Jehan Georges Vibert paintings
Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot paintings
James Childs paintings
thought of him; the name was an insignificant thing labelling an event. Toby understood something of this as anyone who had known Imogen, must have understood, even he; for he was associated with much that was wholly alien to him; he had been in Adelphi Terrace in that strange evening in April when Hauban had gazed out across the river for two, three hours, and scarcely a word spoken.
To my question, down such valleys of thought, his answer made a way; she had been with him; they in a taxi; Toby had seen it from the top of a bus in Regent Street.
And so, quite naturally, I went to find Hauban, whom I had not thought to seek when I had landed that morning—or was it three and a half years ago? Thus suddenly had I returned to the past. And when I found Hauban, he said:
“So you, also, are returned to England.”
Thus I knew that he too had seen Imogen and with his next words he invited
2008年9月29日星期一
2008年9月28日星期日
Henry Peeters paintings
Henry Peeters paintings
Hessam Abrishami paintings
Howard Behrens paintings
He was speaking, up till now, very seriously and bitterly. Now he shook his great shoulders like a dog, tossed his head, & motioning me to resume my pose took up his palette. Never, in its varied and not always unqualifiedly successful career had the school been in a state of such utter disorganization and prostration, as in the Easter term, 1917. In France & Flanders, our
“Oh yes, they received me with open arms. And Mayfair accepted me as its season’s attraction. The old life went on. They made me an R.A. and—Happy? why yes. Why not? I’ve made a good thing out of . Ask any of your club friends, they’ll tell you so. But there are times when I see reviews of Ronald’s work and hear my academic colleagues’ sneers of him that I—Oh well; we must get on with the damned picture while the light lasts
Hessam Abrishami paintings
Howard Behrens paintings
He was speaking, up till now, very seriously and bitterly. Now he shook his great shoulders like a dog, tossed his head, & motioning me to resume my pose took up his palette. Never, in its varied and not always unqualifiedly successful career had the school been in a state of such utter disorganization and prostration, as in the Easter term, 1917. In France & Flanders, our
“Oh yes, they received me with open arms. And Mayfair accepted me as its season’s attraction. The old life went on. They made me an R.A. and—Happy? why yes. Why not? I’ve made a good thing out of . Ask any of your club friends, they’ll tell you so. But there are times when I see reviews of Ronald’s work and hear my academic colleagues’ sneers of him that I—Oh well; we must get on with the damned picture while the light lasts
2008年9月25日星期四
Pierre Auguste Renoir La Promenade painting
Pierre Auguste Renoir La Promenade paintingPierre Auguste Renoir The Large Bathers paintingPierre Auguste Renoir A Girl with a Watering Can painting
passage from the outer world ever set foot, might he not be lost irretrievably, submerged, unrecognizable in his dimness, unremembered? Would he perhaps, years hence, exhibit a little discoloured card lessons in English conversation, grow shabbier and greyer and plumper with the limp accretions of despair and destitution and die there at last nameless? He was an adult, an intellectual, a classical scholar, almost a poet, but he could not face that future without terror. So he clung to the Ritz, empty as it was, contemptuously as he felt himself regarded there, as the one place in Neutralia where salvation might still be found. If he left, he knew it would be forever. He lacked the assurance of the native nobility who could sit there day by day, as though by right. Scott-King’s only right lay in his travellers’ cheques. He worked out his bill from hour to hour. At the moment he had nearly forty pounds in hand. When he was down to twenty, he decided, he would move. Meanwhile he looked anxiously round the dining room before starting the daily calculation of how cheaply he could lunch.
And that day he was rewarded
passage from the outer world ever set foot, might he not be lost irretrievably, submerged, unrecognizable in his dimness, unremembered? Would he perhaps, years hence, exhibit a little discoloured card lessons in English conversation, grow shabbier and greyer and plumper with the limp accretions of despair and destitution and die there at last nameless? He was an adult, an intellectual, a classical scholar, almost a poet, but he could not face that future without terror. So he clung to the Ritz, empty as it was, contemptuously as he felt himself regarded there, as the one place in Neutralia where salvation might still be found. If he left, he knew it would be forever. He lacked the assurance of the native nobility who could sit there day by day, as though by right. Scott-King’s only right lay in his travellers’ cheques. He worked out his bill from hour to hour. At the moment he had nearly forty pounds in hand. When he was down to twenty, he decided, he would move. Meanwhile he looked anxiously round the dining room before starting the daily calculation of how cheaply he could lunch.
And that day he was rewarded
Salvador Dali Sleep painting
Salvador Dali Sleep paintingSalvador Dali Pierrot and Guitar paintingSalvador Dali Leda Atomica painting
Desmond O’Malleys?”
At that moment, beyond the box-room, the Settle tea had reached its second stage; surfeited with crumpets, five or six each, they were starting on the éclairs and cream-slices. There was still a warm, soggy pile of crumpets left uneaten and according to custom O’Malley, as junior man, was deputed to hand them round the House Room.
Wheatley was supercilious. “What is that, O’Malley? Crumpets? How very kind of you, but I am afraid I never eat them. My digestion, you know.”
Tamplin was comic. “My figure, you know,” he said.
Jorkins was rude. “No, thanks. They look stale.”
There was loud laughter among the third-year men and some of their more precocious juniors. In strict order of seniority, O’Malley travelled from boy to boy, rebuffed, crimson. All the Upper Dormitory refused. Only the fags watched, first in wonder that anyone should refuse crumpets on a cold afternoon, later with brightening expectancy as the full plate came nearer to them.
Desmond O’Malleys?”
At that moment, beyond the box-room, the Settle tea had reached its second stage; surfeited with crumpets, five or six each, they were starting on the éclairs and cream-slices. There was still a warm, soggy pile of crumpets left uneaten and according to custom O’Malley, as junior man, was deputed to hand them round the House Room.
Wheatley was supercilious. “What is that, O’Malley? Crumpets? How very kind of you, but I am afraid I never eat them. My digestion, you know.”
Tamplin was comic. “My figure, you know,” he said.
Jorkins was rude. “No, thanks. They look stale.”
There was loud laughter among the third-year men and some of their more precocious juniors. In strict order of seniority, O’Malley travelled from boy to boy, rebuffed, crimson. All the Upper Dormitory refused. Only the fags watched, first in wonder that anyone should refuse crumpets on a cold afternoon, later with brightening expectancy as the full plate came nearer to them.
2008年9月24日星期三
Unknown Artist Bruce Lee painting
Unknown Artist Bruce Lee paintingUnknown Artist Audrey Hepburn paintingUnknown Artist Audrey Hepburn pop art painting
day or two.
Roger got in first on the telephone. “I say, are you free on Wednesday evening?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“I wondered if you’d dine with us.”
“Not at half past six for the Finsbury Theatre?”
“No. I work late these days at the Red China Supply Committee.”
“What time then?”
“Oh, any time after eight. Dress or not, just as you feel like it.”
“What will you and Lucy be doing?”
“Well, I suppose we shall dress. In case anyone wants to go on anywhere.”
“In fact, it’s a dinner party?”
“Well, yes, in a kind of way.”
It was plain that poor Roger was dismayed at this social mushroom which had sprung up under his nose. As a face-saver the telephone call was misconceived, for a little note from Lucy was already in the post for me. It was not for me to mock these little notes; I had begun it. But an end had to be made to them, so I decided to answer this by telephone, choosing the early afternoon when I assumed Roger would be out. He was in, and answered me. “I wanted to speak to Lucy.”
day or two.
Roger got in first on the telephone. “I say, are you free on Wednesday evening?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“I wondered if you’d dine with us.”
“Not at half past six for the Finsbury Theatre?”
“No. I work late these days at the Red China Supply Committee.”
“What time then?”
“Oh, any time after eight. Dress or not, just as you feel like it.”
“What will you and Lucy be doing?”
“Well, I suppose we shall dress. In case anyone wants to go on anywhere.”
“In fact, it’s a dinner party?”
“Well, yes, in a kind of way.”
It was plain that poor Roger was dismayed at this social mushroom which had sprung up under his nose. As a face-saver the telephone call was misconceived, for a little note from Lucy was already in the post for me. It was not for me to mock these little notes; I had begun it. But an end had to be made to them, so I decided to answer this by telephone, choosing the early afternoon when I assumed Roger would be out. He was in, and answered me. “I wanted to speak to Lucy.”
2008年9月22日星期一
Gustav Klimt Portrait of Adele Bloch Bauer painting
Gustav Klimt Portrait of Adele Bloch Bauer paintingPierre-Auguste Cot The Storm paintingPierre-Auguste Cot Springtime painting
unwelcome confidence had been forced. The bitterness lay, not in the Consul knowing the fact of my private recreations, but in his knowing that I knew he knew. It was a salient in the defensive line between us that could only be made safe by a wide rectification of frontier or by a complete evacuation. I had no friendly territory into which to withdraw. I was deployed on the dunes between the sea and the foothills. The tran riding at anchor were my sole lines of support.
In the matter of Good Conscience, I was a man of few possessions and held them at a corresponding value. As a spinster in mean lodgings fusses over her fragments of gentility—a rosewood workbox, a Spode plate, a crested teakettle—which in a house of abundance would be risked in the rough and tumble of general use, I set a price on Modesty which those of ampler virtues might justly regard as fanciful.
Next day I set off for London with my book unfinished.
unwelcome confidence had been forced. The bitterness lay, not in the Consul knowing the fact of my private recreations, but in his knowing that I knew he knew. It was a salient in the defensive line between us that could only be made safe by a wide rectification of frontier or by a complete evacuation. I had no friendly territory into which to withdraw. I was deployed on the dunes between the sea and the foothills. The tran riding at anchor were my sole lines of support.
In the matter of Good Conscience, I was a man of few possessions and held them at a corresponding value. As a spinster in mean lodgings fusses over her fragments of gentility—a rosewood workbox, a Spode plate, a crested teakettle—which in a house of abundance would be risked in the rough and tumble of general use, I set a price on Modesty which those of ampler virtues might justly regard as fanciful.
Next day I set off for London with my book unfinished.
2008年9月21日星期日
Arthur Hughes Phyllis painting
Arthur Hughes Phyllis paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A Harvest Festival paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A coign of vantage painting
was during one of these visits that Gervase told him the good news that a London publisher had read the diary and seen possibilities in it. Six months later it appeared under the title The Journal of an English Cavalry Officer during the Peninsular War. Edited with notes and a biographical introduction by Gervase Kent-Cumberland. The miniature portrait was prettily reproduced as a frontispiece, there was a collotype copy of a page of the original manuscript, a contemporary print of Tomb Park, and a map of the campaign. It sold nearly two thousand copies at twelve-and-sixpence and received two or three respectful reviews in the Saturday and Sunday papers.
The appearance of the Journal coincided within a few days with Gervase’s twenty-first birthday. The celebrations were extravagant and prolonged, culminating in a ball at which Tom’s attendance was required.
He drove over, after the works had shut down, and arrived, just in time for dinner, to find a house-party of thirty and a house entirely transformed.
His own room had been taken for a guest (“as you will only be here for one night,” his mother explained). He was sent down to the Cumberland Arms, where he dressed by
was during one of these visits that Gervase told him the good news that a London publisher had read the diary and seen possibilities in it. Six months later it appeared under the title The Journal of an English Cavalry Officer during the Peninsular War. Edited with notes and a biographical introduction by Gervase Kent-Cumberland. The miniature portrait was prettily reproduced as a frontispiece, there was a collotype copy of a page of the original manuscript, a contemporary print of Tomb Park, and a map of the campaign. It sold nearly two thousand copies at twelve-and-sixpence and received two or three respectful reviews in the Saturday and Sunday papers.
The appearance of the Journal coincided within a few days with Gervase’s twenty-first birthday. The celebrations were extravagant and prolonged, culminating in a ball at which Tom’s attendance was required.
He drove over, after the works had shut down, and arrived, just in time for dinner, to find a house-party of thirty and a house entirely transformed.
His own room had been taken for a guest (“as you will only be here for one night,” his mother explained). He was sent down to the Cumberland Arms, where he dressed by
2008年9月19日星期五
Claude Monet Sunflowers painting
Claude Monet Sunflowers paintingJohannes Vermeer Girl with a Pearl Earring paintingJohannes Vermeer girl with the pearl earring painting
The liner came into harbour at Southampton, late in the afternoon.
They had left the sun three days behind them; after the Azores there had been a high sea running; in the Channel a white mist. Tony had been awake all night, disturbed by the fog signals and the uncertainty of coming.
They berthed alongside the quay. Tony leant on the rail looking for his chauffeur. He had cabled to Hetton that he was to be met and would drive straight He wanted to see the new bathrooms. Half the summer workmen had been at Hetton. There would be several changes to greet him.
It had been an uneventful excursion. Not for Tony were the ardours of serious travel, desert or jungle, mountain or pampas; he had no inclination to kill big or survey
The liner came into harbour at Southampton, late in the afternoon.
They had left the sun three days behind them; after the Azores there had been a high sea running; in the Channel a white mist. Tony had been awake all night, disturbed by the fog signals and the uncertainty of coming.
They berthed alongside the quay. Tony leant on the rail looking for his chauffeur. He had cabled to Hetton that he was to be met and would drive straight He wanted to see the new bathrooms. Half the summer workmen had been at Hetton. There would be several changes to greet him.
It had been an uneventful excursion. Not for Tony were the ardours of serious travel, desert or jungle, mountain or pampas; he had no inclination to kill big or survey
2008年9月18日星期四
Jean Francois Millet The Gleaners painting
Jean Francois Millet The Gleaners paintingJacques-Louis David Napoleon crossing the Alps paintingJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Children on the Beach painting
splendidly to the bar.
In token of the cordiality of the Condominium, French officials were honorary members of the Club, and a photograph of a former French President (“We can’t keep changing it,” said Major Lepperidge, “every time the frogs care to have a shim-ozzle”) hung in the smoking room opposite the portrait of the Prince of Wales; except on Gala nights, however, they rarely availed themselves of their privilege. The single French journal to which the Club subscribed was La Vie Parisienne, which, on this particular evening, was in the hands of a small man of plebeian appearance, sitting alone in a basket chair.
Reppington and Bretherton nodded their way forward. “Evening, Granger.” “Evening, Barker.” “Evening, Jagger,” and then in an audible undertone Bretherton inquired, “Who’s the chap in the corner with La Vie?”
“Name of Brooks. Petrol or something.”
“Ah.”
“Pink gin?”
“Ah.”
“What sort of day?”
“Bad show, rather. Trouble about draining the cricket field. No subsoil.”
“Ah. Bad show.”
splendidly to the bar.
In token of the cordiality of the Condominium, French officials were honorary members of the Club, and a photograph of a former French President (“We can’t keep changing it,” said Major Lepperidge, “every time the frogs care to have a shim-ozzle”) hung in the smoking room opposite the portrait of the Prince of Wales; except on Gala nights, however, they rarely availed themselves of their privilege. The single French journal to which the Club subscribed was La Vie Parisienne, which, on this particular evening, was in the hands of a small man of plebeian appearance, sitting alone in a basket chair.
Reppington and Bretherton nodded their way forward. “Evening, Granger.” “Evening, Barker.” “Evening, Jagger,” and then in an audible undertone Bretherton inquired, “Who’s the chap in the corner with La Vie?”
“Name of Brooks. Petrol or something.”
“Ah.”
“Pink gin?”
“Ah.”
“What sort of day?”
“Bad show, rather. Trouble about draining the cricket field. No subsoil.”
“Ah. Bad show.”
Thomas Kinkade New Horizons painting
Thomas Kinkade New Horizons paintingThomas Kinkade Mountain Paradise paintingThomas Kinkade Mountain Memories painting
morning dictating letters to everyone he could think of; they began—“Please forgive me for dictating this, but I am so busy just now that I have little time for personal correspondence ...” Miss Dawkins sat deferentially over her pad. He gave her Sylvia’s number. Simon emerged into the now deserted studio. On three sides of him, to the height of twelve feet, rose in appalling completeness the marble walls of the scene-restaurant; at his elbow a bottle of imitation champagne still stood in its pail of melted ice; above and beyond extended the vast gloom of rafters and ceiling.
“Fact,” said Simon to himself, “the
“Will you get on to this number and present my compliments to Miss Lennox and ask her to luncheon at Espinoza’s ... And book a table for two there at one forty-five.”
“Darling,” said Sylvia, when they met, “why were you out all yesterday and who was that voice this morning?”
morning dictating letters to everyone he could think of; they began—“Please forgive me for dictating this, but I am so busy just now that I have little time for personal correspondence ...” Miss Dawkins sat deferentially over her pad. He gave her Sylvia’s number. Simon emerged into the now deserted studio. On three sides of him, to the height of twelve feet, rose in appalling completeness the marble walls of the scene-restaurant; at his elbow a bottle of imitation champagne still stood in its pail of melted ice; above and beyond extended the vast gloom of rafters and ceiling.
“Fact,” said Simon to himself, “the
“Will you get on to this number and present my compliments to Miss Lennox and ask her to luncheon at Espinoza’s ... And book a table for two there at one forty-five.”
“Darling,” said Sylvia, when they met, “why were you out all yesterday and who was that voice this morning?”
2008年9月16日星期二
Thomas Kinkade almost heaven painting
Thomas Kinkade almost heaven paintingThomas Kinkade A Peaceful Retreat paintingJohn Collier Lady Godiva painting
is, if he even knew of its existence; it was folded crudely and inserted between two random pages, as though in haste. Quite possibly it is the work of some crank or cynic among Stoker Giles's contemporaries; indeed, the typescript languished unguarded so long on my desk, the "Posttape" might even be some former colleague's idea of a practical joke.phenomena whose existence is never previously alluded to, such as airplanes and comicbooks; and his references to nickels, dimes, and pennies, for example, seem flatly discrepant with the economic system of New Tammany implied by the rest of the chronicle -- and so important to an understanding of the Boundary Dispute. It may be objected by ingenious apologists that in one instance a reference of this sort is preceded
In any case, one ought not to take it seriously. Consider the internal evidence against its authenticity: in the "Post-tape" the "Grand Tutor" puts quotation-marks around such terms as "My Ladyship" and "Lady Creamhair," a practice followed nowhere else in the manuscript; also around "Revised New Syllabus" and "Gilesianism" -- as if he had grown contemptuous of the terms! More revealingly, he mentions technological and cultural
is, if he even knew of its existence; it was folded crudely and inserted between two random pages, as though in haste. Quite possibly it is the work of some crank or cynic among Stoker Giles's contemporaries; indeed, the typescript languished unguarded so long on my desk, the "Posttape" might even be some former colleague's idea of a practical joke.phenomena whose existence is never previously alluded to, such as airplanes and comicbooks; and his references to nickels, dimes, and pennies, for example, seem flatly discrepant with the economic system of New Tammany implied by the rest of the chronicle -- and so important to an understanding of the Boundary Dispute. It may be objected by ingenious apologists that in one instance a reference of this sort is preceded
In any case, one ought not to take it seriously. Consider the internal evidence against its authenticity: in the "Post-tape" the "Grand Tutor" puts quotation-marks around such terms as "My Ladyship" and "Lady Creamhair," a practice followed nowhere else in the manuscript; also around "Revised New Syllabus" and "Gilesianism" -- as if he had grown contemptuous of the terms! More revealingly, he mentions technological and cultural
2008年9月14日星期日
Edmund Blair Leighton Edmund Blair Leighton Off painting
Edmund Blair Leighton Edmund Blair Leighton Off paintingFrancois Boucher The Marquise de Pompadour paintingFrancois Boucher Nude on a Sofa painting
so could re-place it! Things had to be lost before they could be found, broken before they could be fixed, infirm before they could be well, opaque before they could be clear -- in short, failed before they could be passed! True, I could not at once discern how this remarkable insight quite applied to Ending the Boundary Dispute, which I'd not begun; nor had I truly "fixed" the Clock I'd broken, for example, or seen to my satisfaction through My Ladyship -- but these doubts were nothing, shadows cast by the very brilliance of my illumination; I ignored them. Failurewas Passage! No past fiasco, no present triumph; the spring made possible the fall!
"Well, hum," Mother said, going to the console. "Founder's Scroll, is it? Is that the title?"
"Yes'm.Founder's Scroll."
Still flustered by my kiss, she fiddled with her hairpins and the switches of the CACAFILE. ". . .o-l-l,"she murmured, pressing buttons. "Who did you say the author was, dear?"
I hesitated. "The Founder."
She did not: ". . .n-d-e-r.No first name?"
"Just one name, Mother."
The CACAFILE seemed to purr at her touch. "Please step into the next room," she
so could re-place it! Things had to be lost before they could be found, broken before they could be fixed, infirm before they could be well, opaque before they could be clear -- in short, failed before they could be passed! True, I could not at once discern how this remarkable insight quite applied to Ending the Boundary Dispute, which I'd not begun; nor had I truly "fixed" the Clock I'd broken, for example, or seen to my satisfaction through My Ladyship -- but these doubts were nothing, shadows cast by the very brilliance of my illumination; I ignored them. Failurewas Passage! No past fiasco, no present triumph; the spring made possible the fall!
"Well, hum," Mother said, going to the console. "Founder's Scroll, is it? Is that the title?"
"Yes'm.Founder's Scroll."
Still flustered by my kiss, she fiddled with her hairpins and the switches of the CACAFILE. ". . .o-l-l,"she murmured, pressing buttons. "Who did you say the author was, dear?"
I hesitated. "The Founder."
She did not: ". . .n-d-e-r.No first name?"
"Just one name, Mother."
The CACAFILE seemed to purr at her touch. "Please step into the next room," she
2008年9月11日星期四
Thomas Kinkade London
Thomas Kinkade LondonThomas Kinkade Lombard StreetLight of Freedom
Rexford should sober up and go "back where he belongs." As for Anastasia, she might breed a barnful of billy-goat bastards for all he cared.
Leonid said flatly: "He cares."
"Yep," said Greene. "Anybody can see that."
Stoker responded with a jeer. "So there they sit, Goat-Boy: two blind bats! Are they passed or failed?"
Affecting as the grim tale was despite its teller's sarcasm, and shocking the bloody sight of my former cellmates, I listened and looked without comment, if no longer without emotion. Yet it wasn't pity I felt, or terror, not even responsibility for their present wretchedness. Stoker's question had been mine since early on in his narrative, and had absorbed me entirely well before he asked it, fetching me from apathy into the intensest concentration of my . Indeed, my spirit was seized: it was notI concentrating, but something concentrating upon me, taking me over, like the spasms of defecation or labor-pains. Leonid Andreich and Peter Greene -- their estates were rather the occasion than the object of this concentration, whose real substance was the fundamental contradictions
Rexford should sober up and go "back where he belongs." As for Anastasia, she might breed a barnful of billy-goat bastards for all he cared.
Leonid said flatly: "He cares."
"Yep," said Greene. "Anybody can see that."
Stoker responded with a jeer. "So there they sit, Goat-Boy: two blind bats! Are they passed or failed?"
Affecting as the grim tale was despite its teller's sarcasm, and shocking the bloody sight of my former cellmates, I listened and looked without comment, if no longer without emotion. Yet it wasn't pity I felt, or terror, not even responsibility for their present wretchedness. Stoker's question had been mine since early on in his narrative, and had absorbed me entirely well before he asked it, fetching me from apathy into the intensest concentration of my . Indeed, my spirit was seized: it was notI concentrating, but something concentrating upon me, taking me over, like the spasms of defecation or labor-pains. Leonid Andreich and Peter Greene -- their estates were rather the occasion than the object of this concentration, whose real substance was the fundamental contradictions
2008年9月10日星期三
Igor V.Babailov paintings
Igor V.Babailov paintings
John Collier paintings
Jose Royo paintings
love, until she'd carried out my new directive. She kissed my mouth.
"Can't I start with You?"
Though her heat was real, taking the initiative was plainly an effort for her, and her attempts to provoke my ardor rather cooled than fired it.
"I do want to know you carnally too," I said, "but not until you've serviced your husband and Bray, at least. . ."
"I don'twant them." On her knees upon the cushion now, she would assert herself further, draw my face into her bosom, offer her navel to my nose -- all which I craved, detumescent as I was. Speaking with difficulty
"Excuse me for acting so crazy, George," she said. "You see how hard it is for me to be aggressive." She sat down and smoothed her skirt. "If You get EATen, I'll get EATen too. I'm going with You."
"No."
She smiled firmly. "Yes I am. If I can't
John Collier paintings
Jose Royo paintings
love, until she'd carried out my new directive. She kissed my mouth.
"Can't I start with You?"
Though her heat was real, taking the initiative was plainly an effort for her, and her attempts to provoke my ardor rather cooled than fired it.
"I do want to know you carnally too," I said, "but not until you've serviced your husband and Bray, at least. . ."
"I don'twant them." On her knees upon the cushion now, she would assert herself further, draw my face into her bosom, offer her navel to my nose -- all which I craved, detumescent as I was. Speaking with difficulty
"Excuse me for acting so crazy, George," she said. "You see how hard it is for me to be aggressive." She sat down and smoothed her skirt. "If You get EATen, I'll get EATen too. I'm going with You."
"No."
She smiled firmly. "Yes I am. If I can't
2008年9月8日星期一
John Singleton Copley paintings
John Singleton Copley paintings
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida paintings
Joseph Mallord William Turner paintings
creature who crossed her fancy or her path -- male or female, human or hound-dog, even animate or inanimate. All discrimination must go by the board.
She shook her head. "That's flunkèd!"
"Failure is Passage," I reminded her. She objected no more, but admitted tearfully that Dr. Sear had just finished telling her the very same thing, apropos of "the Peter Greene business," and though she'd understood it from him no more clearly than from me, even when he applied my reasoning to his own case, she guessed she had no choice but to acknowledge her stupidity and try to obey without understanding, repugnant as was the notion of such lewdness. I asked what of or with Greene she meant, as she seemed not to be alluding to the spring-term rape -- and also how my advice to her had applied to Dr. Sear, for while I was pleased to see he saw my point about her "charity" and the need to invert my former Tutoring, I had not myself considered what ought to be his new prescription. By way of answer, she locked the hall-door and bade me come
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida paintings
Joseph Mallord William Turner paintings
creature who crossed her fancy or her path -- male or female, human or hound-dog, even animate or inanimate. All discrimination must go by the board.
She shook her head. "That's flunkèd!"
"Failure is Passage," I reminded her. She objected no more, but admitted tearfully that Dr. Sear had just finished telling her the very same thing, apropos of "the Peter Greene business," and though she'd understood it from him no more clearly than from me, even when he applied my reasoning to his own case, she guessed she had no choice but to acknowledge her stupidity and try to obey without understanding, repugnant as was the notion of such lewdness. I asked what of or with Greene she meant, as she seemed not to be alluding to the spring-term rape -- and also how my advice to her had applied to Dr. Sear, for while I was pleased to see he saw my point about her "charity" and the need to invert my former Tutoring, I had not myself considered what ought to be his new prescription. By way of answer, she locked the hall-door and bade me come
2008年9月5日星期五
Edwin Lord Weeks paintings
Edwin Lord Weeks paintings
Frida Kahlo paintings
Frederick Carl Frieseke paintings
considerableresourcefulness ,and elements of the military -- the New Tammany ROTC -- had long since instructed it to advise them how they might best defend it (and its bailiwick) against all adversaries. Under the pretext therefore of developing a more efficient means of communicating with its extremities, the creature disclosed one day to Max Spielman that a certain sort of energy given off during its normal activity -- what Max called "brainwaves" -- was theoretically capable of being intensified almost limitlessly, at the same amplitudes and frequencies as human "brainwaves," like a searchlight over tremendous spaces. The military-application was obvious: in great secret the brute and its handlers perfected a technique they called Electroencephalic Amplification and Transmission -- "The better," Professor-General Hector had warned the Bonifacists, "to EAT you with."
"It was an awful race we were in," Max said unhappily. "The WESCAC doesn't just live in NTC, you know: there's some WESCAC in the head of every student that ever was
Frida Kahlo paintings
Frederick Carl Frieseke paintings
considerableresourcefulness ,and elements of the military -- the New Tammany ROTC -- had long since instructed it to advise them how they might best defend it (and its bailiwick) against all adversaries. Under the pretext therefore of developing a more efficient means of communicating with its extremities, the creature disclosed one day to Max Spielman that a certain sort of energy given off during its normal activity -- what Max called "brainwaves" -- was theoretically capable of being intensified almost limitlessly, at the same amplitudes and frequencies as human "brainwaves," like a searchlight over tremendous spaces. The military-application was obvious: in great secret the brute and its handlers perfected a technique they called Electroencephalic Amplification and Transmission -- "The better," Professor-General Hector had warned the Bonifacists, "to EAT you with."
"It was an awful race we were in," Max said unhappily. "The WESCAC doesn't just live in NTC, you know: there's some WESCAC in the head of every student that ever was
2008年9月4日星期四
Mountain Paradise
Mountain ParadiseMountain MemoriesFootprints in the sand
false first Tutoring. Frustrate, I hugged her whom I could not leave, and she bade me comfortably: "Never mind Pass and Fail. Hug your mother."
Commencèd dame! I laughed and groaned at once. There in a word was the Way: Embrace! What I had bid my Tutees shuck -- false lines in their pictures of themselves, which Bray in his wisdom had Certified -- I saw now to be unshuckable: nay, unreal, because falsely distinguished from their contraries.Failure is passage: Stoker had said wiselier than he knew that dire March morning; had spoken truth, and thus had lured me to my error -- that distinction of Passage and Failure from which depended all my subsequent mistakes. Even him I'd failed, then, by his own dark lights, inasmuch as the receipt for flunkage I'd laid on him, opposite of my other counsels, was perforce the one true Passage-Way. Embrace!
When at last My Ladyship and Stoker returned, he skulking long-faced as she nagged, I hurried to embrace them both at once. Stoker grunted; Anastasia was as unbending as a herdsman's crook. When I bussed at her she turned her cheek; I let go her husband and kissed her full in the mouth, pricked with desire for the first time
false first Tutoring. Frustrate, I hugged her whom I could not leave, and she bade me comfortably: "Never mind Pass and Fail. Hug your mother."
Commencèd dame! I laughed and groaned at once. There in a word was the Way: Embrace! What I had bid my Tutees shuck -- false lines in their pictures of themselves, which Bray in his wisdom had Certified -- I saw now to be unshuckable: nay, unreal, because falsely distinguished from their contraries.Failure is passage: Stoker had said wiselier than he knew that dire March morning; had spoken truth, and thus had lured me to my error -- that distinction of Passage and Failure from which depended all my subsequent mistakes. Even him I'd failed, then, by his own dark lights, inasmuch as the receipt for flunkage I'd laid on him, opposite of my other counsels, was perforce the one true Passage-Way. Embrace!
When at last My Ladyship and Stoker returned, he skulking long-faced as she nagged, I hurried to embrace them both at once. Stoker grunted; Anastasia was as unbending as a herdsman's crook. When I bussed at her she turned her cheek; I let go her husband and kissed her full in the mouth, pricked with desire for the first time
2008年9月2日星期二
Fabian Perez valerie painting
Fabian Perez valerie paintingFabian Perez monica paintingJohannes Vermeer Girl with a Pearl Earring painting
mental ability.
"G. Herrold, pass him!"
Bray clicked sympathetically. "Afraid I never met the chap."
On card number five, in reply to a question Bray had put about Anastasia's relation to the GILES, WESCAC disclaimed any knowledge one way or the other of multiple or serial impregnations of Virginia Hector; but on the sixth it confirmed Dr. Eierkopf's earlier hypothesis that no female sibling, even a twin, could be the GILES, eitheralso orinstead; that possibility was precluded by both the Cum Laude program and the fact that twins of different sexes are not genetically identical.
"That's enough," I declared. "Open the Belly."
"One more," Bray said, and handed me a card which WESCAC produced without his pulling the lever. As if he knew its message already (though he'd not apparently read it), he added, "Most important of all, eh?"
The card made three plain statements: that the GILES was a true Grand Tutorin posse; that WESCAC could discern Him upon scanning, and had
mental ability.
"G. Herrold, pass him!"
Bray clicked sympathetically. "Afraid I never met the chap."
On card number five, in reply to a question Bray had put about Anastasia's relation to the GILES, WESCAC disclaimed any knowledge one way or the other of multiple or serial impregnations of Virginia Hector; but on the sixth it confirmed Dr. Eierkopf's earlier hypothesis that no female sibling, even a twin, could be the GILES, eitheralso orinstead; that possibility was precluded by both the Cum Laude program and the fact that twins of different sexes are not genetically identical.
"That's enough," I declared. "Open the Belly."
"One more," Bray said, and handed me a card which WESCAC produced without his pulling the lever. As if he knew its message already (though he'd not apparently read it), he added, "Most important of all, eh?"
The card made three plain statements: that the GILES was a true Grand Tutorin posse; that WESCAC could discern Him upon scanning, and had
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