Sunday, August 31, 2008

John William Waterhouse Echo and Narcissus painting

John William Waterhouse Echo and Narcissus paintingJohn William Waterhouse The Lady of Shalott paintingLeonardo da Vinci The Last Supper painting
We gained the lift, went down, and met the same scene in the lobby, magnified. "Give us the Goat, the Goat, the Goat!" they cried, and though a few seemed more in carnival-spirits than in murderous -- linking arms with their lady girls and lifting emblazoned steins -- the most looked dangerous enough. A half-circle of riot-officers held them from the lift-doors as a man in a neat woolen suit explained our intention through a megaphone.
"Please remain orderly," he implored them. "Surely you don't want to injure the Grand Tutor, and you can't tell which is which. They're going to the Belly now; you'll see the results at the rear exit. Please remain orderly, and do be careful with fire. . ."
I was startled to recognize the voice, and then the face, as Maurice Stoker's. Anastasia's report notwithstanding, it was difficult to believe that this tidy, bare-chinned chap -- whom I now saw full on, quietly exhorting one of his men to remain calm in the face of the mob's provocation -- was not some pallid, obverse twin of the Power-Plant Director. The crowd paid little heed except to jeer him, and threatened at any moment to breach the line of guards who but the day before would have had at them with bayonets and cattle-prods. Yet Stoker delayed us for anxious seconds between the elevator we'd left and the one we sought, a few doors down.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

John William Godward Dolce far niente painting

John William Godward Dolce far niente paintingJohn William Waterhouse Miranda - The Tempest paintingJohn William Waterhouse Gather ye rosebuds while ye may painting
possibly be serious, yet was chilled to realize that he was. "Would you push the EAT-button yourself?"
We were at the entrance to a crowded reception-chamber; many heads turned at our approach. Classmate X covered his face with his hat when photographic lamps began flashing.
"To be the agent of the general will," he asserted through the felt, "is an honor exceeded only by being its instrument. If the will of the Union is that the button be pressed, then the one thing better than being the presser the painful memory that he had confessed to the contrary, and affirmed to me his confession. So instead, with an aching throat, I briefly rehearsed my objections to the Studentglared, even counseled him (so I gathered from their expressions) to ignore me; but he shook his head, as slightly as he had shrugged earlier, and permitted me to overtake them.
"Dr. Spielman'sprotégé ,"he murmured with the faintest of smiles. "No use trying to Graduateus, Classmate Goat-Boy: until everyone can pass, we won't believe in Passage. Too bad your Dr. Spielman's turned mid-percentile -- he used to have more sense."
His accent, I noticed, was very slight, and closer to Max's, for example, than to any Nikolayan's I had heard. I asked whether

Friday, August 29, 2008

Thomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS painting

Thomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS paintingWinslow Homer The Houses of Parliament paintingWinslow Homer The Gulf Stream painting
was indicating to the guard his wish to return to his cell.
"Max," I pleaded, "I need advice, and I want to get you out of here, and all you can think about is your old suffering. That's selfish!"
For just a moment his irritating calm gave way, and I heard him say,"Ach, I hate it too." Then the guard led him out and Stoker came around to fetch me.
"Didn't I tell you?"
"It's your doing as much as Bray's, I'll bet," I said."Passèd are the flunked! What kind of an idea is that?"
He shook his head sympathetically. "Isn't it a scream? You and I, George -- we're the only ones who see what a phony Bray is. He's even Certifiedme!" From his jacket pocket he drew the inevitable sheepskin, on which over Bray's signature was, as always, a quotation from the Founder's Scroll -- in this case,Verily the railer against Me shall fetch himself in fury to My feet, while the light yea-sayer standeth off a respectful way. Presume, if ye would Pass.
"Doesn't that beat all?"
I turned away. "You're no Candidate."
Stoker laughed and herded me to the lift. "Of course I'm not! I'm the flunkèdest flunker on campus! So Bray's a fake, right? Or else" -- he swatted me in the back -- "only the flunkèd are really passed, hey? And the passèd are all flunked

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Georges Seurat Sunday Afternoon on the Island of la Grande Jatte painting

Georges Seurat Sunday Afternoon on the Island of la Grande Jatte paintingWilliam Blake Songs of Innocence paintingVincent van Gogh Red vineyards painting
Unhappily, my wife is subject to spells of uncontrolled behavior," he went on to say: "She came here this morning in the condition you see, and I was attempting to calm her by radiation-shock when you interrupted. I trust your discretion."
I assured him he might depend on me not to tell tales out of school. Dr. Sear shook his head. "Treatment didn't work, I'm afraid."
"Balls!" called Hedwig. Not sufficiently conversant with modern literature to have mastered obscene slang, I nonetheless guessed by , she scrambled at me on all fours like a crippled doe.
"No, now, Hed!" her husband chided. I retreated a step, but Dr. Sear restrained me with a look of whimsical despair.
"Indulge her for a second, would you, old boy? There's a good chap."
I stood nonplussed while the woman knelt before me.
"I wish she'd be less indiscreet," her husband sighed. "But if you

Bill Brauer The Gold Dress painting

Bill Brauer The Gold Dress paintingUnknown Artist Pink Floyd Back Catalogue paintingClaude Monet Water Lilies painting
One growled, "Sure we will."
"No police brutality, Jake," the other cautioned, and said to me more pleasantly as each took an elbow: "We'llall see the Chancellor soon, bud. First we got to get some nice clothes on, don't we?"
"I'm okay," I declared. Following Max's advice I reminded them that I had done the unexampled in passing the Trial-by-Turnstile and was therefore a fully matriculated Candidate -- not for any paltry Certification of Proficiency but for bonafide Graduation -- who ought to be ushered at once into the Chancellor's presence.
"Sure you are," the first guard said. "Wouldn't surprise me if you was the Grand Tutor Himself. Come along nice, there won't be no brutality."
"Fact is," said the other, more cordially, "everybody comes through the Gate has got to be okayed by the Office before he registers. Ain't that so, Jake?"
Jake agreed it was, adding that without Dr. Sear's stamp on the Matric Card (as the ID-card was called after formal admission) not even a Harold Bray could schedule

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Francois Boucher Brown Odalisk painting

Francois Boucher Brown Odalisk paintingFrancois Boucher Are They Thinking About the Grap paintingFrancois Boucher An Autumn Pastoral painting
were interesting if not always agreeable. His contempt for Max was milder than at first it appeared, and had to do not with my keeper's intellectual and scientific accomplishment, which he quite respected, but with his concern for non-scientifical campus problems and his general secular-studentism -- all which Eierkopf dismissed irritatedly as "beside the point." Mildly too he admitted to a few inclinations of his own in the administrative-policy way: he rather thought, for example, that a rotating commission of experts from the various sciences could run the University more harmoniously and efficiently than could the law-school, political-types who customarily inhabited Tower Hall. He seconded without abash the idea of "preventive riot": it was EAT or be EATen, he placidly declared (confessing that the acronym nauseated him), and New Tammany would be well advised to EAT the Nikolayans at once, without warning, both to simplify the political situation and to protect herself from destruction at the hands of an enemy who surely would not scruple to attack by stealth. At the matter of the Moishian genocaust he merely shrugged his narrow shoulders: riot was riot; the Siegfrieders had been cut off from

John Singer Sargent A Morning Walk lady painting

John Singer Sargent A Morning Walk lady paintingJohn Singer Sargent The Entrance to the Grand Canal Venice paintingJohn Singer Sargent The Breakfast Table painting
are a witty fellow," he replied, and excused himself at Croaker's summons to watch a co-ed undress in her darkened room a quarter-mile away. "But you are confusing malevolence with malificence." He spoke from the side of his mouth. "I like watching people in the night-glass; that may be naughty-minded, but it doesn't hurt anybody." As for his affliation with the Bonifacist riot-effort and his later work on EAT-weaponry and the Cum Laude Project, it was not the fault either of himself or of that men used the fruits of his research for flunkèd purposes; he was but a toiler in the field, an explorer of nature's possibilities; his sole allegiance was to his work; he had no interest in interrivalries -- petty, to his mind, even if they led to the destruction of the University. No, he declared, the evil on campus was done not by disengaged intelligences like his, which amused themselves between prodigious intellectual feats by spying on naked sophomore girls with an infra-red telescope; it was done by principled people like Max Spielman, who prided themselves

Salvador Dali Figure on the Rocks painting

Salvador Dali Figure on the Rocks paintingSalvador Dali Dali Nude in Contemplation Before the Five Regular Bodies paintingSalvador Dali Asummpta Corpuscularia Lapislazulina painting
appeared to wink. "She was quite a fetching person in those days. . . I myself used to wish sometimes that I were ed like other men, for her sake. . . But bah! I never was one-tenth the fool that Spielman was, with his flunking Compassion, and his Honor, and his Dignity of Studentdom! Scratch a liberal Moishian, Goat-Boy: you'll find a sentimentalist, every time."
Croaker made to refill my stein, leaving his vigil at the night-glass for the purpose. At first I declined, declaring to Dr. Eierkopf my resolve to go to Main Detention and do what I could towards Max's release. But he assured me that nothing could be done that night in any case -- even telephoned a Main-Detention office on my behalf to confirm the fact -- and that despite Maurice Stoker's unsavory reputation, the New Tammany judicial system was, in the main, fair.
"If Max didn't kill Hermann, they're not likely to convict him," he insisted. "If he did -- as I suspect -- there'll be a great deal of sentiment in his favor anyhow."
I asked him what, if not general malevolence, led him to believe that

Monday, August 25, 2008

Albert Moore Idyll painting

Albert Moore Idyll paintingAlbert Moore Garden paintingAlbert Moore Apples painting
nothing for want of such rigor as had been his lot.
"I run away from home at the age of fourteen," he said proudly. "Not that it was much of a Home, with Paw a-drinkin' and Maw forever a-layin' the Good Book on me." The actual nature and location of his birthplace I could not discern: sometimes it appeared to have been the meanest hovel, sometimes a place of ancient grandeur. In any case he'd abandoned it, his parents, his patrimony and hied him into wilderness departments, to live off the land. His motives, as he characterized them, were praiseworthy: the pursuit of independence and escape from the debilitating influence of corrupt tradition. "My folks and me, we come to a fork in the road," he said: "they had their notions and I had mine, that's everything there was to it."
But Max questioned this assertion. "Yes, well, the way I read once, you were hooky-playing from school always,ja? And making trouble till they ran you out?"
Greene reckoned cheerfully that he'd made his share of mischief now and again, and acknowledged further that on his voyage into the wild, in amade vessel, he'd been accompanied by another fugitive, a Frumentian from a South-Quad chain-

Unknown Artist Persian woman pouring wine painting

Unknown Artist Persian woman pouring wine paintingAlbert Moore Shells paintingAlbert Moore Midsummer painting
From this I inferred that in her youth Mrs. Greene had been some sort of pedagogue in the wilder reaches of the NTC Forestry Preserve, and that it was the idiom of that place and tune into which her mate now slipped as he recalled it.
"I was a wild 'un back then," he confessed with a grin. "No flannel pants inthem days! And no time for lallygaggin' round no drive-ins, like young 'uns in this Present Modern Today."
He seemed now altogether scornful of the students roundabout, whom he'd lately been praising. About his own childhood I found him similarly of two minds, declaring on the one hand his intention to see to it that his children enjoyed all the privileges himself had never known, and on the other that the modern generation was plumb spoilt by the luxuries of in present-day NTC and would amount

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Edmund Blair Leighton The End of The Song painting

Edmund Blair Leighton The End of The Song paintingFrank Dicksee Romeo and Juliet paintingJohn Singleton Copley Watson and the Shark painting
!"they cried behind.
As if responding to my note the horns or the orchestra began a grand chorale, its measured chords resounding in all my nerves. Anastasia was before me, led onto the dais by the Sears; we regarded each other with brimming eyes. Mrs. Sear hugged my arm and declared, "Well,I believe in him." Her tone was petulant, as if to scold Anastasia. "I think he's cute."sonorities. Imperious, austere, nobly suffering, they spoke both to and for me. Even as I slipped the shophar's lanyard over my head, a red bulb lighted in the tassel of the pull-cord.
"Ready!" cried one of the guards.
But now the floodlights dimmed and the waiting party murmured as on the far wall a great screen glowed, blinked hugely, and focused into a picture: a single shaft, like a
"We've almost got you a convert," Dr. Sear said lightly. "I told her that belief has to come before believability, but it must not sound convincing whenIsay it."
I shook off their hands. The horns took up my pain and gave it back

Salvador Dali Les Elephants painting

Salvador Dali Les Elephants paintingMark Rothko Orange and Yellow paintingWassily Kandinsky Improvisation painting
came a shatter of glass, a mild oath, and a woman's short laugh quickly shushed. But I was full of the sight of G. Herrold where he lay, arms folded now. The buckhorn, as ever, was in his hand; one dead eye was wide and the other shut, and his mouth was ajar as if to draw breath for bugling. The orchestra paused (I heard Anastasia behind me saying No, impossible, she'd die of shame even if Iwere ),then wound into a dirge:

The echo of the final chord caught Dr. Sear's voice still pitched loud. ". . . can't beproved ," he was asserting; then he went on quickly in an audible whisper: "It's not the kind of thing youreason about, my dear: you believe it or you don't."
Stoker poked me in the side and advised me to "make it short" lest Croaker interrupt the ceremonies. While I pronounced Words of Passage over the body, he declared, he would turn on the closed-circuit Telerama, as was his wont at the end of a Spring-Carnival party, so that the assemblage could watch the Sunrise Service on Founder's

Fabian Perez Valencia painting

Fabian Perez Valencia paintingFabian Perez Sophia paintingFabian Perez Man in Black Suit painting
could even dothat! " Dr. Sear affirmed. There was some excitement in his voice.
"Anything at all," Stoker laughed. "This one has it all over Enos Enoch."
"No, really, Maurice, it's actually a rather profound idea. . ."
"Kiss her, George!" Mrs. Sear commanded.
Anastasia frowned. "Don't, Heddy!" But I kissed her lips at once -- marvelous they were, and marvelously pliant her whole body in my arms. It was by way of being my first full experience of human embrace, in its passionate form (a thing unknown in the herd), and the pleasure of it set me afire. I heard cheers from Stoker and others; Mrs. Sear it must have been who stroked our hair and necks as we kissed, and her husband murmured approval.
"Beautiful, beautiful. Figures on a vase."
With my hand in the small of her back I pressed her to my standing wrappered organ. She broke off the kiss then, but put her brow against my chin and said, "Think what you'redoing!"
"A Bride of Enos," Dr. Sear remarked suddenly.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Francois Boucher The Toilet of Venus painting

Francois Boucher The Toilet of Venus paintingFrancois Boucher Madame de Pompadour paintingFrancois Boucher Adoration of the Shepherds painting
missing one. But my sharp attention to what he said did not retard me.
"So we blew and we blew; two times tonight we did; and just when G. Herrold took his breath to blow the one last time -- what did you hear, my boy?"
"There was a different sound," I said. "It wasn't our horn."
"It was the EAT-whistle!" Max cried. "I never thought till then how it wouldn't mean nothing you should answer to the buckhorn anyhow. But the EAT-whistle, that they blow it from the Power Plant for riot-drills -- that's what fetched you! It's just right!"
Privately I wondered how Max accounted, since his change of mind, for the element of Dunce and Dean o' Flunks in me, which themselves had been discovered by his experimenting. I chose not to ask, but felt compelled at least to observe that I had waked already and was prepared to set out before I'd heard the stranger sound.
"That's okay!" Max insisted. "But what if it wasn't okay? Suppose I said it proves you're only George the Goat-Boy, let's turn ?"
As I could think of no reply, I walked on without comment.

John Singer Sargent El Jaleo painting

John Singer Sargent El Jaleo paintingRembrandt Susanna and the Elders paintingRembrandt History Painting painting
which it could be presumed only that I was the offspring of someone high in the administration; the irregularity of my birth, which had so seemed a threat to someone that an attempt had been made on my life; the consequent injury to my legs; the circumstances of my rescue, and my being raised by a foster parent in a foster-Hom, disguised as an animal and bearing a name not my own -- these and other details corresponded to what Max had found true of scores of hero-histories. On the other hand none seemed unambiguous or conclusive, at least not to one who all his had been skeptical of heroship. Even if it could be verified that my mother and father were close blood-relatives; that I'd been conceived in a thunderstorm and born in a cave; that rumor had it I was not my father's son; or that my would-be assassin was either my father or my mother's father -- still nothing followed necessarily. As Max put it: "Not every dumbhead with a scar is a bonafide hero."
To settle his doubts in the matter (that is, to prove to himself that my claims were mere boyish ambition) he had instructed G. Herrold on a certain night to blow a certain call upon the horn: if I had waked and asked what was the matter, as Max anticipated, my claim

Rene Magritte The Blank Check painting

Rene Magritte The Blank Check paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema In the Tepidarium paintingGeorges Seurat Sunday Afternoon on the Island of la Grande Jatte painting
that had waked me. But I saw a riddling seriousness in the question -- it had the air more of a sentry's challenge than a query -- and at the same moment I understood that twice before in recent nights it was the sound of our actual shophar which had figured in my dreams.
"It's time I matriculated," I said.
"You know what you're going to do, do you?"
"I'll know once I get there."
"So." All this while Max stood before me, straining close to see my face in the dim light. "And you know the way? It's not easy."
"I'll find it," I declared.
"Ja, well. But come on back now, G. Herrold fixes you a box-lunch and packs some things. Wait till daylight, you can see your way better."
But I declined, observing the hour was already late, too late almost, and that as for food and extra clothing, I could not be burdened with them. Truly I was impatient to be off: if he would accept hasty, heartfelt thanks for all he'd done for me -- and

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Gustav Klimt Hope painting

Gustav Klimt Hope paintingClaude Monet The Seine At Argenteuil paintingClaude Monet The Picnic painting
So let your namesake carry you," Max suggested. And when I was fetched up in the black man's arms he said, "Now wait: I do something important." He wet his fingers at the running fountain. "When the Enochists name a child," he said soberly, "they take it to a Founder's hall and spritz some special water on its head; and they say a thing likeDear Founder please drive out the old goat from this kid, and keep the Dean o' Flunks off him, and help him pass the Finals and sit with you and Enos Enoch on Founder's Hill for ever andever. Well, so, this is just good drinking-water here, and instead of a Founder's hall we got a library. With a crazySchwarzer for your Founder-father and a tired old Moishian for your chaplain. So this won't be a regular Enochizing; what you might say, I'm going toMaximize you."
So saying he declared to the empty stacks: "This kid he's not a goat any more, but a human student. Let suffering make him smart, that's all I care." His voice rose: "By all the Grand Tutors, true ones and fakes, that ever made students miserable; by everything that suffers -- Moishians andSchwarzers and billygoats and the whole flunking student body -- I dub you onceGeorge, you should Pass All Fail All."

Pino Angelica painting

Pino Angelica paintingPablo Picasso Le Moulin de la Galette paintingPablo Picasso Gertrude Stein painting
do, Max? I'm going to find out where WESCAC's den is, and I'll say, 'Where's my mother and father? What have you done with them?' And he'd better give me the right answer, or by George I'll eathim up!"
Max shook his head happily. "Such talk!"
Perhaps thinking I'd referred to him, George Herrold struck up his favorite warning: "It's WESCAC'll EAT you if you don't watch out. . ."
"You'll see!" I gaily promised.
Max let go me and furrowed his brow. "Say now, Billy! I just thought something!"
He was struck with wonder that a certain question had not occurred to him until that instant -- one which well might have long since to any auditor of this history. But as it had required him fourteen years to think of it, so seven more were to pass before ever it got asked -- and I fear it has not been answered to this day. I cut him off at the mention of my name.
"NotBilly any more! Billy Bocksfuss is dead in the goat-pens." The latter words

Albert Bierstadt Sacramento River Valley painting

Albert Bierstadt Sacramento River Valley paintingAlbert Bierstadt The Mountain Brook paintingAlbert Bierstadt Bridal Veil Falls Yosemite painting
the way they'd shunned me when I smelt of soap. Rather, they were wary but not displeased, as if a randy buck had come upon them. I noted with satisfaction that pretty Hedda seemed especially flustered. She snorted when I stroked her ears; speaking softly I made bold to touch one speckled teat, never yet swollen with the charge of motherhood, and she danced away -- but not far, and looked back wide-eyed over her shoulder. Max laughed with me, and hesitantly squeezed my arm. He had not slept either, it appeared; but in his face was much relief.
"So," he said. "You made your mind up?"
"Almost," I replied. "There's something I want to do first." Then I added quickly, for his old eyes clouded: "But I'm all right, Max. I'll know in a little while."
He nodded. "That's so; I see that. Well, well. . ." As if to calm himself he began explaining that the herd would remain in the pound until dinnertime, as he had work to do in the Livestock Branch of the Library, just across the Road. He was currently engaged with several notions in the field of applied cyclology, his own invention; perhaps I too would

Juarez Machado Art Deco Evening painting

Juarez Machado Art Deco Evening paintingPhilip Craig Boboli Gardens - Florence paintingWassily Kandinsky Dominant Curve painting
but thescreen . . . the flunkingscreen . . .it's alwaysthere. And when youtry . . . to breakthrough it. . . you're justaffirming . . . that it'sthere ."
"Oh my!"
He paused. "Where I part company with the Ismists, though, is when they say our only choice is to accept the screen, and give up hope of ever knowing things absolutely. You'll have to readFootnotes to Sakhyan one of these days -- it's the Syllabus of Beism, you know. . ."
"Don't talk!" his nan cried.
"Sure. You've got it exactly. You've got to sayflunk that screen, andflunk True and False. Flunk all!"
"Flunkme, Harry! I know I'm going to shout. . ."
"It's no good asking whatis - -"
"Shut up! Shut up!"
"-- you've got tobe, Chickie!Be! Be! "
Beyond any question then they Were, locked past discourse in their odd embrace. And I was fetched with them to the verge ofBeing; I who neither was nor was not, my blood and bones they shuddered tobecome!

Salvador Dali Mirage painting

Salvador Dali Mirage paintingSalvador Dali Metamorphosis of Narcissus paintingSalvador Dali Melting Watch painting
percentile morality. "The worst thing about that old prudery -- flunk that button! What I was saying, it made everybody soafraid of their desires - -"
"Wait, Harry," she complained. "I don't think. . . Honestly, now --"
"No," he charged, "you don't think honestly. None of us does, till we learn to be as natural about our bodies as -- asgoats are. These co-eds that deny their instincts in the name of some dark old lie like Final Examinations -- they're the ones that keep the Psych Clinic busy. Here we go."
"Please!" The girl tried to sit up now; there was a note of alarm in her protest. But her companion drew her down.
"Chickie, wecommunicated, you know? I thought you had a real feeling for the Pre-Schoolists!"
She tossed her head. "I do, I swear!"

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

William Bouguereau The Wasp's Nest painting

William Bouguereau The Wasp's Nest paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Nymphaeum paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Nut Gatherers painting
There's a South Pole," said Christopher Robin, "and I expect there's an East Pole and a West Pole, though people don't like talking about them." Pooh was very excited when he heard this, and suggested that they should have an Expotition to discover the East Pole, but Christopher Robin had thought of something else to do with Kanga; so Pooh went out to discover the East Pole by himself. Whether he discovered it or not, I forget; but he was so tired when he got Home that, in the very middle of his supper, after he had been eating for little more than half-an-hour, he fell fast asleep in his chair, and slept and slept and slept. Then suddenly he was dreaming. He was at the East Pole, and it was a very cold pole with the coldest sort of snow and ice all over it. He had found a bee-hive to sleep in, but there wasn't room for his legs, so he had left them outside. And Wild Woozles, such as inhabit the East Pole, came and nibbled all the fur off his legs to make Nests for their Young. And the more they nibbled, the colder his legs got, until suddenly he woke up with an Ow!--and there he was, sitting in his chair with his feet in the water, and water all round him! He splashed to his door and looked out....

Rembrandt The Polish Rider painting

Rembrandt The Polish Rider paintingRembrandt The Sacrifice of Abraham paintingJohn Singer Sargent A Morning Walk painting
For it was rather exciting. The little dry ditches in which Piglet had nosed about so often had become streams, the little streams across which he had splashed were rivers, and the river, between whose steep banks they had played so happily, had sprawled out of its own bed and was taking up so much room everywhere, that Piglet was beginning to wonder whether it would be coming into his bed soon. "It's a little Anxious," he said to himself, "to be a Very Small Animal Entirely Surrounded by Water. Christopher Robin and Pooh could escape by Climbing Trees, and Kanga could escape by Jumping, and Rabbit could escape by Burrowing, and Owl could escape by Flying, and Eeyore could escape by--by Making a Loud Noise Until Rescued, and here am I, surrounded by water and I can't do anything." It went on raining, and every day the water got a little higher, until now it was nearly up to Piglet's window . . . and still he hadn't done anything. "There's Pooh," he thought to himself. "Pooh hasn't much Brain, but he

Monday, August 18, 2008

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Beaching the Boat (study) painting

Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Beaching the Boat (study) paintingJoseph Mallord William Turner Dido Building Carthage paintingJoseph Mallord William Turner Chichester Canal painting
drink itself, I haven't the faintest idea." He took up the incantation again, even more softly, while the skull complained bitterly that it couldn't see or hear anything. Molly said something quiet and hopeful to the Lady Amalthea, who neither looked at her nor replied.
The chant stopped abruptly, and Schmendrick raised the flask to his lips. He sniffed at it first, muttering, "Weak, weak, hardly any bouquet at all. Nobody ever made good wine by magic." Then he tilted it to drink — then shook it, then stared at it; and then, with a small, horrible smile, turned it over. Nothing ran out, nothing at all.No, wait — hey, don't!" The skull's clattering voice protested so wildly that Schmendrick halted before the flask left his hand. He and Molly turned together to regard the skull, which — so great was its anguish — had actually begun to wriggle where it hung, cracking its weathered occiput hard against the pillar as it strove to free itself. "Don't do that!" it wailed. "You people must be crazy, throwing away wine like that. Give it to me if you don't want it, but don't throw it away!" It rocked and lurched on the pillar, whimpering.
A dreamy, wondering look
"That's done it," Schmendrick said almost cheerfully. He touched a dry tongue to his dry lips and repeated, "That's done it, that has finally done it." Still smiling, he lifted the flask again to hurl it across the hall.

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
litttle timidly, Molly Grue asked, "If you are truly on guard here, why don't you give the alarm? Why do you offer to help us, instead of summoning the men-at-arms?"
The skull gave a rattling chuckle. "I've been up on this pillar a lon dead," said the skull. "I'm dead, and I'm hanging in the dark watching over Haggard's property. The only small amusement I have is to irk and exasperate the living, and I don't get much chance of that. It's a sad loss, mine was a particularly exasperating nature. You'll pardon me, I'm sure, if I indulge myself with you a little. Try me tomorrow. Maybe I'll tell you tomorrow."g time," it said. "I was Haggard's chief henchman once, until he smote off my head for no reason. That was back in the days when he was being wicked to see if that was what he really liked to do. It wasn't, but he thought he might as well get some use out of my head, so he stuck it up here to serve as his sentinel. Under the circumstances, I'm not as loyal to King Haggard as I The skull's long yellow jaws never moved, but it was some time before the mean laughter chattered to a halt. Even the hurrying night things paused for a moment, stranded in their candy light, until it stopped.

Andrea del Sarto The Sacrifice of Abraham painting

Andrea del Sarto The Sacrifice of Abraham paintingAndrea del Sarto Madonna of the Harpies paintingSalvador Dali Apparition of the Town of Delft painting
Schmendrick muttered something curt and professional. For a moment nothing happened, but then a strange, sallow brightness began to spread over the floor, scattering itself about the room in a thousand scurrying shards that shone and squeaked. The little night beasts of the castle were glowing like fireflies. They darted here and there in the hall, raising swift shadows with their sickly light and making the darkness even colder than before.for a long time, nodding slowly and making solemn sounds to himself. Molly Grue stared with equal earnestness, but she glanced often at the Lady Amalthea. At last Schmendrick said, "All right. Don't stand so close."
"Are there really spells
"I wish you hadn't done that," Molly said. "Can you turn them off again? The purple ones, anyway, with the—with the legs, I guess."
"No, I can't," Schmendrick answered crossly. "Be quiet. Where's the skull?"
The Lady Amalthea could see it grinning from a pillar, lemon-small in the shadows and dim as the morning moon, but she said nothing. She had not spoken since she came down from the tower.
"There," the magician said. He strode to the skull and peered into its split and crumbling

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A Harvest Festival painting

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A Harvest Festival paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A coign of vantage paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema Caracalla and Geta painting
The room was suddenly very still, and in the beery light the faces of the townsfolk looked as tight and pale as cheese. Schmendrick laughed again. "A blessing, you mean. In this bony kingdom of old Haggard's, you are like another land altogether—a spring, an oasis. I agree with you that there's enchantment here, but I drink to it."
Drinn stopped him as he raised his glass. "Not that toast, my friend. Will you drink to a woe fifty years old? It is that long since our sorrow fell, when King Haggard built his castle by the sea."
"When the witch built it, I think." Schmendrick wagged a finger at him. "Credit where it's due, after all."
"Ah, you know that story," Drinn said. "Then you must also know that Haggard refused to pay the witch when her task was completed."
The magician nodded. "Aye, and she cursed him for his greed—cursed the castle, rather. But what had that to do with Hagsgate? The town had done the witch no wrong."
"No," Drinn replied. "But neither had it done her any good. She could not unmake the castle—or would not, for she fancied herself an artistic sort and boasted that her work was years ahead of its time. Anyway, she came to the elders of Hagsgate and demanded that they force Haggard to

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Unknown Artist Brent Lynch Cigar Bar painting

Unknown Artist Brent Lynch Cigar Bar paintingUnknown Artist Paris Eiffel Tower paintingRene Magritte The Son of Man painting
said nothing. Beyond the town, darker than the dark, King Haggard's castle teetered like a lunatic on stilts, and beyond the castle the sea slid. The scent of the Red
Bull moved in the living, Schmendrick said, "The good people must all be indoors, counting their blessings. I'll hail them."
He stepped forward and threw back his cloak, but he had not yet opened his mouth when a hard voice said out of the air, "Save your breath, stranger, while you have it." Four men sprang from behind the hedge. Two of them set their swords at Schmendrick's throat, while another guarded Molly with a pair of pistols. The fourth approached the unicorn to seize her mane; but she reared up, shining fiercely, and he jumped away.
"Your name!" the man who had first spoken demanded of Schmendrick. He was middle-aged or more, as were they all, dressed in fine, dull clothing.
"Gick," said the magician, because of the swords.
"Gick," mused the man with the pistols. "An alien name."
"Naturally," the first man said. "All names are alien in Hagsgate. Well, Mr. Gick," he went on, lowering his sword slightly to the point where Schmendrick's collarbones converged, "if you and Mrs. Gick would kindly tell us what brings you skulking here—"
Schmendrick found his voice at that. "I hardly know the woman!" he roared.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

William Bouguereau Cupid and Psyche as Children painting

William Bouguereau Cupid and Psyche as Children paintingWilliam Bouguereau Young Gypsies paintingWilliam Bouguereau Charity painting
This time, Rukh did not tell the story of King Phineus and the Argonauts; indeed, he hurried his sightseers past the harpy's cage as quickly as he could, gabbling only her name and the meaning of it. The harpy smiled. Nobody saw her smile except the unicorn, and she wished that she had chanced to be looking somewhere else at the time.
When they stood in front of her cage, gazing silently in at her, the unicorn thought bitterly, Their eyes are so sad. How much sadder would they be, I wonder, if the spell that disguises me dissolved and they were left staring at a common white mare? The witch is right—not one would know me. But then a soft voice, rather like the voice of Schmendrick the Magician, said inside her, But their eyes are so sad.
And when Rukh shrieked, "Behold the Very End!" and the black hangings slithered back to reveal Elli, mumbling in the cold and the darkness, the unicorn felt the same helpless fear of growing old that set the crowd to flight, even though she knew that it was only Mommy Fortuna in the cage. She thought, The witch knows more than she knows she knows

Lord Frederick Leighton Nude on the Beach painting

Lord Frederick Leighton Nude on the Beach paintingLord Frederick Leighton Leighton Idyll paintingLord Frederick Leighton The Painter's Honeymoon painting
on me before," the unicorn said. She shivered long and deep. "There has never been a world in which I was not known."
"I know exactly how you feel," Schmendrick said eagerly. The unicorn looked at him out of dark, endless eyes, and he smiled nervously and looked at his hands. "It's a rare man who is taken for what he truly is," he said. "There is much misjudgment in the world. Now I knew you for a unicorn
when I first saw you, and I know that I am your friend. Yet you take me for a clown, or a clod, or a betrayer, and so must I be if you see me so. The magic on you is only magic and will vanish as soon as you are free, but the enchantment of error that you put on me I must wear forever in your eyes. We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream. Still I have read, or heard it sung, that unicorns when time was young, could tell the difference 'twixt the two—the false shining and the true, the lips' laugh and the heart's rue." His quiet voice lifted as the sky grew lighter, and for a moment the unicorn could not hear the bars whining, or the soft ringing of the harpy's wings.
"I think you are my friend," she said. "Will you help me?"
"If not you, no one," the magician answered. "You are my

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Claude Monet The River Bennecourt painting

Claude Monet The River Bennecourt paintingClaude Monet The Petite Bras of the Seine at Argenteuil paintingClaude Monet The House on the River Zaan in Zaandam painting
soon as they are settled, they begin building again, often cannibalising stones or bricks from the "houses" a previous generation left on the site. Popular gathering sites are marked by dozens or hundreds of solidly built miniature ruins, populated only by the joint-legged gikoto of the marshes or the little ratlike hikiqi of the desert.
No such ruins have been found in areas where the Aq lived before the Daqo conquest. Evidently their propensity to build was less strong, or didn't exist, before the conquest, or before the crash.
Two or three years after their ceremonies of adolescence some of the young people, those who went on building "houses" until they reached puberty, will go on their first stone faring.
A stone faring sets out once a year from the Aq territories. The complete journey takes from two to three years, after which the travelers return to their natal village for five or six years. Some Aq never go stone faring, others go once, some go several or many times in their
The route of the stone farings is to the coast of Riqim

Claude Monet The Tuileries painting

Claude Monet The Tuileries paintingClaude Monet The Seine at Rouen I paintingClaude Monet The Seine at Asnieres painting
At about two and a half or three years old, Aq babies begin building. Whatever comes into their little greeny-bronze hands that can possibly serve as a block or brick they pile up into "houses." The Aq use the same word for these miniature structures as for the fragile cane-and-canvas domes they live in, but there is no resemblance except that both are roofed enclosures with a door. The children's "houses" are rectangular, flat-roofed, and always made of solid, heavy materials. They are not imitations of Daqo houses, or only at a very great remove, since most of these children have never been to a Daqo town, never seen a Daqo building.
It is hard to believe that they imitate one another with such unanimity that they never vary the plan; but it is even harder to believe that their building style, like that of insects, is innate.

Claude Monet Zaandam painting

Claude Monet Zaandam paintingClaude Monet Woman under the Willows paintingClaude Monet Woman Sitting in a Garden painting
The Daqo attempted to use the Aq as slaves for domestic or factory work but failed. It seems the Aq, though unaggres-sive, do not take orders. During the height of the EEPT the most expansive Daqo nations pursued a policy of slaughtering the "primitive" and "unteachable" Aq in the name of progress. Settlers of the equatorial zone pushed the remnant Aq populations farther south yet, into the deserts and the barely habitable canebrakes of the coast.
All species on Qoq, except a few pests and the insuperable and indifferent bacteria, suffered badly during and after the Daqo EEPT. In the final ecocatastrophe, the Daqo population dropped by four billion in four decades. The species has survived, living on a modest scale, vastly reduced in numbers and more interested in survival than dominion.
As for the Aq, probably very few, perhaps only hundreds, survived the rapid destruction and final ruin of the planet's.

Steve Hanks View from the Balcony painting

Steve Hanks View from the Balcony paintingSteve Hanks Silver Strand paintingSteve Hanks Holding the Family Together painting
every time she gets the chance. Since she lives in rural South Carolina and has a daughter in San Diego and a son in Minneapolis, she gets the chance fairly often, so long as she makes sure to change planes at the right places: the major Texas airports, Denver, and Salt Lake City. Her son and daughter expect her to visit them sometime in August, because that's when she likes to do her Christmas shopping, and again perhaps in early December, when she panics about things she didn't buy in August.
"I just get right into the spirit just thinking about Christmas Island!" she says. "Oh, it is just such a happy place! And the prices are really just as low as Wal-Mart, and a much better selection."
Mild and sunny as the climate is said to be, all the windows of the shops and stores in Noёl City, Yuleville, and O Little Town are rimed with frost, the sills heaped with eternal snow, the frames garlanded with fir and holly. Bells ring continuous peals from dozens of spires and steeples. Cousin Sulie

Eric Wallis Dressing in White painting

Eric Wallis Dressing in White paintingRaphael Madonna and Child with Book paintingWassily Kandinsky Color Study of Squares painting
Nor do I have any wish to visit the plane; but Cousin Sulie has been going there for several years. She was on the way there when she told me about it, and in response to my request she kindly brought me back a whole tote bag full of flyers, brochures, and promotional materials, from which I compiled this description. There is a Web site, though its address seems to change without notice.
Any history of the place has to be mere guesswork. Going by the dates on the brochures, it is not more than ten years old. I imagine a scenario of its origin: a bunch of businessmen are delayed at a Texas airport, and get to talking in that bar where first-class and business-class persons can go but other persons cannot. One of the men suggests they all try out Sita Dulip's Method. Through inexperience or bravado they find themselves not on one of the popular tourist planes but on one not even listed in Roman's Handy Guide. And they find it, in their view, virgin: unexplored, undeveloped, a Third World plane just waiting for the wizardry of the entrepreneur, the magic touch of exploitation.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot paintings

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot paintings
James Childs paintings
John Singleton Copley paintings
Asonu, believe that their group singing is an element of a sacred occasion, and certainly an art, a festive communal act, and a pleasurable release of feeling, but no more. What is sacred to them remains in silence.
The little children call people by r words, mother, uncle, clan sister, friend, etc. If the Asonu have names, we do not know them.
About ten years ago a zealous believer in the Secret Wisdom of the Asonu kidnapped a child of four from one of the mountain clans in the dead of winter. He had obtained a zoo collector's permit, and smuggled her back to our plane in an animal cage marked ANAMANU. Believing that the Asonu enforce silence on their children, his plan was to encourage the little girl to keep talking as she grew up. When adult, he thought, she would thus be able to speak the innate Wisdom which her people would have obliged her to keep secret

Ivan Constantinovich Aivazovsky paintings

Ivan Constantinovich Aivazovsky paintings
Il'ya Repin paintings
Igor V.Babailov paintings
other groups. Their pasturing , following the great flocks of anamanu which furnish them wool, leather, milk, and meat, leads them on a ceaseless seasonal nomadic circuit within a vast shared territory of mountains and foothills. Families frequently leave their groups to go wandering and visiting. At the great festivals and ceremonies of healing and renewal many groups come together for days or weeks, exchanging hospitality. No hostile relations between groups are apparent, and in fact no observer has reported seeing adult Asonu fight or quarrel. Arguments clearly are out of the question.
Children from two to six years old chatter to each other constantly; they argue, wrangle, bicker, quarrel, and sometimes come to blows. As they reach six or seven they begin to speak less and quarrel less. By the time they are eight or nine most of them are very shy of words and reluctant to answer a question except by gesture. They have learned to quietly evade inquiring tourists and linguists with not and recording devices. By adolescence they are as silent and as peaceable as the adults.
Children between eight and twelve do most of the looking after the younger

Friday, August 8, 2008

Alphonse Maria Mucha Dance painting

Alphonse Maria Mucha Dance paintingMichelangelo Buonarroti Crucifix paintingMichelangelo Buonarroti Creation of Adam detail painting
One who has read the preceding wishes to know why I have said nothing concerning the woman's shock when the man has a failure and is compelled to withdraw.
Perhaps it would be well to consider this, for it is quite true that in some cases the woman feels nervously shocked when the man has to suddenly stop everything and come away. Indeed, in some cases she becomes furiously angry and upbraids him bitterly, and in others is sullen, or cold, or dully depressed. She may have backache, or headache as a consequence.jhj
But the thing all should know is that many women never feel this way at all, but accept the man's failure with a tender amiability and sympathy for him, and carry the

Amedeo Modigliani Red Nude painting

Amedeo Modigliani Red Nude paintingAmedeo Modigliani Landscape paintingAmedeo Modigliani Caryatid 1 painting
ordinary orgasmal embrace, for the man to have an orgasm in a few moments and depart, leaving the woman entirely unsatisfied in every way. The ordinary husband-and-wife embrace, anyway, is purely sexual, and based on his demand to get rid of a surplus. There is little or no thought to make it esthetic or affectional - it is merely animal. If the husband stays long enougBut what happens in Karezza? Here, if she really loves her partner, her whole nature is attuned to his, in delicious docility, expectation and rapport. Every nerve vibrates in sweet gratitude and response to his touch. There is a marvelously sweet blending and reconciliation of the voluptuous and the spiritual that satisfies both her body and her soul at once and makes her exquisitely sensitive to everything poetic or esthetic in his acts. In this state, when interrelation h and excites his wife sufficiently to have an orgasm, then she has a gushing out of fluids that relieves the congestion brought on by his approaches, and on the physical plane, at least, she is relieved and satisfied, the same as he. If not, "she remains dry." Her moisture or dryness, then, are a pretty good index of her physical satisfaction and relief of congestion, or the reverse.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Gustav Klimt two girls with an oleander painting

Gustav Klimt two girls with an oleander paintingGustav Klimt Fir Forest paintingRaphael Deposition of Christ painting
agree," said Professor McGonagall. "And in any case, it is not true to say that Dumbledore never envisaged a situation in which Hogwarts might close. When the Chamber of Secrets reopened he considered the closure of the school - and I must say that Professor Dumbledore's murder is more disturbing to me than the idea of Slytherin's monster living undetected in the bowels of the castle. . . ."
"We must consult the governors," said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice; he had a large bruise on his forehead but seemed otherwise unscathed by his collapse in Snape's office. "We must follow the established procedures. A decision should not be made hastily."
"Hagrid, you haven't said anything," said Professor McGonagall. "What are your views, ought Hogwarts to remain open?"

Steve Hanks Reflecting painting

Steve Hanks Reflecting paintingGuan zeju Reflecting paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Song of the Angels painting
Professor Dumbledore never told me to stop following his orders if he died." But -
"There's one thing you should know before the Ministry gets here, though. Madam Rosmerta's under the Imperius Curse, she was helping Malfoy and the Death Eaters, that's how the necklace and the poisoned mead -"
"Rosmerta?" said Professor McGonagall incredulously, but before she could go on, there was a knock on the door behind them and Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Slughorn traipsed into the room, followed by Hagrid, who was still weeping copiously, his huge frame trembling with grief
"Snape!" ejaculated Slughorn, who looked the most shaken, pale and sweating. "Snape! I taught him! I thought I knew him!"
But before any of them could respond to this, a sharp voice spoke from high on the wall: A sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe had just walked back into his empty canvas. "Minerva, the Minister will be here within seconds, he has just Disapparated from the Ministry."

John Collier Lilith painting

John Collier Lilith paintingJohn Collier In the Venusberg Tannhauser painting
. . . I've done it, Professor," he choked. "M-moved him. Professor Sprout's got the kids back in bed. Professor Flitwick's lyin down, but he says he'll be all righ' in a jiffy, an' Professor Slughorn says the Ministry's bin informed."
"Thank you, Hagrid," said Professor McGonagall, standing up at once and turning to look at the group around Bill's bed. "I shall have to see the Ministry when they get here. Hagrid, please tell the Heads of Houses - Slughorn can represent Slytherin - that I want to see them in my office forthwith. I would like you to join us too."
As Hagrid nodded, turned, and shuffled out of the room again, she looked down at Harry. "Before I meet them I would like a quick word with you, Harry. If you'll come with me. ..."
Harry stood up, murmured "See you in a bit" to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, and followed Professor

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Salvador Dali Les trois sphinx de bikini painting

Salvador Dali Les trois sphinx de bikini paintingSalvador Dali Figure at a Window painting
Look shar
p, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect.. ."
"Sir, I wanted to ask you something." -' "Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away. . . ."
"Sir, I wondered what you know about. . . about Horcruxes?'
Slughorn stared at him, his thick ringers absentmindedly clawing the stem of his wine glass.
"Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"
But Harry could tell that Slughorn knew perfectly well that this was not schoolwork.
"Not exactly, sir," said Riddle. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."
"No . . . well. . . you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," said Slughorn.

Gustav Klimt Beethoven Frieze painting

Gustav Klimt Beethoven Frieze paintingGustav Klimt Apple Tree II painting
Sir — I've got it. I’ve got the memory from Slughorn."
Harry pulled out the tiny glass bottle and showed it to Dumbledore. For a moment or two, the headmaster looked stunned. Then his face split in a wide smile.
"Harry, this is spectacular news! Very well done indeed! I knew you could do it!"
All thought of the lateness of the hour apparently forgotten, he hurried around his desk, took the bottle with Slughorn's memory in his uninjured hand, and strode over to the cabinet where he kepi the Pensieve.
"And now," said Dumbledore, placing the stone basin upon the desk and emptying the contents of the bottle into it. "Now, at last. we shall see. Harry, quickly . . ."

Gustav Klimt Portrait of Adele Bloch (gold foil) painting

Gustav Klimt Portrait of Adele Bloch (gold foil) paintingGustav Klimt Judith II (gold foil) painting
That's the way it is," said the Fat Lady. "If you're angry, go and take it up with the headmaster, he's the one who's tightened security."
"Fantastic," said Harry bitterly, looking around at the hard floor. "Really brilliant. Yeah, I would go and take it up with Dumbledore if he was here, because he's the one who wanted me to —"
"He is here," said a voice behind Harry. "Professor Dumbledore returned to the school an hour ago."
Nearly Headless Nick was gliding toward Harry, his head wob-bling as usual upon his ruff.
"I had it from the Bloody Baron, who saw him arrive," said Nick. "He appeared, according to the Baron, to be in good spirits, though a little tired, of course."
"Where is he?" said Harry, his heart leaping,”
"Oh, groaning and clanking up on the Astronomy Tower, it's a, favorite pastime of his —"
"Not the Bloody Baron — Dumbledore!"

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

William Blake Los painting

William Blake Los paintingWilliam Blake Jacob's Ladder painting
moving across the room as if of their own volition, though he knew the tiny elf was holding them over her head as she wended her way between tables, ***pouffes, and footstools.
"Now," said Hepzibah happily, taking the boxes from the elf, laying them in her lap, and preparing to open the topmost one, "I think you'll like this, Tom. . . . Oh, if my family knew I was showing you. . . . They can't wait to get their hands on this!"
She opened the lid. Harry edged forward a little to get a better view and saw what looked like a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles.
"I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!" whispered Hepzibah, and Voldemort stretched out a long-fingered hand and lifted the cup by one handle out of its snug silken wrappings. Harry thought he saw a red gleam in his dark eyes. His greedy expression was curiously mirrored on Hepzibah’s face, except that her tiny eyes were fixed upon Voldemort's handsome features.

Paul Gauguin Hail Mary painting

Paul Gauguin Hail Mary paintingGeorges Seurat The Circus painting
The house-elf returned within minutes, followed by a tall young man Harry had no difficulty whatsoever in recognizing as Voldemort. He was plainly dressed in a black suit; his hair was a little longer than it had been at school and his cheeks were hollowed, but all of this suited him; he looked more handsome than ever. He picked his way through the cramped room with an air that showed he had visited many times before and bowed low over Hepzibah's fat little hand, brushing it with his lips.
"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere.
"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" squealed old Hepzibah, though Harry noticed that she had an empty vase standing ready on the nearest little table. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom. ... Sit down, sit down. . . . Where's Hokey? Ah ..."

Paul Gauguin The Yellow Christ painting

Paul Gauguin The Yellow Christ paintingPaul Gauguin The Vision After the Sermon painting
Voldemort went off to Borgin and Burkes, and all the staff who had admired him said what a waste it was, a brilliant young wizard like that, working in a shop. However, Voldemort was no mere assistant. Polite and handsome and clever, he was soon given particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specializes, as you know, Harry, in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Voldemort was sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and he was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this."
"I'll bet he was," said Harry, unable to contain himself.
"Well, quite," said Dumbledore, with a faint smile. "And now it is time to hear from Hokey the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith."
Dumbledore tapped a bottle with his wand, the cork flew out, and he tipped the swirling memory into the Pensieve, saying as he did so, "After you, Harry."

Monday, August 4, 2008

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

Salvador Dali Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a Pomegranate paintingSalvador Dali Bacchanale painting
Harry Potter, I am simply delighted!" said Worple, peering shortsightedly up into Harry's face. "I was saying to Professor Slughorn only the other day, 'Where is the biography of Harry Potter for which we have all been waiting?'"
"Er," said Harry, "were you?"
"Just as modest as Horace described!" said Worple. "But seri-ously" — his manner changed; it became suddenly Businesslike — "I would be delighted to write it myself— people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four- or five-hour sessions, why, we could have the book finished within months. And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you — ask Sanguini here if it isn't quite — Sanguini, stay here!" added Worple, suddenly stern, for the vampire had been edging toward the nearby group of girls, a rather hungry look in his eye. "Here, have a pasty," said Worple, seizing one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini's hand before turning his attention back to Harry. "My dear boy, the gold you could make, you have no idea —"

Salvador Dali Mirage painting

Salvador Dali Paysage aux papillons (Landscape with Butterflies) paintingSalvador Dali Mirage painting
"Rufus Scrimgeour?" asked Luna.
"I - what?" said Harry, disconcerted. "You mean the Minister of Magic?"
"Yes, he's a vampire," said Luna matter-of-factly. "Father wrote a very long article about it when Scrimgeour first took over from Cornelius Fudge, but he was forced not to publish by somebody from the Ministry. Obviously, they didn't want the truth to get out!"
Harry, who thought it most unlikely that Rufus Scrimgeour was a vampire, but who was used to Luna repeating her father's bizarre views as though they were fact, did not reply; they were already approaching Slughorn's office and the sounds of laughter, music, and loud conversation were growing louder with every step they took.

Gustav Klimt Hygieia (II) painting

Gustav Klimt Hygieia (II) paintingGustav Klimt Goldfish (detail) painting
Hi," said Harry, "How're you? You're staying at Hogwarts, then? I heard your parents wanted you to leave."
"I managed to talk them out o f it for the time being," said Parvati. "That Katie thing really freaked them out, but as there hasn't been anything since... Oh, hi, Hermione!"
Parvati positively beamed. Harry could tell that she was feeling guilty for having laughed at Hermione in Transfiguration. He looked around and saw that Hermione was beaming back, if possible even more brightly. Girls were very strange sometimes.
"Hi, Parvati!" said Hermione, ignoring Ron and Lavender completely. "Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?"
"No invite," said Parvati gloomily. "I'd love to go, though, it sounds like it's going to be really good... You're going, aren't you?"
"Yes, I'm meeting Cormac at eight, and we're -"
There was a noise like a plunger being withdrawn from a blocked sink , and Ron surfaced. Hermione acted as though she had not seen or heard anything.

Friday, August 1, 2008

Amedeo Modigliani the Reclining Nude painting

Amedeo Modigliani the Reclining Nude paintingAmedeo Modigliani Seated Nude paintingAmedeo Modigliani Red Nude painting
That's right," said Hermione. "Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but —"
"Quite enough chat over here!" said Professor Sprout briskly, bustling over and looking stern. "You're lagging behind, everybody else has started, and Neville's already got his first pod!"
They looked around; sure enough, there sat Neville with a bloody lip and several nasty scratches along the side of his face, but clutching an unpleasantly pulsating green object about the size of a grapefruit.
"Okay, Professor, we're starting now!" said Ron, adding quietly, when she had turned away again, "should ve used Muffliato, Harry."
"No, we shouldn't!" said Hermione at once, looking, as she always did, intensely cross at the thought of the Half-Blood Prince and his spells. "Well, come on ... we'd better get going. ..."
She gave the other two an apprehensive look; they all took deep breaths and then dived at the gnarled stump between them.

Thomas Kinkade Boston painting

Thomas Kinkade Boston paintingPeter Paul Rubens Rape of the Daughters of Leucippus paintingWinslow Homer Gloucester Harbor painting
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.
"Yes, Harry?" said Dumbledore, for Harry had come to a halt.
"The ring's gone," said Harry, looking around. "But I thought I you might have the mouth organ or something."
Dumbledore beamed at him, peering over the top of his halfw moon spectacles.
"Very astute, Harry, but the mouth organ was only ever a mouth organ."
And on that enigmatic note he waved to Harry, who understood himself to be dismissed.

Gustav Klimt Adam and Eve painting

Gustav Klimt Adam and Eve paintingFrederic Remington The Cowboy paintingFrederic Remington Against the Sunset painting
typical of young wizards: He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. The little stories of the strangled rabbit and the young boy and girl he lured into a cave were most suggestive. . . . 'I can make them hurt if I want to. . . .'"
"And he was a Parselmouth," interjected Harry.
"Yes, indeed; a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know, there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact, his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination.
"Time is making fools of us again," said Dumbledore, indicating the dark sky beyond the windows. "But before we part, I want to draw your attention to certain features of the scene we have just witnessed, for they have a great bearing on the matters we shall be discussing in future meetings