Guillaume Seignac paintings

Guillaume Seignac paintings
George Owen Wynne Apperley paintings
Gustave Courbet paintings
about eleven, I saw from my window the Warden’s side door open and Poxe come out, radiantly cheerful. I called him into my room, and he told me of what had happened. It must certainly have been a cheering interview for Poxe.
He had gone to see the Warden with all the trepidation that should befit a young nobleman suddenly confronted with the prospect of being hanged. The old man had been seated on one side of the table with the Dean next to him. Poxe had been asked to sit down. The Warden had begun:
“I have asked you to come and see me, Lord Poxe, in what for both of us, I think, and certainly for me, is a very bitter occasion. Last night, when in a state of intoxication, as you will perhaps have been informed, you entered the room of your tutor, Mr. Curtis, and stabbed him to death. I suppose that you do not deny this?”
Poxe was silent.
“It was a foolish act, Lord Poxe, an act of wanton foolishness, but I do not

Julius LeBlanc Stewart paintings

Julius LeBlanc Stewart paintings
Jeffrey T.Larson paintings
Jean-Paul Laurens paintings
he’s first spare man isn’t he?”
They had both made a decision which they knew quite well would be disastrous but now neither could withdraw. Stewart, who had a great sense for the dramatic, went straight to the house board and crossed himself off the head of the list in a breathless silence.
The news spread round the House and then round the school with Oriental speed. The out-houses were openly exultant, the House sullen. Why, they asked, should they lose a cup, just because the bloods quarrelled. They split up into factions and argued incessantly. Ross had missed the House trials in the last two years & no one knew his capabilities as a runner, but he immediately began to train rigorously, and people soon saw that he meant to win the house the cup without Stewart, who watching with the appreciation of the connoisseur, saw that he was a very fine runner. The house settled down to watch the five mile as the settling of the feud.
Stewart, very repentant, came down in a great coat to watch the finish

Wassily Kandinsky Composition VIII painting

Wassily Kandinsky Composition VIII paintingVincent van Gogh The Bedroom paintingVincent van Gogh Reaper painting
There are no contemporary portraits of Bellorius still extant. In their absence some sharp had been done in the Ministry of Rest and Culture. The figure now so frankly brought to view had lain long years in a mason’s yard. It had been commissioned in an age of free enterprise for the tomb of a commercial magnate whose estate, on his death, had proved to be illusory. It was not Bellorius; it was not the fraudulent merchant prince; it was not even unambiguously male; it was scarcely human; it represented perhaps one of the virtues.
Scott-King stood aghast at the outrage he had unwittingly committed on that gracious square. But he had already spoken and his speech had been a success. He had spoken in Latin; he had spoken from the heart. He had said that a torn and embittered world was that day united in dedicating itself to the majestic concept of Bellorius, in rebuilding itself first in Neutralia, then among all the yearning peoples of the West, on the foundations Bellorius had so securely laid. He had said that they were lighting a candle that day which by the Grace of God should never be put out.

Joseph Mallord William Turner Rainbow painting

Joseph Mallord William Turner Rainbow paintingJoseph Mallord William Turner Fishermen at Sea paintingJohn Singer Sargent Venetian Canal painting
just sat on our beds. He looked frightfully bored and said “Must I repeat my instructions?” As the other men were praying we said nothing. Then he said, “I give you one more chance to say your dibs. If you don’t I’ll report you.” We said nothing so off Dirty D. went in his dressing gown to Anderson who was with the other house-captains at hot-air with Graves. Up came Anderson. “What’s all this about your prayers?” “We’ve said them already.” “Why?” “Because Tamplin got a late for taking too long so we thought we’d better start early.” “I see. Well we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” So far nothing has been said. Everyone thinks we shall get beaten but I don’t see how we can be. We are entirely in our rights. Geoghegan has just been round to all four of us to say we are to stay behind after First Evening so I suppose we are going to be beaten.
After First Evening, when the House Room was clear of all save the four and the bell for Hall had died away and ceased, Geoghegan, the head of the house, came in carrying two canes, accompanied by Anderson.
“I am going to beat you for disobeying an order from the head of your dormitory. Have you anything to say?”

Michael Austin Red Dress painting

Michael Austin Red Dress paintingJennifer Garant Wine Peddler paintingJennifer Garant Chef To Go painting
my presence added a particular zest to his performance. Throughout the evening I caught him in constant enquiry of me; was I attending to this parody of himself? I was his audience, not Lucy.
The fate in store for myself was manifest as soon as I came into the room. It was Lucy’s cousin Julia, the younger of the two girls Basil had told me of, the one whose début had been so disturbed by Lucy’s . It would not, I felt, be a grave setback. Julia had that particular kind of succulent charm—bright, dotty, soft, eager, acquiescent, flattering, impudent—that is specially, it seems, produced for the delight of Anglo-Saxon manhood. She had no need of a London season to find a happy future. “Julia is staying with us. She is a great fan of yours,” said Lucy in her Pont Street manner; a manner which, like Roger’s, but much more subtly, had an element of dumb crambo in it. What she said turned out to be true.
“My word, this is exciting,” said Julia, and settled down to enjoy me as though I were a box of chocolates open on her knees.
“What a lot of people Lucy’s got here tonight.”

Claude Monet The Luncheon painting

Claude Monet The Luncheon paintingClaude Monet Terrace at St Adresse paintingClaude Monet Poplars painting
As I expected, I was my father’s sole heir. Besides the house and its contents I inherited £2,000 in an policy which my father had taken out at the time of his and, without my knowledge, kept up ever since. An injunction, in the brief will, to “provide suitably” for the servants in my father’s employment, had already been obeyed. The Jellabys had been given £250. It was clear from my father’s words that he had no conception of what a suitable provision should be. Neither had I, and I was grateful to my uncle for taking responsibility in the matter. For their part the Jellabys had expected nothing. My father, as long ago as I could remember him, was accustomed to talk with relish of his approaching death. I had heard him often admonish Jellaby, “You have joined fortune with a poor man. Make what you can while I still have my faculties. My death will be an occasion for unrelieved lamentation,” and the Jellabys, in the manner of their kind, took his words literally, kept a keen watch on all sources of perquisite, and expected nothing. Jellaby took his cheque, my uncle said, without any demonstration of gratitude or disappointment, murmuring ungraciously that it would come in quite useful. No doubt he thought no thanks were due to my uncle, for it was not his money, nor to my father, for it was no intention of his to give it. It was a last, substantial perquisite.

Jennifer Garant Chef To Go painting

Jennifer Garant Chef To Go paintingJennifer Garant Bathing Lady paintingPedro Alvarez Tango Argentino painting
Getting Tom started, however, proved a matter of some difficulty. During the Death Duty Period, Mrs. Kent-Cumberland had cut herself off from many of her friends. Now she cast round vainly to find someone who would “put Tom into something.” Chartered Accountancy, Chinese Customs, estate agencies, “the City,” were suggested and abandoned. “The trouble is, that he has no particular abilities,” she explained. “He is the sort of boy who would be useful in anything—an all-round man—but, of course, he has no capital.”
August, September, October passed; Gervase was back at Oxford, in able lodgings in the High Street, but Tom remained at without employment. Day by day he and his mother sat down together to luncheon and dinner, and his constant presence was a severe strain on Mrs. Kent-Cumberland’s equability. She herself was always busy and, as she bustled about her duties, it shocked and distracted her to encounter the large figure of her younger son sprawling on the morning room sofa or leaning against the stone parape

Leonardo da Vinci The Last Supper painting

Leonardo da Vinci The Last Supper paintingLeonardo da Vinci Mona Lisa Smile paintingRembrandt The Return of the Prodigal Son painting
what they meant. There was a time when he lived under guard among the Londoners; they fed him on fish and coarse bread and heady, viscous beer; often, in the late afternoon when the work for the day was over, the village women would collect round him in a little circle, watching all his movements with an intent scrutiny; sometimes impatiently (once a squat young matron came up to him and suddenly tweaked his hair) but more often shyly—ready to giggle or take flight at any unusual movement.
This captivity may have lasted many days. He was conscious of restraint and strangeness; nothing else.
Then there was another impression; the coming of the boss. A day of excitement in the village; the arrival of a large mechanically propelled boat, with an awning and a flag; a crew of smart Negroes, all wearing uniforms of leather and fur although it was high summer;

Thomas Gainsborough The Morning Walk painting

Thomas Gainsborough The Morning Walk paintingThomas Gainsborough River Landscape paintingThomas Gainsborough Mr and Mrs Andrews painting
The Goan barman put their drinks before them. Bretherton signed the chit.
“Well, cheerio.”
“Cheerio.”
Mr. Brooks remained riveted upon La Vie Parisienne.
Presently Major Lepperidge came in, and the atmosphere stiffened a little. (He was O.C. of the native levy, seconded from India.)
“Evening, Major,” from civilians. “Good evening, sir,” from the military.
“Evening. Evening. Evening. Phew. Just had a very fast set of lawner with young Kentish. Hot service. Gin and lime. By the way, Bretherton, the cricket field is looking pretty seedy.”
“I know. No subsoil.”
“I say, that’s a bad show. No subsoil. Well, do what you can, there’s a good fellow. It looks terrible. Quite bare and a great lake in the middle.”
The Major took his gin and lime and moved towards a chair; suddenly he saw Mr. Brooks, and his authoritative air softened to unaccustomed amiability. “Why, hallo, Brooks,” he said

Thomas Kinkade Footprints in the sand painting

Thomas Kinkade Footprints in the sand paintingThomas Kinkade Christmas Cottage paintingThomas Kinkade almost heaven painting
other day and blessed if I could understand it. At once I said, ‘What the public wants is Shakespeare with all his beauty of thought and character translated into the language of everyday lifeup, shook himself and smiled pleasantly.
“Nice of you to come,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t see you before. Lots of small things to see to on a job like this. Had dinner?”
“Not yet.”
“Pity. Have to eat, you know. Can’t work at full pressure unless you eat plenty.”
Then Simon and Miss Grits sat down and Sir James explained his plan. “I want, ladies and gentlemen, to introduce Mr. Lent.’ Now Mr. Lent here was the man whose name naturally suggested itself. Many of the most high-class critics have commended Mr. Lent’s dialogue. Now my idea is that Miss Grits here shall act in an advisory capacity, helping with the continuity and the technical

Caravaggio Supper at Emmaus painting

Caravaggio Supper at Emmaus paintingCaravaggio Judith Beheading Holofernes paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Abduction of Psyche painting
ambiguous phrase "in modern terms," which, though it patently means "nowadays," might be said to suggest in addition a translation -- by WESCAC or the Grand Tutor -- of His University into our terms. Indeed, there is a sense in which the same may be said of the entireSyllabus -- of all artistic and pedagogical conceit, for that matter, especially of the parable kind. But suffice it to say, in reply to this objection, that the Grand Tutor seems nowhere else in the vast record of His and teachings to resort to this device -- only in the gloomy "Posttape."
Which brings us to the real proof of its spurious character. Even if none of the above-mentioned discrepancies existed, the hopeless, even nihilistical tone of those closing pages militates against our believing them to be the Grand Tutor's own. Having brought us to the heart of Mystery, "He" suddenly shifts to what can most kindly be called a tragic view of His and of campus history. Where are the joy, the hope, the knowledge, and the confident strength of the man who routed Harold Bray, affirmed the Candidacies of His

Edmund Blair Leighton Edmund Blair Leighton God Speed painting

Edmund Blair Leighton Edmund Blair Leighton God Speed paintingEdmund Blair Leighton The Charity of St paintingEdmund Blair Leighton Edmund Blair Leighton Alain Chartier painting
"Listen carefully, Mom," I said; "Can you call for the Founder's Scroll? I want to put it back in its case." Whatever fugitive notion I'd had earlier concerning this item of my Assignment gave way before a true inspiration: Had not Enos Enoch and a hundred other wayfaring dons of fact and fiction taught, by their own example, that the Way to Commencement Gate led through Nether Campus? Was not my answer,Failure is Passage, but an epigrammatic form of that same truth?Re-place the Founder's Scroll had seemed, in the spring, the simplest and clearest imperative of all, and yet the bafflingest, since the Scroll had not been lost; and my response to it had seemed, even at the time, the most specious of my Tutorhood -- though to be sure they'd all been incorrect. It was fitting, then -- stirringly so! -- that on this round, so to speak, when I'd "solved" the first five problems with a deliberate speciousness, the rule of inversion would hold equally for the sixth, and make my re-placement of the Scroll not only bonafide but profoundly significant. It hadnot been misplaced, that was the point; but it was now, for I had misplaced it last time around -- and

San Francisco Lombard Street

San Francisco Lombard StreetThomas Kinkade NASCAR THUNDERMake a Wish Cottage
that effect -- which he interpreted to mean that Leonid was afraid of what he might see about his alma mater with two good eyes.
"Not so," Leonid here commented from the sidecar. "I meant Mrs. Anastasia, he should see her through my eyes."
"I figured that," Greene said. "And soon's I figured it, I felt the same durn way abouthim, Stacey/Laceywise."
He had tried therefore to pull his cut short, and Leonid to thrust himself upon the glass, but one or both misjudging the distance, the stroke had fallen on Leonid's face instead of his throat, and unfortunately slashed his patchless eye. Whereupon, stricken with remorse, Greene had snatched the vodka-bottle and stabbed out his own.
"The way they bloodied up the Living Room," Stoker said, "you'd have thought it was the Amphitheater!"
He had arrested them both and administered first aid; amnesty or no amnesty, he declared, he was fetching them to Main Detention, where he meant to stay himself until

Juarez Machado paintings

Juarez Machado paintings
Joan Miro paintings
Jean-Honore Fragonard paintings
the Grand Tutor, and what You say must be right. But the reasonwhy I hate the idea is that I love You, George!" She looked at me straight, and took a breath. "I wantYou to make love to me!" more than You do; we hardly know each other. . ."directive), she'd never said "yes," either. With her sex, perhaps, but not with her heart of hearts.
"That's very interesting," I said. "I think I'm getting to know you better already." What she said fit nicely too with my recent advice to her, I pointed out: sayingyes to her classmates was, in effect, what I meant
"What do you mean,love?" I demanded, much unsettled. She asked me shamefacèdly whatI had meant when I'd said I lovedher. "I don't know!" I cried. "The words just came out. I don't even know what it means!" She began to weep. I apologized for hurting her feelings again -- but, flunk it all, I was alarmed, dismayed, I could not myself have said why; titillated of course, and flattered, certainly
I strode about the Treatment

Julien Dupre paintings

Julien Dupre paintings
Julius LeBlanc Stewart paintings
Jeffrey T.Larson paintings
Observation Room. As we passed in front of my mother, that lady caught and kissed my hand, the first indication that she knew I was there, and smiled slyly to herself as always. I kissed her hair, and she put down her knitting to make Enos Enoch's hand-sign on her fallen chest.
"What are you knitting, Mother?" I asked gently, and looked to Anastasia for reply; between her spells of reliving our season in the hemlocks, my poor Lady Creamhair spoke not at all except in confidential whispers to My Ladyship, whom she stayed with constantly, as it seemed.
Anastasia colored. "It's a baby-sweater, George. Mom -- Your mother thinks I'm going to have a baby."
I considered her belly. "Are you?"
"Of course not!"
Mother nodded to the wee blue wrapper. "Bye Baby Billikins."
Anastasia colored further. "Sometimes she thinks it's that WESCAC again, andher that's pregnant."
But my mother resolutely shook her head.

Edward Hopper paintings

Edward Hopper paintings
Edgar Degas paintings
Emile Munier paintings
reasonably be asked. It was at once the and death of studentdom: its food was the entire of the the whole larder of accumulated lore; in return it disgorged masses of new matter -- more, alas, than its subjects ever could digest. . . and so these in turn, like the cud of a cow, became its further nourishment.
As late as Campus Riot II, however, there remained a few men like Max for whom the creature was, if no longer their servant, at least not yet entirely their master, and upon whom it seemed to depend like a giant young brother for the completion of its growth. It was they, under Max's directorship, who taught WESCAC how to EAT. . .
"Imagine a big young buck," Max said: "he's got wonderful muscles, and he knows he could jump the fence and kill your enemies if he just knew how. Not only that: he knows who could teach him! So he finds his keeper and says he needs certain lessons. Then he can jump out of his pen to charge anybody he wants to, you see? Including his teacher. . ."
WESCAC's former handlers, it appeared, had already taught it

Christmas Cottage

Christmas Cottagealmost heavenA Peaceful Retreat
failure. She struck my face -- as I rather expected she might in her recent character -- and I cuffed her in return such an instant smiling square one, to her whole surprise, that she whooped and lost all poise: wet her uniform, and went slack when I hugged her soft again.
"Really, old man," Stoker complained. "My wife, you know. What's come over you?"
Intoned my mother: "A-plus!"
"I've been wrong about everything!" I declared happily. "Never mind! Is Leonid all right?" Before anyone could answer I kissed whimpering Anastasia again -- she was quite glasseyed now and limp -- and might even have mounted her, so full I was of yen and new plans for her passage. But her menses were on her, my buckly nose reported, and pressed, so I forwent lust for exposition. Leonid's drink, Stoker said, was a multipurpose eradicator used by spies in the falsification of credentials and the elimination of either their enemies or themselves, as the case should warrant. It had been pumped out of him in time, and except for a headache, and the delusion that Anastasia

Thomas Kinkade The Rose Garden painting

Thomas Kinkade The Rose Garden paintingCaravaggio Amor Vincit Omnia paintingRaphael Saint George and the Dragon painting
facilities, I gathered, or before I'd presented my ID-card for its inspection) that ithad impregnated Virginia R. Hector twenty-two years past with the Grand-Tutorial Ideal, Laboratory Eugenical Specimen, in accordance with a program-option developed malinoctically by itself. More specifically (this information was delivered us on cards the size of an Amphitheater-ticket, dropped one after another into a cup at the bottom of the console-panel as Bray pulled a lever beside it), the impregnation had been accomplished, stroke per stroke, as Tower Clock tolled midnight on the twenty-first of March of that year. A third card affirmed that WESCAC had PATted the fetus just prior to birth, which occurred two hundred seventy-five days after conception. . .
"Pass All Fail All!"I could not help exclaiming.
"Naturally," Bray said, and pulled the lever again. The fourth card-bearing, like the others, the smiling likeness of Chancellor Rexford on its obverse -- verified not only that the infant GILES had been received into the tapelift but that WESCAC had arranged for a Library employee to rescue the child from its Belly, at the unavoidable sacrifice