Sunday, August 31, 2008

Edward Hopper Nighthawks painting

Edward Hopper Nighthawks paintingFrederic Edwin Church Sunset paintingTitian The Fall of Man painting
listened to reason; it was to that end exactly he'd stopped at sight of me instead of returning at once to the work of calming the crowd. To Anastasia then, who asked him what the trouble was, he reported dryly that Tower Clock had stopped, for one thing, thanks to some disastrous move of Dr. Eierkopf's of which it was known only that I had advised it; further, that Eierkopf himself was reportedly paralyzed from head to toe, that Croaker was once again amok, that the Power Plant was in grave trouble for want of supervision, that the Nikolayans were threatening riot at the Boundary, that WESCAC was rumored to be in danger of failing for lack of power, and that Chancellor Rexford, so far from making an appearance to calm the student body's alarm, would see no one, not even his highest advisors. General panic and breakdown of the seemed imminent, and as my presence appeared to be the single common factor in these several crises, the crowd's fear was turning to wrath against me.
"Ridiculous!" I protested. But the lights winked again, and my heart misgave me. "You stirred them up yourself!"
Bray ignored me. "As for the rest," he said to Anastasia: "it's good you know now I'm your brother and the GILES, butthat fact changes nothing between us

Friday, August 29, 2008

Pablo Picasso Gertrude Stein painting

Pablo Picasso Gertrude Stein paintingTamara de Lempicka Portrait of Madame paintingEric Wallis Girls at the Beach painting
spoken of me to him in not unflattering terms, on Randy-Thursday) -- a virtue evidently outweighing in his eye my claim to Grand-Tutorhood. Which didn't believe in,et cetera. But of all men on campus, admired most his father, for perfect selflessness exemplified in renouncing even a name. . .
"Greatnesshood!" he shouted, pounding the chair-arm. "Splendidacy!"
But now his eye sparkled with frustration: he could not help loving these people, yet he disapproved of his love, which smacked of Informationalist idolatry. Nor was this his only failing as a Student-Unionist: he was subject, he confessed, to fits of impulsive insubordination and independent behavior, which no amount of subsequent remorse appeared to cure. As a young riot-engineer in C.R. II, for example, he had been captured by the Siegfrieders early in the conflict when he'd stolen behind their lines one night, without authorization, to untether a nannny-goat abandoned by a fleeing farmer

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

John William Waterhouse In the Peristyle painting

John William Waterhouse In the Peristyle paintingJohn Singer Sargent A Dinner Table at Night paintingLord Frederick Leighton Leighton Winding the Skein painting
Don'tyou believe in Bray?" I asked him, and got no answer. I picked up my stick, and, perhaps misunderstanding me, Croaker hoist me to his shoulders. Very well, I had no reason to protest, or on the other hand any direction to give him. I rested my arms and chin on his black bald skull and worried about Max, permitting Croaker to range at whim about the aisle and tiers. The reasonablest explanation I could come up with was that my advisor and keeper might indeed have seen the murder occur, or come upon the Bonifacist's corpse in the woods, and said nothing about it -- that would account for his unusual behavior during the day. Judging from remarks of Stoker's and the general character of his staff, it would not be surprising to learn that the infamous Hermann had been employed at the Powerhouse under some alias, perhaps even with Stoker's knowledge and under his protection. Max might have recognized him, and Stoker seized upon

Monday, August 25, 2008

Francois Boucher Shepherd and Shepherdess Reposing painting

Francois Boucher Shepherd and Shepherdess Reposing paintingFrancois Boucher Brown Odalisk paintingFrancois Boucher Are They Thinking About the Grap painting
parade down Great Mall on a float of lilies. The more Miss Sally Ann endeavored to raise his spirits by feigning animation, the gloomier he grew: after dinner, when they went to the brilliant midway, he insisted she ride on ferris-wheel, carousel, and roller-coaster -- of all which amusements she was shrieking fond -- but would not accompany her; he even sent her, against her inclination, alone through the Tunnel of Love and the adjoining Chamber of Horrors. While she made her way reluctantly through the latter, he stood outside in the sawdust and brooded upon his reflection in a row of distorting mirrors near the entrance. In one his neck rose like a swan's above his body; in another his bulbous trunk perched high on stork-legs. They put him glumly in mind of certain of his dreams wherein a more pertinent piece of him had similarly been drawn out to miraculous length, with astonishing consequence. This memory led in turn to reveries of Miss Sally Ann disrobed, and he was roused in fact, though not beyond human proportions. To conceal his condition he was obliged to sit down on a bench near the exit and cross his legs

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Thomas Kinkade New Horizons painting

Thomas Kinkade New Horizons paintingThomas Kinkade Mountain Paradise paintingThomas Kinkade Mountain Memories painting
transmission of our power-drives had made us shiftless; we were neutral idlers who slipped in the clutches for want of a new converter; our blocks were cracked; we needed our heads examined and our old shock-absorbers replaced. So he picked Stacey to be the first to get a Psychomotor Tune-up and be equipped with new Overhead Values -- theyalways pick Stacey. But by the time she got up on the platform with him -- see that platform in the middle of the floor, where Croaker's dancing with your friend? It's right over the furnace we use for cremations. Well, he had all his gadgets set up there, but once he got under Stacey's hood. . ."
I heard no more, but with an angry cry charged into the crowd. There indeed was mighty Croaker on a dais in the center of the room, hub of the carouse. Upon a sort of couch there, low enough to have escaped my notice, he had been laid out in black gown and mortarboard, the corpse of G. Herrold beside him; now apparently just reviving from his anesthesia, he had staggered to his feet as Stoker talked, and a cheer had gone up from the crowd; he'd looked about him in a daze, then for some reason raised my dead friend's body from the couch. The dim room-lights at once grew dimmer, a spotlight fell on the dais

Friday, August 22, 2008

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Monkey painting

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Monkey paintingFrida Kahlo Diego and Frida paintingRembrandt Christ In The Storm painting
and waved to interrupt my view -- I stared until that little patch of darkness seemed to grow, becoming one with the larger that presently enveloped all, as if the gorge itself had closed over our heads.
"You're sunk," Max said despairingly, and stalked off behind me. "Some Grand Tutor."
The party on the opposite shore had made a little fire, towards which I saw the brown-haired beauty turn at last and go. I was enough myself now to start to wonder at what had possessed me, and at its import for my claim to Grand-Tutorhood. When I heard a new cry from Max behind me and a pebbly rush of footsteps at my back, my first thought was that he feared I might yet wade out in pursuit, as G. Herrold had done. I made to turn and reassure him that the spell was broken -- but found myself seized from behind by a strength many times my keeper's. Nay, I was swept off my feet by mighty arms, lifted into the air, and borne a-kicking to the water's edge! I joined my alarums to

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Claude Monet Venice Twilight painting

Claude Monet Venice Twilight paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha The Judgement of Paris paintingPierre Auguste Renoir Two Sisters (On the Terrace) painting
now I thought I understood how he had come to his present pass, and what was the debt I owed him. I had turned in the direction of his voice; now I looked to Max, and saw my confirmation in the twist of his mouth.
"The dumbwaiter you were stuck in, Billy: it used to be a booklift, but then we used it to send Diet-tapes down to WESCAC. There was only half a dozen people allowed to operate it from upstairs, to feed in secret stuff about the Nikolayans and to read out WESCAC's defense orders -- I mean people like the Joint Chairmen of Militaryand the WESCAC Director, and the Vice-Chancellor for Riot Research. Whoever it was put you in there, he wanted you dead, because that dumbwaiter went where no human student would ever dare go -- right down into WESCAC's Belly! This was after the Diet fight, when WESCAC was set to EAT anybody that even came near its Riot-storage. I don't know who your parents are, but I bet WESCAC does: you must have got the same Prenatal Aptitude-Tests that all New Tammany babies get, because when George opened the Belly door and fetched you out, there was this official PAT-card hung around your neck -- the only thing you had on. No name was on it, and no IQ; just in the place where it usually says what a kid should major in, WESCAC had printed the wordsPass All Fail All . . ."

Douglas Hofmann Model painting

Douglas Hofmann Model paintingDouglas Hofmann Jessica paintingJose Royo Momento de Paz painting
But since Creamhair was a friend of less long standing, and the hemlock grove less beloved of me than the barn, it was Max and Mary who bore the burthen of my contempt. I had used to sleep, often as not, nestled into Mary's brisket; now, though she cried for me as for an unweaned kid, when I came Home at all I slept with Redfearn's Tommy. Max surely understood that my excursions were not innocent: I spoke to him in brusque one-syllables, not to have to feign the accent I'd come to hate the sound of; filled withpetits fours and tossed salads I turned up my nose at his honest lespedeza; out of tone from afternoons of languid talk, I refused to wrestle with Redfearn's Tom for my keeper's amusement. But he only tisked his tongue, and not to provoke me to worse unkindness, stayed out of my presence as much as he could. When I slipped through his pen at night en route to prowl the fields, he would pretend to be asleep; but if I stole back to look five minutes later, I'd find him sitting up in the straw, gesturing at no one and mumbling into his whiskers, or sawing upon his ancient fiddle.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Thomas Kinkade Graceland painting

Thomas Kinkade Graceland paintingThomas Kinkade Fisherman's Wharf painting
He had heard the explosion himself. They had been eating at their own chow-line in a command post set up in a grove of trees, when the noise came from off to the right, distant enough but still too close: a twin quick earth-shaking sound—crump crump. Then seconds later in the still of noon when even the birds had become quiet and only a few murmured voices disturbed the concentration of eating, a shudder had passed through the surrounding underbrush, like a faint hot wind. It was premonitory, perhaps, but still no one knew. The leaves rustled, ceased, and Culver had looked up from where he squatted against a tree to see fifty scattered faces peering toward the noise, their knives and forks suspended. Then from the galley among the trees a clatter broke the silence, a falling pan or kettle, and someone laughed, and the Colonel, sitting nearby, had said to the Major—what had he said? Culver couldn't remember, yet there had been something uneasy in his tone, even then, before anyone had known, and at least ten minutes before the radio corporal, a tobacco-chewing clown from Oklahoma named Hobbs, came trotting

Monday, August 18, 2008

Albert Bierstadt Yosemite Valley Yellowstone Park painting

Albert Bierstadt Yosemite Valley Yellowstone Park paintingAlbert Bierstadt Sacramento River Valley paintingAlbert Bierstadt The Mountain Brook painting
never seen one. How could any man who had looked upon a unicorn even once—let alone thousands with every tide—possibly be as sad as King Haggard is? Why, if I had only seen her once, and never again—" Now he himself paused in some confusion, for he also felt that the talk was going on to some sorrow from which it could never be called back. Molly's neck and shoulders were listening intently, but if the Lady Amalthea could hear what the two men were saying, she gave no sign.
"Yet theSchmendrick pointed out. "Have you never seen a trace of it, truly—never seen its track in his eyes? I have. Think for a moment, Prince Lir."
The prince was silent, and they wound further into the foul dark. They could not always tell whether they were climbing or descending; nor, sometimes, if the passage were
bending once again, until the gnarly nearness of stone at their shoulders suddenly became the bleak rake of a wall against their faces. There was not the smallest sound of the Red Bull, or any glimmer of the wicked light; but when Schmendrick touched his damp face, the smell of the Bull came off on his fingers.

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres La Grande baigneuse painting

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres La Grande baigneuse paintingGuido Reni Archangel Michael paintingGuido Reni The Coronation of the Virgin painting
the unicorn, not until Now caught up with New, Bygone with Begin. Molly smiled serenely.
But the blazing shadow loomed over the unicorn until the Bull seemed to be all around her. She reared, swerved, and sprang away in another direction, only to meet the Bull there, his head lowered and his jaws drooling thunder. Again she turned, and again, backing and sidling, making crafty little dashes to this side or that; and each time the Red Bull headed her off by standing still. He did not attack, but he left her no way to go, save one.
"He's driving her," Schmendrick said quietly. "If he wanted to kill her, he could have done it by now. He's driving her the way he drove the others—to the castle, to Haggard. I wonder why."
Molly said, "Do something." Her voice was strangely calm and casual, and the magician answered her in the same tone.
"There is nothing I can do."
The unicorn fled once more, pitifully tireless, and the Red Bull let her have room to run, but none to turn. When she faced him for a third time, she was close enough for Molly to see her hind legs shivering like those of a frightened dog. Now she set herself to stand, pawing the ground

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Vincent van Gogh Four Cut Sunflowers painting

Vincent van Gogh Four Cut Sunflowers paintingVincent van Gogh Fishing Boats on the Beach paintingVincent van Gogh Cherry Tree painting
stiff ruff quills to a child beginning to learn to write. Lovers exchange feathers with which they write love letters to one another, a pretty custom, referred to in a famous scene in the play The Misunderstanding by Inuinui:

0 my betraying plume, that wrote his love
To her! His love—my feather, and my blood!

The Gyr are a staid, steady, traditional people, uninterested in innovation, shy of strangers. They are resistant to technological invention and novelty; attempts to sell them ballpoint pens or airplanes, or to induce them to enter the wonderful world of electronics, have failed. They continue letters to one another with quill pens, calculating with their heads, walking afoot or riding in carriages pulled by large, doglike animals called ugnunu, learning a few words in foreign languages when absolutely necessary, and watching classic stage plays written in traditional meters. No amount of exposure to the useful technologies, the marvelous gadgets

Douglas Hofmann silver satin painting

Douglas Hofmann silver satin paintingDouglas Hofmann midnight blue paintingJose Royo Tarde en el Campo painting
their descendants and devotees in Meyun and Huy.
For the next couple of generations the dispute simmered, sometimes breaking out in armed forays from Huy across the stream to the land they claimed on its western bank. About a mile and a half of the length of the stream was in dispute. The Alуn was some thirty yards wide at its shallowest, narrower where it ran between banks five feet high. There were some good trout pools in the northern end of the disputed reach. The forays from Huy always met fierce resistance from Meyun. Whenever the Huyans succeeded in keeping the piece of land west of the Alуn, they put up a wall around it in a semicircle out from the stream and back. The men of Meyun would then gather their forces, lead a foray against the wall, drive the Huyans back across the Alуn, pull the Huyans' wall down, and erect a wall running along the east side of the stream for a mile and a half

Monday, August 11, 2008

Warren Kimble paintings

Warren Kimble paintings
Wassily Kandinsky paintings
William Etty paintings
runaways may stay till their spite against their own people is out, or even permanently. I asked such a child, a girl of about nine, in Akagrak, why she had left her village. She said, "I was mad at Ma."
In the cities, children are frequent accidental victims of the almost constant street fighting. Their death may be avenged, but their avengers are not immune, as they are in the villages, for in the cities the social code has decayed or broken down altogether. The three large cities of the Veksi are so dangerous that people over thirty are a rare sight in their streets. Yet they are constantly repopulated by runaways from the villages.
The children of the Veksi are handled pretty roughly from infancy on. There is no doubt that Veksi parents passionately love their own and feel a strong responsibility towards all children—as witness the fact that runaways are always taken in and treated just as well (or badly) as the children of the village. Babies get constant care and attention from the parents and relatives, a fierce

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Tamara de Lempicka Dormeuse painting

Tamara de Lempicka Dormeuse paintingTamara de Lempicka Breast feeding paintingTamara de Lempicka Andromeda painting
still don't get why he didn't turn you in for using that book,' said Ron. 'He must've known where you were getting it ali from.'
'He knew,' said Harry bitterly. 'He knew when I used Secfumsempra. He didn't really need Legilimency ... he might even have known before then, with Slughom talking about how brilliant I was at Potions ... shouldn't have left his old book in the bottom of that cupboard, should he?'
'But why didn't he turn you in?'
'I don't ihink he wanted to associate himself with that book,' said Hermione. 'I don't think Dumbledore would have liked it very much if he'd known. And even if Snape pre-tended it hadn't been his, Slughom would have recognised his writing at once. Anyway, the book was left in Snape's old classroom, and I'll bet Dumbledore knew his mother was called "Prince".'
T should've shown the book to Dumbledore,' said Harry. 'All that lime he was showing me how Voldemort was evil even when he was at school, and 1 had proof Snape was, too -'
'"Evil" is a strong word,' said Hermione quietly.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Alexandre Cabanel The Birth of Venus painting

Alexandre Cabanel The Birth of Venus paintingJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Beaching the Boat (study) painting
Yes, he did, years ago, when he was sure he would be able to create more Horcruxes, but still Lucius was supposed to wait for Voldemorts say-so, and he never received it, for Voldemort van-ished shortly after giving him the diary. No doubt he thought that Lucius would not dare do anything with the Horcrux other than guard it carefully, but he was counting too much upon Lucius’s fear of a master who had been gone for years and whom Lucius believed dead. Of course, Lucius did not know what the diary really was. I understand that Voldemort had told him the diary would cause the Chamber of Secrets to reopen because it was cleverly enchanted. Had Lucius known he held a portion of his mas-ters soul in his hands, he would undoubtedly have treated it with more reverence — but instead he went ahead and carried out the old plan for his own ends. By planting the diary upon Arthur Weasleys daughter, he hoped to discredit Arthur and get rid of a highly incrim-inating magical object in one stroke. Ah, poor Lucius . . . what with Voldemorts fury about the fact that he threw away the Horcrux for his own gain, and the fiasco at the Ministry last year, I would not be sur-prised if he is not secretly glad to be safe in Azkaban at the moment."
Harry sat in thought for a moment, then asked, "So if all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort couldbe killed?"

Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN MEMORIES painting

Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN MEMORIES paintingThomas Kinkade Evening Glow painting
Yeah, it's great," said Ron glumly, who was attempting to mop up the sodden mass of ink chat had recently been an almost com-pleted essay. Hermione pulled it toward her and began siphoning the ink off with her wand.
"But what's all this about him going up there with a variety of students'?" said Hermione. "How many people are in on it? You wouldn't think he'd trust lots of them to know what he's do-ing---"
"Yeah, that is weird," said Harry, frowning. "I heard him telling Crabbe it wasn't Crabbe's Business what he was doing... so what's he telling all these... all these..." Harry's voice tailed away; he was staring at the fire. "God, I've been stupid," he said quietly. "Its obvious, isn't it? There was a great vat of it down in the dungeon. . . . He could’ve nicked some any time during that lesson. . . ."
"Nicked what?" said Ron.

Monday, August 4, 2008

Pierre Auguste Renoir Dance in the City painting

Pierre Auguste Renoir Dance in the City paintingAlexandre Cabanel Fallen Angel painting
Ron!" she said furiously. "Don't you ever let me see you throw-ing knives again!"
"I wont," said Ron, "let you see," he added under his breath, as he turned back to the sprout mountain.
"Fred, George, I'm sorry, dears, but Remus is arriving tonight, so Bill will have to squeeze in with you two." ;
"No problem," said George.
- "Then, as Charlie isn't coming Home, that just leaves Harry and ;/ Ron in the attic, and if Fleur shares with Ginny —" "— that'll make Ginny's Christmas —" muttered Fred. "— everyone should be comfortable. Well, they'll have a bed, anyway," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding slightly harassed.
"Percy definitely not showing his ugly face, then?" asked Fred. Mrs. Weasley turned away before she answered. "No, he's busy, I expect, at the Ministry."
"Or he's the world's biggest prat," said Fred, as Mrs. Weasley left the kitchen. "One of the two. "Well, let's get going, then, George."

Friday, August 1, 2008

William Blake Los painting

William Blake Los paintingWilliam Blake Jacob's Ladder paintingVincent van Gogh Wheat Field with Crows painting
was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father — yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus — and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word.
"Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since."
Mrs. Cole helped herself, almost absentmindedly, to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheekbones. Then she said, "He's a funny boy."
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I thought he might be."
"He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was. . . odd."
"Odd in what way?" asked Dumbledore gently.