off the goat-farm to be abashed by nakedness, I crowned myself with a wreath of laurel, took my watch and stick in hand (alone with the two small batteries, which only now I noticed I still clutched), bowed first to the crowd and then to the grappling Gatekeepers in the dust, and followed a guide-rail pressed so hard against my back, I thought I must be sliced like Eblis Eierkopf's hard-boiled eggs. But that foreseam I had started (wrestling with Croaker in George's Gorge) now gave way with a rip from neck to hem, my knit-wool liner with it; the stile jerked on, the thong of my amulet rightwards to the nearest door of the Gatehouse. To show my composure as another pair of Stoker's guards approached, I even took a moment to glance at the sun, now fully risen and already eclipse-bitten at its edge. Then I leaned on my stick and once again demanded, before they could speak: "Take me to the Chancellor

Georges Seurat The Island of La Grande Jatte painting

Georges Seurat The Island of La Grande Jatte paintingWilliam Blake The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with Sun paintingWilliam Blake The Descent of Christ painting
BROTHER-IN-LAW: His name and face
the Proph-prof couldn't help us with.

TALIPED: Some prophet!
I wish the bloody faker would come off it
and admit he's in the dark as much as we are.

BROTHER-IN-LAW:Now that's no way to talk about the Seer,
Taliped. He couldn't name the dirty
dog right out, and yet he made it pretty
clear whom we're to look for and expel
from Cadmus
TALIPED: Then come on and tell
me who I've got to fire, man!Whom, /mean.

BROTHER-IN-LAW:The killer of Labdakides, our dean
before you took his place nine years ago.

TALIPED: That was my predecessor's name. Although
he published not a word before he perished,
Agenora speaks of him --his cherished
wife, that I took later for my bride.

BROTHER-IN-LAW:No need to tellmethat.

TALIPED: But how he died
I never took the trouble to find out.

BROTHER-IN-LAW: /noticed.

TALIPED: Excellent. But if the lout

Salvador Dali Portrait of the Cellist Ricard Pichot painting

Salvador Dali Portrait of the Cellist Ricard Pichot paintingSalvador Dali Figure on the Rocks paintingSalvador Dali Dali Nude in Contemplation Before the Five Regular Bodies painting
Graduate is normal enough in young people, although in adults it's a neurosis, often as not. And the itch to be a Grand Tutor -- that's always neurotic, wouldn't you say?"
"Neuroticmeans not right in the head," Max explained, tapping his temple and watching me with interest.
"Well, how about the person who actuallyis the Grand Tutor?" I demanded.
Peter Greene clapped me on the knee. "Attaboy, George! Don't take nothing off him!" He had been reading the pages of sporting-news and comic drawings in the newspaper, and joined our conversation now only because the lights had gone too dim to read by.
"Why," Sear asserted good-redly, "he's necessarily somewhat mad, my dear boy. Enos Enoch, Anchisides -- all those hero and Grand-Tutor chaps. Charmingly mad, I grant you. Magnificently mad, if you like. But mad."
I was the more put out by this remark in view of my infant circumstances and G. Herrold's state after rescuing me from the tapelift. But fifteen folk in white cotton wrappers, high boots, and masks had filed onto the stage below, and since I scarcely knew

Mark Rothko Orange and Yellow painting

Mark Rothko Orange and Yellow paintingWassily Kandinsky Improvisation paintingVincent van Gogh The Sower painting
"Now you take me," he invited us again above the engine-noise, and grasped his own shirt-front as before. "Me, I'm no smarter nor stupider than the next fellow; I had to work hard for everything I got --"
"Which is plenty," Max put in. Peter Greene agreed with a laugh that he was not the poorest man on the campus, yet denied he was the richest, that distinction belonging to Ira Hector -- for whom, when all was said and done, he had a grudging admiration. "Despite some say he's a Moishian. . ."
"Mr. Greene!" I protested.
He winked and cocked his head. "Now, don't get het up; I don't hold it against him if he is! And I guess I thinkReggie Hector's about the greatest man in New Tammany."
Max closed his eyes.
"But what I was saying," Greene went on, "I don't mean to boast, now, but what I figure --By jingo, I'm okay!" He bobbed his head sharply. "When all's said and done! If I do say so myself!"
I begged his pardon.
"I figure I'm passèd because good old NTC is passèd," he said. "The passèdest doggone in the doggone University!"

Pierre Auguste Renoir Two Sisters (On the Terrace) painting

Pierre Auguste Renoir Two Sisters (On the Terrace) paintingPierre Auguste Renoir The Umbrellas paintingPierre Auguste Renoir Sleeping Girl painting
I admitted cheerfully that I didn't have the least idea whether my attitude was proper for a Grand Tutor; but I added (the notion having just occurred to me): "It must be all right, though, come to think of it -- since it'smy attitude, and I'm the Grand Tutor."
"Well said!" Stoker let go the handlebars again to clap his hands, and Anastasia clawed at my arm.
"Besides," I said, "if I'm not mistaken, you like it too."
"I donot !"
Stoker shook a finger at her. "Don't argue with the Grand Tutor, dear: you're only a Graduate. Hey, George, is she really a Graduate?"
I considered her frowning face. Despite the racket and wild motion I sensed a good peculiar power in myself: a clarity of muscle, a tonus of thought, such as I'd rarely or never known. "She may not actually have Commencèd yet, as Max thinks. I haven't learned enough to tell. But I'm sure she must be a Candidate. . ."
My last words were lost on Stoker, who coming to a crossroads marked by direction-signs skidded to a halt and sprang off the motorcycle. Anastasia however was moved enough to lower her eyes, ignoring the riotous action before us. Stoker's

Claude Monet Sunset painting

Claude Monet Sunset paintingClaude Monet La Japonaise paintingClaude Monet Impression Sunrise painting
Stoker: Anastasia heard her guardian offer him a sizable inducement to attempt it. But Stoker, while admitting with a laugh that the plot's nefariousness appealed to him, and expressing his confidence that he could manage it with little difficulty, seemed not especially interested in the reward. This was the matter of their frequent meetings, which had reached an impasse: Stoker claimed frankly that he had enough already, and desired only powers and pleasures, neither of which Ira Hector was able to offer him; Ira seemed unable to comprehend this attitude, or unwilling to believe in its sincerity, and so kept raising the amount of his bribe to no avail.
"It was the awfulest thing tolisten to!" Anastasia said. "Maurice has a way about him. . . I don't know how he does it, but he seems to make everybody worse than they really are. I couldn't believe it was Uncle Ira I heard saying 'There's nothing on this campus can't be bought by the man who can pay the price.' Then Maurice began teasing that Uncle Ira liked topretend to be selfish and hard-hearted, but actually he was a sentimental

Ford Madox Brown The Coat of Many Colors painting

Ford Madox Brown The Coat of Many Colors paintingPierre Auguste Renoir La Loge paintingPierre Auguste Renoir Dance at Bougival painting
knew you weren't Virginia's and Eblis's kid, and when you started this Hero nonsense. An old man's foolishness, Georgie, is all! You see yourself now you're not any Grand Tutor, but just a good boy with a regular life's work to do. You got a little badness in you and a little dumbness, pass your heart, like we all got."
With considerable effort (for he was fatigued by so much recollection, and regarded his point as now quite established) I wrung this final information from him: Among the bizarre features of the Cum Laude Project in the month just prior to its abandonment was the preparation by WESCAC, under Eierkopf's supervision, of a highly secret something known as "the GILES" -- Max could or would not go farther than to explain that the word was an acronym forGrand-tutorial Ideal, Laboratory Eugenical

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
concern, since nothing could bring back Redfearn's Tommy, was to learn what I might about the monster who had killed him. The more I gave voice to my self-loathing the more distressed Max became: it was a curious power, and in some queer way a balm to that same self-despise, which I confess I larded on. When I protested once more that I was neither fish nor fowl but some abomination of a kind with WESCAC, which the campus were well purged of, he pleaded, "Na, boy, please, here's the truth now: who you are, nobody knows: not me, not George, not anybody. Butwhat you are -- that's what you got to hear now. It's thehistory you got to understand."
He resumed his narrative, shaking his head and fingering his beard ruefully as he spoke. Twenty years ago, he said, a cruel herd of men called Bonifacists, in Siegfrieder College, had attacked the neighboring quads. The Siegfrieders were joined by certain other institutions, and soon in the University was involved in the Second Campus Riot. Untold numbers perished on both sides; the populus Moishian community in Siegfried was destroyed. Max himself, born and educated in those famous halls where

William Blake Los painting

William Blake Los paintingWilliam Blake Jacob's Ladder paintingVincent van Gogh Wheat Field with Crows painting
George by this time had turned on his machine and was dusting the tops of a bookrow with its nozzle. Max shook his head as if the sight grieved him, and after reassuring himself that my injuries had been more painful than serious (and were besides the lesser of my hurts), he bade me hear how the black man and I had come each to his present misfortunate pass.
"George Herrold is a booksweep," he began. "These stacks here are so small and used so little, we don't really need them, but I told Chancellor Rexford when he asked me, 'If you're going to keep the goat-branch open for my sake, hire George Herrold for the janitor. He didn't deserve what happened to him any more than I did.'
"What it used to be, Billy, fifteen years ago he was Chief Booksweep in the Main Stacks of New Tammany. I knew George there in the last years of the Riot, when I was helping turn WESCAC into a weapon to EAT the Bonifacists with. . ."
"What's this WESCAC everybody talks about?" I demanded. "Some kind of troll, that eats everybody up?"

Vincent van Gogh Cornfield with Cypresses painting

Vincent van Gogh Cornfield with Cypresses paintingUnknown Artist Ford Smith Just Between Us paintingUnknown Artist Apple Tree with Red Fruit painting
retroactive, so that what he said would apply to anyone ripe for discontentment), I let myself acknowledge the mantic aspects of the situation. Throughout the rest of our interview, you must understand, there was this ambivalence: on the one hand I never lost sight of the likelihood that here was just another odd arts-student, even a lunatic, whose pronouncements were as generally pertinent as weighing-machine fortunes; on the other I was quite aware that it is the prophet who validates the prophecy, and not vice-versa -- his authenticity lies not in what he says but in his manner and bearing, his every gesture, the whole embodiment of his personality. And in this salient respect (which I dwell upon because of its relevance to the manuscript he left me) Mr. Stoker Giles was effective indeed.
Calmly now he said, "You're like the man who gave my father a little lens once, that he claimed would show everything truly. Here it is. . ."
He flipped up a round concave lens near the head of his walking-stick and invited me to examine my manuscript through it. But the joke was, it was silvered on the back, and returned no image of my words at all, enlarged or reduced, only a magnified reflection of my eye. I felt myself blush, and blushed more to feel it.
He said, "You're going to fail. You've never been really and trulythere

Claude Monet Apple Trees In Blossom painting

Claude Monet Apple Trees In Blossom paintingClaude Monet Girls In A Boat painting
stopped suddenly and grasped Culver's arm. "What the hell," he whispered, "we've made it." v
For a long while Culver was unable to sleep. He had lain naked on his bed for what seemed hours, but unconsciousness would not come; his closed eyes offered up only vistas of endless roads, steaming thickets, fields, tents— sunshine and darkness illogically commingled—and the picture, which returned to his mind with the unshakable regularity of a scrap of music, of the boys who lay dead beneath the light of another noon. Try as he could, sleep would not come. So he dragged himself erect and edged toward the window, laboriously, because of his battered feet; it took him a full minute to do so, and his legs, like those of an amputee which possess the ghost of sensation, felt as if they were still in motion, pacing endless distances. He lowered himself into a chair and lighted a cigarette. Below, the swimming pool was grotto-blue, a miniature of the cloudless sky above, lit with shapes of dancing light

Francisco de Zurbaran Still life painting

Francisco de Zurbaran Still life paintingFrancisco de Zurbaran The Immaculate Conception painting
it you can, too. Get up, I said. You're a marine . . ."
"Captain," he went on patiently, "Ah cain't help it about your nail. Ah may be a marine and all that but Ah ain't no goddam fool . . ."
The Captain, poised on his crippled foot, made a swift, awkward gesture toward the man, as if to drag him to his feet; Culver grabbed him by the arm, shouting furiously: "Stop it, Al! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Enough!" He paused, looking into Mannix's dull hot eyes. "Enough!" he said, more quietly. "Enough." Then gently, "That's enough, Al. They've just had enough." The end was at hand, Culver knew, there was no doubt of that. The march had come to a halt again, the men lay sprawled out on the sweltering roadside. He looked at the Captain, who shook his head dumbly and suddenly ran trembling fingers over his eyes. "O.K.," he murmured, "yeah . . . yes"—something incoherent and touched with

Arthur Hughes The King's Orchard painting

Arthur Hughes The King's Orchard paintingArthur Hughes Phyllis painting might go in your umbrella," said Pooh? "??" "We might go in your umbrella," said Pooh. "!!!!!!" For suddenly Christopher Robin saw that they might. He opened his umbrella and put it point downwards in the water. It floated but wobbled. Pooh got in. He was just beginning tshall call this boat The Brain of Pooh," said Christopher Robin, and The Brain of Pooh set sail forthwith in a south-westerly direction, revolving gracefully. You can imagine Piglet's joy when at last the ship came in sight of him. In after-years he liked to think that he had been in Very Great Danger during the Terrible Flood, but the only danger he had really been in was the last half-hour of his imprisonment, when Owl, who had just flown up, sat on a branch of his tree to comfort him, and told him a very long story about an aunt who had once laid a seagull's egg by mistake, and the story went on and on, rather like this sentence, until o say that it was all right now, when he found that it wasn't, so after a short drink, which he didn't really want, he waded back to Christopher Robin. Then they both got in together, and it wobbled no longer.

Andrew Atroshenko The Passion of Music painting

Andrew Atroshenko The Passion of Music paintingPablo Picasso Weeping Woman with Handkerchief paintingPablo Picasso Three Women painting
Well, either a tail is there or it isn't there You can't make a mistake about it. And yours isn't there!" "Then what is?" "Nothing." "Let's have a look," said Eeyore, and he turned slowly round to the place where his tail had been a little while ago, and then, finding that he couldn't catch it up, he turnYou must have left it somewhere," said Winnie-the-Pooh. "Somebody must have taken it," said Eeyore. "How Like Them," he added, after a long silence. Pooh felt that he ought to say something helpful about it, but didn't quite know what. So he decided to do something helpful instead. "Eeyore," he said solemnly, "I, Winnie-the-Pooh, will find your tail for you." "Thank you, Pooh," answered Eeyore. "You're a real friend," said he. "Not like Some," he said. ed round the other way, until he came back to where he was at first, and then he put his head down and looked between his front legs, and at last he said, with a long, sad sigh, "I believe you're right" "Of course I'm right," said Pooh "That accounts for a Good Deal," said Eeyore gloomily. "It explains Everything. No Wonder."

Thomas Kinkade Sunday Outing painting

Thomas Kinkade Sunday Outing paintingThomas Kinkade spirit of xmas paintingThomas Kinkade Serenity Cove painting
good-bye to the last branch, spun round three times, and flew gracefully into a gorse-bush, "it all comes of liking honey so much. Oh, help!" He crawled out of the gorse-bush, brushed the prickles from his nose, and began to think again. And the first person he thought of was Christopher Robin. ("Was that me?" said Christopher Robin in an awed voice, hardly daring to believe it. "ThatYes, I just said to myself coming along: 'I wonder if Christopher Robin has such a thing as a balloon about him?' I just said it to myself, thinking of balloons, and wondering." "What do you want a balloon for?" you said. Winnie-the-Pooh looked round to see that nobody was listening, put his paw to his mouth, and said in a deep whisper: "Honey!" "But you don't get honey with balloons!" "I do," said Pooh. was you." Christopher Robin said nothing, but his eyes got larger and larger, and his face got pinker and pinker.) So Winnie-the-Pooh went round to his friend Christopher Robin, who lived behind a green door in another part of the Forest. "Good morning, Christopher Robin," he said. "Good morning, Winnie-ther-Pooh," said you. "I wonder if you've got such a thing as a balloon about you?" "A balloon?"

Gustav Klimt Apple Tree I painting

Gustav Klimt Apple Tree I paintingSalvador Dali Tiger paintingSalvador Dali Paysage aux papillons (Landscape with Butterflies) painting
four old men looked nervously at one another, coughing and sighing. The first said, "It is our age. Where else could we go? We are too old to be wandering the roads, looking for work and shelter."
"It is our age," said the second man-at-arms. "When you are old, anything that does not disturb you is a comfort. Cold and darkness and boredom long ago lost their sharp edges for us, but warmth, singing, spring — no, they would all be disturbances. There are worse things than living like Haggard."
The third man said, "Haggard is older than we are. In time Prince Lir will be king in this country, and I will not leave the world until I have seen that day. I have always been fond of the boy, since he was small."
Molly found that she was not hungry. She looked around at the faces of the old men, and listened to the sounds their seamy lips and shrunken throats made as they drank her soup; and she was suddenly glad that King Haggard always had his meals alone. Molly inevitably came to care for anyone she fed.
Cautiously she asked them, "Have you ever heard a tale that Prince Lir is

Frederick Carl Frieseke The Garden Parasol painting

Frederick Carl Frieseke The Garden Parasol paintingFrederick Carl Frieseke Lady in a Garden paintingFrederick Carl Frieseke Breakfast in the Garden painting
don, though it had nothing to do with the conversation. "Have any of you ever seen a unicorn?"
It was then that she learned two things: the difference between silence and utter silence; and that she had been quite right to ask that question. The Hagsgate faces tried not to move, but they did move. Drinn said carefully, "We never see the Bull, and we never speak of him. Nothing that concerns of ours. As for unicorns, there are none. There never were." He poured the black wine again. "I will tell you the words of the curse," he said. He folded his hands before him, and began to chant.
"You whom Haggard holds in thrall, Share his feast and share his fall. You shall see your fortune flower Till the torrent takes the tower. Yet none but one of Hagsgate town May bring the castle swirling down."
A few others joined in as he recited the old malediction. Their voices were sad and far, as though they were not in the room at all but were tumbling in the wind high over the inn's chimney, helpless as dead leaves.
What is it about their faces? Molly wondered. I almost know. The magician sat silently by her, rolling his wine glass in his long hands.

Thomas Kinkade Deer Creek Cottage painting

Thomas Kinkade Deer Creek Cottage paintingThomas Kinkade cottage by the sea paintingThomas Kinkade Cobblestone Christmas painting
stump, across the clearing, and away. The men were returning: dead branches cracked close at hand, and brush broke with a splashing sound. Once they had to crouch among thorns while two of Cully's weary rogues limped by, wondering bitterly whether the vision of Robin Hood had been real or not.
"I smelled them," the first man was saying. "Eyes are easy to deceive, and cheats by nature, but surely no shadow has a smell?"
"The eyes are perjurers, right enough," grunted the second man, who seemed to be wearing a swamp. "But do you truly trust the testimony of your ears, of your nose, of the root of your tongue? Not I, my friend. The universe lies to our senses, and they lie to us, and how can we ourselves be anything but liars? For myself, I trust neither message nor messenger; neither what I am told, nor what I see. There may be truth somewhere, but it never gets down to me."
"Ah," said the first man with a black grin. "But you came running with the rest of us to go with Robin Hood, and you hunted for him all night, crying and calling like the rest of us. Why not save yourself the trouble, if you know better?"

Eduard Manet Spring painting

Eduard Manet Spring paintingEdward Hopper Carolina Morning paintingEdward Hopper New York New Haven and Hartford painting
There were nine wagons, each draped in black, each drawn by a lean black horse, and each baring barred sides like teeth when the wind blew through the black hangings. The lead wagon was driven by a squat old woman, and it bore signs on its shrouded sides that said in big letters: MOMMY FORTUNA'S MIDNIGHT CARNIVAL. And below, in smaller print: Creatures of night, brought to light. long time, and then said, "Well. Well, bless my old husk of a heart. And here I thought I'd seen the last of them." Her voice left a flavor of honey and gunpowder on the air.
"If he knew," she said and she showed pebbly teeth as she smiled. "But I don't think I'll tell him." She looked back at the black wagons and snapped her fingers twice. The drivers of the second and third wagons got down and came toward her. One was short and dark and stony, like herself; the
When the first wagon drew even with the place where the unicorn lay asleep, the old woman suddenly pulled her black horse to a stop. All the other wagons stopped too and waited silently as the old woman swung herself to the ground with an ugly grace. Gliding close to the unicorn, she peered down at

Joseph Mallord William Turner Pope's Villa at Twickenham painting

Joseph Mallord William Turner Pope's Villa at Twickenham paintingJoseph Mallord William Turner Rome from the Vatican paintingJoseph Mallord William Turner Heidelberg painting
Please," she said. "All I want to know is that there are other unicorns somewhere in the world. Butterfly, tell me that there are still others like me, and I will believe you and go The butterfly started to sing. "Follow me down. Follow me down. Follow me down. Follow me down." But then he shook his head wildly and recited, "His firstling bull has majesty, and his horns are the horns of a wild ox. With them he shall push the peoples, all of them, to the ends of the earth. Listen, listen, listen quickly."to my forest. I have been away so long, and I said that I would come back soon."
"Over the mountains of the moon," the butterfly began, "down the Valley of the Shadow, ride, boldly ride." Then he stopped suddenly and said in a strange voice, "No, no, listen, don't listen to me, listen. You can find your people if you are brave. They passed down all the roads long ago, and the Red Bull ran close behind them and covered their footprints. Let nothing you dismay, but don't be half-safe." His wings brushed against the unicorn's skin.
"The Red Bull?" she asked. "What is the Red Bull?"

Raphael Madonna of Loreto painting

Raphael Madonna of Loreto paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Virgin of the Lilies paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Madonna of the Roses painting
Mmoy is a syllabary: each of its several thousand characters represents a syllable. Each syllable is a word, but a word with no fixed, specific meaning, only a range of possible significances determined by the syllables that come before, after, or near it. A word in Nna Mmoy has no denotation, but is a nucleus of potential connotations which may be activated, or created, by its context. Thus it would be possible to make a dictionary of Nna Mmoy only if the number of possible sentences were finite.
Texts written in Nna Mmoy are not linear, either horizontally or vertically, but radial, budding out in all directions, like tree branches or growing crystals, from a first or central word which, once the text is complete, may well be neither the center nor the beginning of the statement. Literary texts carry this polydirectional complexity to such an extreme that they resemble mazes, roses, artichokes, sunflowers, fractal patterns.

Claude Monet Blue Water Lilies painting

Claude Monet Blue Water Lilies paintingClaude Monet Banks of the Seine paintingClaude Monet Bank of the Seine Vetheuil painting
dream only if other indications favor it. The strong minds themselves urge caution. A seer among the Eastern Zhud-Byu told the researchers, "This is what I say to my people: Some dreams tell us what we wish to believe. Some dreams tell us what we fear. Some dreams are of what we know though we may not know we know it. The rarest dream is the dream that tells us what we have not known."
Frinthia has been open to other planes for over a century, but the rural scenery and quiet have brought no great influx of visitors. Many tourists avoid the plane under the impression that the Frin are a race of "mindsuckers" and "psychovoyeurs."
Most Frin are still farmers, villagers, or town dwellers, but the cities and their material technologies are growing fast. Though technologies and techniques can be imported only with the permission of the All-Frin government, requests

Jose Royo paintings

Jose Royo paintings
Juarez Machado paintings
Joan Miro paintings
You'll love it," Mother says with absolute certainty.
"School is the best good time in the world," says Aunt Kekki. "I loved school so much, I think I'm going to teach school, this year."
The migration south is quite a different matter from the migration north. It is not a scattering but a grouping, a gathering. It is not haphazard but orderly, planned by all the families of a region for many days beforehand. They set off together, five or ten or fifteen families, and camp together at night. They bring plenty of food with them in handcarts and barrows utensils, fuel for fires in the treeless plains, warm clothing for the mountain passes, ands for illness along the way.
There are no old people on the southward migration—nobody over seventy or so in our years. Those who have made three migrations stay behind. They group together in fafm-steads or the small towns that have grown around the farmsteads, or they live out the end of theirwith their mate^ or alone, in the house

Gustav Klimt The Embrace (detail_ square) painting

Gustav Klimt The Embrace (detail_ square) paintingGustav Klimt The Beethoven Frieze paintingGustav Klimt Schloss Kammer Am Attersee II painting
school of physicians has arisen which claims the orgasm as a most important function, beneficial, and justifiably attained by artificial means if natural ones are not available, including with apparent approval, masturbation and the use of mechanical and chemical contraceptives.
The chief evil of this teaching appears to be that it is calculated to leave the reader of little experience with the idea that orgasms are practically harmless, that excess is unlikely, and that if no immediate bad results are noticed the practice may be indulged in to about the limit of desire.
To understand this problem we must consider the endocrine system.
In the organism there are ductless glands whose function is to deliver energy. These glands and the varying power of their function, I conceive to have a most intimate relation to the orgasm

Lord Frederick Leighton The Garden of the Hesperides painting

Lord Frederick Leighton The Garden of the Hesperides paintingLord Frederick Leighton The Fisherman and the Syren paintingLord Frederick Leighton Solitude painting
passionate and fully-sexed, several times in succession. Remember you are not yet used to each other or in magnetic rapport. If she is a true woman she will never reproach you, but will be all patience, sympathy, loyally working with you to attain the perfect result.taken off your passion by the emission, you will probably, this time, feel less pressure and be able to easily succeed, but the second testicle may demand equal privileges and again you may fail. Do exactly as at first and so continue till you do succeed. Practice makes perfect and "it's dogged that does it," Thackeray said. Never permit yourself to contemplate
p. 33
anything but ultimate and ideal success. It is right here, after one or
At the end of an hour, not sooner, all discharges having long since passed and dried up, if you can again feel potent it will be safe to renew the attempt. Caress her for a while, exactly as at first, and be sure her nectar-moisture and willingness are as at first. This is your sign of invitation - of her blissful welcome and Nature's chrism. If she is

George Frederick Watts Watts Hope painting

George Frederick Watts Watts Hope paintingFrancisco de Zurbaran Still life paintingFrancisco de Zurbaran The Immaculate Conception painting
You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them - I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you'd turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you? I don't think so . . . no"
Harry had dived for his wand; Snape shot a hex at it and it flew feet away into the darkness and out of sight.
"Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward -"
"DON'T -" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them - "CALL ME COWARD!"
And he slashed at the air: Harry felt a white-hot, whiplike something hit him across the face and was slammed backward into the ground. Spots of light burst in front of his eyes and for a moment all the breath seemed to have gone from his body, then he heard a rush of wings above him and something

Pablo Picasso Les Demoiselles dAvignon painting

Pablo Picasso Les Demoiselles dAvignon paintingPablo Picasso Large Nude in Red Armchair paintingPablo Picasso Ambroise Vollard painting
How long had they been away? Had Ron, Hermione and Ginny's luck run out by now? Was it one of them who had caused the Mark to be set over the school, or was it Neville, or Luna, or some other member of the DA? And if it was ... he was the one who had told them to patrol the corridors, he had asked them to leave the safety of their beds ... would he be responsible, again, for the death of a friend?
As they flew over the dark, twisting lane down which they had walked earlier, Harry heard, over the whistling of the night air in his ears, Dumbledore muttering in some strange language again. He thought he understood why as he felt his broom shudder for a moment when they flew over the bound-ary wall into the grounds: Dumbledore was undoing the enchantments he himself had set around the castle, so that they could enter at speed. The Dark Mark was glittering directly above the Astronomy Tower, the highest of the castle. Did that mean the death had occurred there?

John Singer Sargent The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit painting

John Singer Sargent The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit paintingJohn Singer Sargent The Chess Game painting
1 tell you to hide, you will do so?'
'Yes.'
'If I tell you to flee, you will obey?'
'Yes.'
'If I tell you to leave me, and save yourself, you will do as I tell you?'
'I -'
'Harry?'
They looked at each other for a moment.
'Yes, sir.'
'Very good. Then I wish you to go and fetch your Cloak and meet me in the Entrance Hall in five minutes' time.'
Dumbledore turned back to look out of the fiery window; the sun was now a ruby-red glare along the horizon. Harry walked quickly from the office and down the spiral staircase. His mind was oddly clear all of a sudden. He knew what to do.
Ron and Hermione were sitting together in the common room when he came back. 'What does Dumbledore want?' Hermione said at once. 'Harry, are you OK?' she added anxiously.
'I'm fine,' said Harry shortly, racing past them. He dashed up the stairs and into his dormitory, where he flung open his trunk and pulled out the Marauder's Map and a pair of balled-up socks. Then he sped back down the stairs and into the common room, skidding to a halt

John Collier Spring painting

John Collier Spring paintingJohn Collier Priestess of Delphi painting
Ernie was looking rather grumpy; determined to outshine Harry for once, he had most rashly invented his own potion, which had curdled and formed a kind of purple dumpling at the bottom of his cauldron. Malfoy was already packing up, sour-faced; Slughorn had pronounced his Hiccuping Solution merely "passable."
The bell rang and both Ernie and Malfoy left at once. "Sir," Harry began, but Slughorn immediately glanced over his shoulder; when he saw that the room was empty but for himself and Harry, he hurried away as fast as he could.
"Professor — Professor, don't you want to taste my po — ?" called Harry desperately.
But Slughorn had gone. Disappointed, Harry emptied the caul-dron, packed up his things, left the dungeon, and walked slowly back upstairs to the common room.
Ron and Hermione returned in the late afternoon.

Edmund Blair Leighton The Charity of St painting

Edmund Blair Leighton The Charity of St paintingEdmund Blair Leighton Alain Chartier painting
Harry spun around in midair. Sure enough, McLaggen, for reasons best known to himself, had pulled Peakes's bat from him and appeared to be demonstrating how to hit a Bludger toward an oncoming Cadwallader.
the large red ball soaring past his right ear.
"McLaggen, will you pay attention to what you're supposed to be doing and leave everyone else alone!" bellowed Harry, wheeling around to face his Keeper.
"You're not setting a great example!" McLaggen shouted back, red-faced and furious.
Harry stared down at the commentator's podium. Surely nobody in their right mind would have let Luna Lovegood commentate? But even from above there was no mistaking that long, dirty-blonde hair, nor the necklace of butterbeer corks. . . . Beside Luna, Professor McGonagall was looking slightly uncomfortable, as though she

Guido Reni Girl with a Rose painting

Guido Reni Girl with a Rose paintingGuido Reni Angel of the Annunciation painting
Harry was going to have to take Slughorn's word for it that Golpalott's Third Law was true, because he had not under-stood any of it. Nobody apart from Hermione seemed to be following what Slughorn said next, either.
'... which means, of course, that assuming we have achieved correct identification of the potion's ingredients by Scarpin's Revelaspell, our primary aim is not the relatively simple one of selecting antidotes to those ingredients in a
of themselves, but to find that added component which will, by an almost alchemical process, transform these disparate elements -'
Ron was sitting beside Harry with his mouth half-open, doodling absently on his new copy of Advanced Potion-Making. Ron kept forgetting that he could no longer rely on Hermione to help him out of trouble when he failed to grasp what was going on.

John Singer Sargent Girl Fishing painting

John Singer Sargent Girl Fishing paintingJohn Singer Sargent Dorothy Barnard painting
Harry knew, though the golden buttons on his richly embroidered waistcoat were taking a fair amount of strain. His little feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, he was sitting well back in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other searching through a box of crystalized pineapple.
Harry looked around as Dumbledore appeared beside him and saw that they were standing in Slughorn's office. Haifa dozen boys were sitting around Slughorn, all on harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens. Harry recognized Voldemort at once. His was the most handsome face and he looked the most relaxed of all the boys. His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair; with a jolt, Harry saw that he was wearing Marvolo's gold-and-black ring; he had already killed his father.
"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" he asked.

Gustav Klimt Beethoven Frieze painting

Gustav Klimt Beethoven Frieze paintingGustav Klimt Apple Tree II paintingGustav Klimt Apple Tree I painting
No thanks," said Harry quickly. "I don't like it much."
"Well, take these anyway," said Romilda, thrusting a box into his hands. "Chocolate Cauldrons, they've got firewhiskey in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don't like them."
"Oh-- right -- thanks a lot." said Harry, who could not think what else to say. " Er-- I ' m just going over here with ..."
He hurried off behind Hermione, his voice tailing away feebly.
"Told you," said Hermione succinctly, " Sooner you ask someone, sooner they'll all leave you alone and you can --"
But her face suddnly turned blank; she had just spotted Ron and Lavender, who were i ntertwined in the same armchair.
"Well, good night, Harry" said Hermione, though it was only seven o'clock in the evening, and she left for the girl s' dormitory without another word.

Filippino Lippi Madonna with Child and Saints painting

Filippino Lippi Madonna with Child and Saints paintingLouis Aston Knight A Bend in the River painting
prospector sifts for gold. Up out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a little old man revolving slowly in the Pensieve, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch of hair that completely covered his eyes.
"Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along . . . Going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favorite teapot,' but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"
Dumbledore gave the Pensieve an extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.
"He only gave her ten Galleons?" said Harry indignantly.