Jack Vettriano DriftersJack Vettriano Dressing to KillJack Vettriano Dream Lover
Book critics talk a lot about "crime novels" that "transcend" their "genre." Lush Life doesn't transcend anything, it simply is a great novel of social observation. This is what Dickens would be doing if he Price's playground is the Lower East Side of Manhattan, a tiny area that hyperdevelopment has made, if anything, overly lush and The title character of Sittenfeld's novel is Alice Blackwell, a Midwestern girl whose bio — raised in a small-town, degree in library , married to the ne'er-do-well son of a powerful political family — mirrors that of a certain soon-to-be-former First Lady. But you don't need to be interested in the Bushes or in to reap this novel's rewards. In her best-selling debut Prep, Sittenfeld established herself full as it is with rich white hipster bars, tenements full of wannabe artists, poor black projects, and all kinds, all packed together into too-close quarters. One night a drunk white aspiring actor (i.e., a bartender) gets shot to death by two black teenagers. The witnesses are unreliable at best. The cops — cops are to Price what saints were to Michelangelo — who work the case do so cynically, sardonically, bitterly and with fanatical tenacity, all while uttering the best dialogue being written anywhere by anybody.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Gerome The Reception of the Siamese Ambassadors
Gerome The Reception of the Siamese AmbassadorsGerome Thumbs DownGerome Pelt Merchant of CairoGerome Arabs Crossing the Desert
certain diseases with a patient's own cells.
In a second cellular programming trick, scientists transformed mature cells in live mice from one specialized type to another. This destroys the blastocyst. The potential for a new source of embryonic-like stem cells came via breakthrough paper from a team of Japanese researchers. Named the number two breakthrough of the , the Japanese team created iPS cells from mouse tail cells through the simple insertion bit of biological witchcraft flew in the face of years of results that suggested that cell development was a one-way street. It has provided much greater understanding into the nature of biological and chemical processes that enable cells to stably adopt a specialized role, and has opened the doors to the field that's now being called cellular programming. Both of these techniques potentially side stepp the political mine-field that surrounds human embryonic stem cells.Ten years ago, a team from the University of Wisconsin-Madison developed a technique to get human embryonic stems cells (hES) from human blastocysts. This, not terribly surprisingly, ignited a large debate over bioethics since the procedure often
certain diseases with a patient's own cells.
In a second cellular programming trick, scientists transformed mature cells in live mice from one specialized type to another. This destroys the blastocyst. The potential for a new source of embryonic-like stem cells came via breakthrough paper from a team of Japanese researchers. Named the number two breakthrough of the , the Japanese team created iPS cells from mouse tail cells through the simple insertion bit of biological witchcraft flew in the face of years of results that suggested that cell development was a one-way street. It has provided much greater understanding into the nature of biological and chemical processes that enable cells to stably adopt a specialized role, and has opened the doors to the field that's now being called cellular programming. Both of these techniques potentially side stepp the political mine-field that surrounds human embryonic stem cells.Ten years ago, a team from the University of Wisconsin-Madison developed a technique to get human embryonic stems cells (hES) from human blastocysts. This, not terribly surprisingly, ignited a large debate over bioethics since the procedure often
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Dawson The Glorious Sea
Dawson The Glorious SeaMonsted Cottages At HjornbaekDawson The Flying CloudMonsted A Woodland Stream
Ethan gave chase. He couldn’t catch the car. No hope.He pursued anyway because he could do nothing else. Robin Goodfellow was as daring and as formidable as any real agent of the NSA, had always intended to leave the estate in one of the actor’s expensive classic cars. The complication of a blown tire would not force a change of plan; it qualified as a mere annoyance.The ride was rough, the steering wheel pulled stubbornly in his hands, but as a connoisseur of chaos and a master of disorder, he met this challenge with the delight familiar to any child who had fought to. control a vehicle in the bumper-car pavilion at a carnival. Every twitch Too late to go back, get keys, another car. By the time he was driving out of the garage, the Buick would have cleared the main gate and vanished. He ran, ran, splashing through cold puddles, ran, pumping his arms and trying to compensate for the weight, the bulk, of the pistol in his right hand, because running well was a matter of balance, ran, ran, because if Fric were killed, then Ethan Truman would be a dead man, too, dead inside, and would spend the rest of his time in this world looking for a grave, a walking corpse as sure as Dunny Whistler ever had been.
Ethan gave chase. He couldn’t catch the car. No hope.He pursued anyway because he could do nothing else. Robin Goodfellow was as daring and as formidable as any real agent of the NSA, had always intended to leave the estate in one of the actor’s expensive classic cars. The complication of a blown tire would not force a change of plan; it qualified as a mere annoyance.The ride was rough, the steering wheel pulled stubbornly in his hands, but as a connoisseur of chaos and a master of disorder, he met this challenge with the delight familiar to any child who had fought to. control a vehicle in the bumper-car pavilion at a carnival. Every twitch Too late to go back, get keys, another car. By the time he was driving out of the garage, the Buick would have cleared the main gate and vanished. He ran, ran, splashing through cold puddles, ran, pumping his arms and trying to compensate for the weight, the bulk, of the pistol in his right hand, because running well was a matter of balance, ran, ran, because if Fric were killed, then Ethan Truman would be a dead man, too, dead inside, and would spend the rest of his time in this world looking for a grave, a walking corpse as sure as Dunny Whistler ever had been.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Rothko Untitled Green Red on Orange 1951
Rothko Untitled Green Red on Orange 1951Rothko Untitled c1956Rothko Untitled c1950Rothko Untitled Blue Yellow Green on Red 1954
Precisely. You have pushed the limits by the way you’ve handled Aelfric. Pushed against them but haven’t yet exceeded them.”Typhon’s manner is that of a concerned teacher who finds it necessary to provide remedial instruction to a problem had been grateful for his mentor’s lack of anger. Now he’s made apprehensive by Typhon’s quiet dismay and expression of regret, for they suggest that a judgment has already been reached.Typhon says, “There were many tricks with which you could have turned Mr. Yancy away from that house by indirection.”The older man’s cheerful nature cannot be long suppressed. He breaks into a smile again. His blue eyes twinkle with such merriment that, with a fake beard to match his white hair, and student. He seems neither wrathful nor riled, for which Dunny is grateful.“But by bluntly telling Mr. Yancy not to go into that house,” Typhon continues, “by informing him that he would be shot twice in the head, you have interfered with what was his most likely destiny at that point in time.”[483] “Yes, sir.”“Yancy may now survive not because of his actions and choices, not because of his unfettered exercise of free will, but because you revealed to him the immediate future.” Typhon sighs. He shakes his head. He looks sad, as though his next words sorrow him a little: “This is not good, dear boy. This is not good for you.”Only a moment ago, Dunny
Precisely. You have pushed the limits by the way you’ve handled Aelfric. Pushed against them but haven’t yet exceeded them.”Typhon’s manner is that of a concerned teacher who finds it necessary to provide remedial instruction to a problem had been grateful for his mentor’s lack of anger. Now he’s made apprehensive by Typhon’s quiet dismay and expression of regret, for they suggest that a judgment has already been reached.Typhon says, “There were many tricks with which you could have turned Mr. Yancy away from that house by indirection.”The older man’s cheerful nature cannot be long suppressed. He breaks into a smile again. His blue eyes twinkle with such merriment that, with a fake beard to match his white hair, and student. He seems neither wrathful nor riled, for which Dunny is grateful.“But by bluntly telling Mr. Yancy not to go into that house,” Typhon continues, “by informing him that he would be shot twice in the head, you have interfered with what was his most likely destiny at that point in time.”[483] “Yes, sir.”“Yancy may now survive not because of his actions and choices, not because of his unfettered exercise of free will, but because you revealed to him the immediate future.” Typhon sighs. He shakes his head. He looks sad, as though his next words sorrow him a little: “This is not good, dear boy. This is not good for you.”Only a moment ago, Dunny
Friday, December 19, 2008
Leroy Neiman 18th at Valhalla painting
Leroy Neiman 18th at Valhalla paintingThomas Kinkade yankee stadium paintingThomas Kinkade ny yankee stadium painting
doors were latched, the power of the explosions couldn’t easily be vented. The resultant damage to the ovens might be severe enough to cause a natural-gas leak and a larger blast.The utter destruction of the house didn’t require the oven trick to work. The four gallons of high-grade accelerant that he had poured throughout the small .He thrived in the rain.Cataracts gushed from the sky. The racing torrents in the gutters overflowed the curbs.This downpour would not quench the fire that he had engineered. The gasoline-fed flames would thoroughly gut the wooden structure before the walls collapsed and offered admission to the rain.[400] Indeed, the storm was his ally. Badly flooded intersections and snarled traffic would delay the fire engines.structure and the additional gallons pooling on the garage floor would feed the flames and obliterate every source of his DNA, from semen to hairs, and every fingerprint that he’d left behind. Nonetheless, he believed in redundancy whenever possible.On the back porch, Corky shrugged into his voluminous yellow slicker. He jammed the droopy rain hat on his head.He pushed through the screen door and went down the steps. At the end of the backyard, he passed through a gate into an alleyway and never glanced again at the narrow house
doors were latched, the power of the explosions couldn’t easily be vented. The resultant damage to the ovens might be severe enough to cause a natural-gas leak and a larger blast.The utter destruction of the house didn’t require the oven trick to work. The four gallons of high-grade accelerant that he had poured throughout the small .He thrived in the rain.Cataracts gushed from the sky. The racing torrents in the gutters overflowed the curbs.This downpour would not quench the fire that he had engineered. The gasoline-fed flames would thoroughly gut the wooden structure before the walls collapsed and offered admission to the rain.[400] Indeed, the storm was his ally. Badly flooded intersections and snarled traffic would delay the fire engines.structure and the additional gallons pooling on the garage floor would feed the flames and obliterate every source of his DNA, from semen to hairs, and every fingerprint that he’d left behind. Nonetheless, he believed in redundancy whenever possible.On the back porch, Corky shrugged into his voluminous yellow slicker. He jammed the droopy rain hat on his head.He pushed through the screen door and went down the steps. At the end of the backyard, he passed through a gate into an alleyway and never glanced again at the narrow house
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Johannes Vermeer The Guitar Player painting
Johannes Vermeer The Guitar Player painting
Claude Monet Regatta At Argenteuil painting
Claude Monet Woman with a Parasol painting
the trembling edge of divulging all, Fric remembered that his mother had once been in a booby hatch. She had stayed there only ten days, and she hadn’t been chop-’em-up-with-an-ax crazy or anything as bad as that.Nevertheless, if Fric started babbling about recent freaky events, Mr. Truman would surely recall that Freddie Nielander had spent called the wrong line.”Mr. Truman stared at him as though trying to decide whether he could be as stupid as he was pretending to be.Not as great an actor as his father, Fric knew he couldn’t long stand up to interrogation by an ex-cop. He was so nervous that in a minute he’d need to take a leak in one of the Rubbermaid jars.“Ummm, well, gotta go, things to do, things up in my room, you know,” he muttered, once more sounding like a cousin from the feeble-minded branch of the Hobbit clan.He swung the cart around Mr. Truman and pushed it east along the main hall. He didn’t look some time in a clinic for the temporarily wacko. He would think, Like mother, like son.For sure, he would immediately contact the biggest movie star in [345] the world on location in Florida. Then Ghost Dad would send in a powerful SWAT team of psychiatrists.“Fric,” Mr. Truman pressed, “what did you mean—ghost?”Shoveling manure over the seed of truth that he’d spoken, hoping to grow a half-convincing lie from it, Fric said, “Well, you know, my dad keeps a special phone for messages from ghosts. I just meant like maybe one of them
Claude Monet Regatta At Argenteuil painting
Claude Monet Woman with a Parasol painting
the trembling edge of divulging all, Fric remembered that his mother had once been in a booby hatch. She had stayed there only ten days, and she hadn’t been chop-’em-up-with-an-ax crazy or anything as bad as that.Nevertheless, if Fric started babbling about recent freaky events, Mr. Truman would surely recall that Freddie Nielander had spent called the wrong line.”Mr. Truman stared at him as though trying to decide whether he could be as stupid as he was pretending to be.Not as great an actor as his father, Fric knew he couldn’t long stand up to interrogation by an ex-cop. He was so nervous that in a minute he’d need to take a leak in one of the Rubbermaid jars.“Ummm, well, gotta go, things to do, things up in my room, you know,” he muttered, once more sounding like a cousin from the feeble-minded branch of the Hobbit clan.He swung the cart around Mr. Truman and pushed it east along the main hall. He didn’t look some time in a clinic for the temporarily wacko. He would think, Like mother, like son.For sure, he would immediately contact the biggest movie star in [345] the world on location in Florida. Then Ghost Dad would send in a powerful SWAT team of psychiatrists.“Fric,” Mr. Truman pressed, “what did you mean—ghost?”Shoveling manure over the seed of truth that he’d spoken, hoping to grow a half-convincing lie from it, Fric said, “Well, you know, my dad keeps a special phone for messages from ghosts. I just meant like maybe one of them
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Leroy Neiman 18th at Valhalla painting
Leroy Neiman 18th at Valhalla paintingThomas Kinkade yankee stadium paintingThomas Kinkade ny yankee stadium painting
167] The smug self-satisfaction and sarcasm in Roman’s voice abruptly vaporized into a whisper fierce with self-concern. “What’re you doing to me, coming here? You’re not authorized. You don’t belong anywhere in the morgue, and especially not in there.”“I have credentials.”“The hell you do.”“I could leave here and come to you. Are you in one of the autopsy rooms or still at your desk?”Roman’s whisper grew softer but even more intense: “Are you nuts? Are you trying to get me fired?”“I just want to place an order,” Corky said.Recently Roman had supplied him with a jar containing tissue preservative and ten foreskins harvested from cadavers destined for cremation.Corky had given the jar to Rolf Reynerd with instructions. In spite of his congenital stupidity, Reynerd had managed to pack the container in a black gift box and send it to Channing Manheim.“I need another ten,” Corky said.“You don’t come here to talk about it. You never come here, you moron. You call I thought this would be a hoot, give you a laugh.”Shakily, Roman said, “Dear Jesus.”“You’re a Satanist,” Corky reminded him.“Idiot.”“Listen, Roman, where exactly are you? How do I get to you from here? WeStay right where you are.”
167] The smug self-satisfaction and sarcasm in Roman’s voice abruptly vaporized into a whisper fierce with self-concern. “What’re you doing to me, coming here? You’re not authorized. You don’t belong anywhere in the morgue, and especially not in there.”“I have credentials.”“The hell you do.”“I could leave here and come to you. Are you in one of the autopsy rooms or still at your desk?”Roman’s whisper grew softer but even more intense: “Are you nuts? Are you trying to get me fired?”“I just want to place an order,” Corky said.Recently Roman had supplied him with a jar containing tissue preservative and ten foreskins harvested from cadavers destined for cremation.Corky had given the jar to Rolf Reynerd with instructions. In spite of his congenital stupidity, Reynerd had managed to pack the container in a black gift box and send it to Channing Manheim.“I need another ten,” Corky said.“You don’t come here to talk about it. You never come here, you moron. You call I thought this would be a hoot, give you a laugh.”Shakily, Roman said, “Dear Jesus.”“You’re a Satanist,” Corky reminded him.“Idiot.”“Listen, Roman, where exactly are you? How do I get to you from here? WeStay right where you are.”
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Sung Kim Mediterranean Terrace painting
Sung Kim Mediterranean Terrace paintingSung Kim Mediterranean Arch paintingSung Kim Log Cabin Retreat paintingSung Kim Hidden Beach painting
started toward the bathroom door, his attention was drawn again to the movement of his vague and distorted reflection in the clouded mirror above the sinks.Then he saw the impossible shape, which brought him to a halt.In the mirror, under the skin of condensation, loomed a pale form as blurred as Ethan’s veiled image but nonetheless recognizable as a figure, man or woman.Ethan was alone. A quick survey of the bathroom failed to reveal any object or any fluke of architecture that the misted mirror might trick into a ghostly human Imagination. Of course.But then this man, this dragon, whatever—it moved in the mirror. Not much: a little, enough to make Ethan’s sledgehammer heart stutter between blows.Maybe the movement also was imaginary.Hesitantly he approached the mirror. He didn’t step directly in front of the phantom form, for in spite of shape.So he closed his eyes. Opened them. Still the shape.He could hear only his heart now, only his heart, not fast, but faster, [106] sledgehammer heavy, pounding and pounding, slamming blood to his brain to flush out unreason.Of course his imagination had given meaning to a meaningless blur in a mirror, in the same way that he might have found men and dragons and all kinds of fanciful creatures among the clouds in a summer sky.
started toward the bathroom door, his attention was drawn again to the movement of his vague and distorted reflection in the clouded mirror above the sinks.Then he saw the impossible shape, which brought him to a halt.In the mirror, under the skin of condensation, loomed a pale form as blurred as Ethan’s veiled image but nonetheless recognizable as a figure, man or woman.Ethan was alone. A quick survey of the bathroom failed to reveal any object or any fluke of architecture that the misted mirror might trick into a ghostly human Imagination. Of course.But then this man, this dragon, whatever—it moved in the mirror. Not much: a little, enough to make Ethan’s sledgehammer heart stutter between blows.Maybe the movement also was imaginary.Hesitantly he approached the mirror. He didn’t step directly in front of the phantom form, for in spite of shape.So he closed his eyes. Opened them. Still the shape.He could hear only his heart now, only his heart, not fast, but faster, [106] sledgehammer heavy, pounding and pounding, slamming blood to his brain to flush out unreason.Of course his imagination had given meaning to a meaningless blur in a mirror, in the same way that he might have found men and dragons and all kinds of fanciful creatures among the clouds in a summer sky.
Frederic Remington Radisson and Groseilliers painting
Frederic Remington Radisson and Groseilliers paintingThomas Kinkade Yawkey Way paintingThomas Kinkade Town Square paintingThomas Kinkade PARIS EIFFEL TOWER painting
Channing Manheim would have been watercress on lightly buttered toast.Ethan didn’t actively dislike his employer, and he didn’t need to like him in order to want to protect him and keep him alive.[10] If the eye in the apple was a symbol of corruption, it might represent the star’s ego inside the beautiful fruit.Perhaps the doll’s eye didn’t stand for corruption, but for the downside of fame. A celebrity of Channing’s magnitude enjoyed little privacy and was always under scrutiny. The eye in the apple might be symbolic of the stalker’s eye—always watching, judging.Crap. Cheap analysis. For all his somber brooding, in weather conducive to the phone rang at a few minutes past ten o’clock, drawing him away from the windows and to the desk.Laura Moonves, an old friend from the LAPD, had been tracking down a license-plate contemplation and to dark speculation, Ethan’s every observation seemed obvious and useless.He ruminated on the apple-damp words: THE EYE IN THE APPLE? THE WATCHFUL WORM? THE WORM OF ORIGINAL SIN? DO WORDS HAVE ANY PURPOSE OTHER THAN CONFUSION?Stumped, he was grateful when
Channing Manheim would have been watercress on lightly buttered toast.Ethan didn’t actively dislike his employer, and he didn’t need to like him in order to want to protect him and keep him alive.[10] If the eye in the apple was a symbol of corruption, it might represent the star’s ego inside the beautiful fruit.Perhaps the doll’s eye didn’t stand for corruption, but for the downside of fame. A celebrity of Channing’s magnitude enjoyed little privacy and was always under scrutiny. The eye in the apple might be symbolic of the stalker’s eye—always watching, judging.Crap. Cheap analysis. For all his somber brooding, in weather conducive to the phone rang at a few minutes past ten o’clock, drawing him away from the windows and to the desk.Laura Moonves, an old friend from the LAPD, had been tracking down a license-plate contemplation and to dark speculation, Ethan’s every observation seemed obvious and useless.He ruminated on the apple-damp words: THE EYE IN THE APPLE? THE WATCHFUL WORM? THE WORM OF ORIGINAL SIN? DO WORDS HAVE ANY PURPOSE OTHER THAN CONFUSION?Stumped, he was grateful when
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida The Beach at Biarritz painting
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida The Beach at Biarritz paintingJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Resting Bacchante paintingJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida On the Beach Valencia paintingJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Grupa valenciana painting
rose and passed his hand over his eyes, dashing away the tears. 'What have I said? ' he cried. `What have I done? Frodo, Frodo! ' he called. 'Come back! A madness took me, but it has passed. Come back! 'There was no answer. Frodo did not even hear his cries. He was already far away, leaping blindly up the path to the hill-top. a lost child that had clambered upon the throne of mountain-kings.At first he could see little. He seemed to be in a world of mist in which there were only shadows: the Ring was upon him. Then here and there the mist gave way and he saw many visions: small and clear as if they were under his eyes upon a table, and yet remote. There was no sound, only bright living images. The world seemed to have shrunk and fallen silent. He was sitting upon the Terror and him, seeing in his thought the mad fierce face of Boromir, and his burning eyes.Soon he came out alone on the summit of Amon Hen, and halted, gasping for breath. He saw as through a mist a wide flat circle, paved with mighty flags, and surrounded with a crumbling battlement; and in the middle, set upon four carven pillars, was a high seat, reached by a stair of many steps. Up he went and sat upon the ancient chair, feeling like
rose and passed his hand over his eyes, dashing away the tears. 'What have I said? ' he cried. `What have I done? Frodo, Frodo! ' he called. 'Come back! A madness took me, but it has passed. Come back! 'There was no answer. Frodo did not even hear his cries. He was already far away, leaping blindly up the path to the hill-top. a lost child that had clambered upon the throne of mountain-kings.At first he could see little. He seemed to be in a world of mist in which there were only shadows: the Ring was upon him. Then here and there the mist gave way and he saw many visions: small and clear as if they were under his eyes upon a table, and yet remote. There was no sound, only bright living images. The world seemed to have shrunk and fallen silent. He was sitting upon the Terror and him, seeing in his thought the mad fierce face of Boromir, and his burning eyes.Soon he came out alone on the summit of Amon Hen, and halted, gasping for breath. He saw as through a mist a wide flat circle, paved with mighty flags, and surrounded with a crumbling battlement; and in the middle, set upon four carven pillars, was a high seat, reached by a stair of many steps. Up he went and sat upon the ancient chair, feeling like
Friday, December 5, 2008
Diane Romanello Weeping Willows painting
Diane Romanello Weeping Willows paintingDiego Rivera Nude with Calla Lilies painting
many there were the Company could not count. The affray was sharp, but the orcs were dismayed by the fierceness of the defence. Legolas shot two through the throat. Gimli hewed the legs from under another that had sprung up on Balin's tomb. clustered in the doorway. His broad flat face was swart, his eyes were like coals, and his tongue was red; he wielded a great spear. With a thrust of his huge hide shield he turned Boromir's sword and bore him backwards, throwing him to the ground. Diving under Aragorn's blow with the speed of a striking snake he charged into the Company and thrust with his spear straight at Frodo
Gustav Klimt The Tree of Life paintingGustav Klimt Expectation (gold foil) painting
Boromir and Aragorn slew many. When thirteen had fallen the rest fled shrieking. leaving the defenders unharmed, except for Sam who had a scratch along the scalp. A quick duck had saved him; and he had felled his orc: a sturdy thrust with his Barrow-blade. A fire was smouldering in his brown eyes that would have made Ted Sandyman step backwards, if he had seen it.`Now is the time! ' cried Gandalf. `Let us go, before the troll returns!'But even as they retreated, and before Pippin and Merry had reached the stair outside, a huge orc-chieftain, almost man-high, clad in black mail from head to foot, leaped into the chamber; behind him his followers
many there were the Company could not count. The affray was sharp, but the orcs were dismayed by the fierceness of the defence. Legolas shot two through the throat. Gimli hewed the legs from under another that had sprung up on Balin's tomb. clustered in the doorway. His broad flat face was swart, his eyes were like coals, and his tongue was red; he wielded a great spear. With a thrust of his huge hide shield he turned Boromir's sword and bore him backwards, throwing him to the ground. Diving under Aragorn's blow with the speed of a striking snake he charged into the Company and thrust with his spear straight at Frodo
Gustav Klimt The Tree of Life paintingGustav Klimt Expectation (gold foil) painting
Boromir and Aragorn slew many. When thirteen had fallen the rest fled shrieking. leaving the defenders unharmed, except for Sam who had a scratch along the scalp. A quick duck had saved him; and he had felled his orc: a sturdy thrust with his Barrow-blade. A fire was smouldering in his brown eyes that would have made Ted Sandyman step backwards, if he had seen it.`Now is the time! ' cried Gandalf. `Let us go, before the troll returns!'But even as they retreated, and before Pippin and Merry had reached the stair outside, a huge orc-chieftain, almost man-high, clad in black mail from head to foot, leaped into the chamber; behind him his followers
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Thomas Moran Autumn Landscape painting
Thomas Moran Autumn Landscape paintingJacques-Louis David Napoleon crossing the Alps painting
The third choice is to stay here, until the end."' "Until what end? "' "Until you reveal to me where the One may be found. I may find means to persuade you. Or until it is found in your despite, and the Ruler has time to turn to lighter matters: to devise, say, a fitting reward for the hindrance and insolence of Gandalf the Grey."
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Children on the Beach paintingThomas Gainsborough The Morning Walk painting
He came and laid his long hand on my arm. "And why not, Gandalf? " he whispered. "Why not? The Ruling Ring? If we could command that, then the Power would pass to us. That is in truth why I brought you here. For I have many eyes in my service, and I believe that you know where this precious thing now lies. Is it not so? Or why do the Nine ask for the As he said this a lust which he could not conceal shone suddenly in his eyes.' "Saruman," I said, standing away from him, "only one hand at a time can wield the One, and you know that well, so do not trouble to say we! But I would not give it, nay, I would not give even news of it to you, now that I learn your mind. You were head of the Council, but you have unmasked yourself at last. Well, the choices are, it seems, to submit to Sauron, or to yourself. I will take neither. Have you others to offer? "'He was cold now and perilous. "Yes," he said. "I did not expect you to show wisdom, even in your own behalf; but I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly.
The third choice is to stay here, until the end."' "Until what end? "' "Until you reveal to me where the One may be found. I may find means to persuade you. Or until it is found in your despite, and the Ruler has time to turn to lighter matters: to devise, say, a fitting reward for the hindrance and insolence of Gandalf the Grey."
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Children on the Beach paintingThomas Gainsborough The Morning Walk painting
He came and laid his long hand on my arm. "And why not, Gandalf? " he whispered. "Why not? The Ruling Ring? If we could command that, then the Power would pass to us. That is in truth why I brought you here. For I have many eyes in my service, and I believe that you know where this precious thing now lies. Is it not so? Or why do the Nine ask for the As he said this a lust which he could not conceal shone suddenly in his eyes.' "Saruman," I said, standing away from him, "only one hand at a time can wield the One, and you know that well, so do not trouble to say we! But I would not give it, nay, I would not give even news of it to you, now that I learn your mind. You were head of the Council, but you have unmasked yourself at last. Well, the choices are, it seems, to submit to Sauron, or to yourself. I will take neither. Have you others to offer? "'He was cold now and perilous. "Yes," he said. "I did not expect you to show wisdom, even in your own behalf; but I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Boucher The Triumph of Venus detail
Boucher The Triumph of Venus detailBoucher The Rising of the SunBoucher Diana's Return from the HuntKlimt Unterach am Attersee
stout little fellow with red cheeks,' said Mr. Butterbur solemnly. Pippin chuckled, but Sam looked indignant. 'That won't help you much; it goes for most hobbits. Barley, he says to me,' continued Mr. Butterbur with a glance at Pippin. 'But this one is taller than some and fairer than most, and he has a cleft in his chin: perky chap with a bright eye. Begging your pardon, but he said it, not me.''He said it? And who was he?' asked Frodo the landlord, pausing and snapping his fingers. 'Ah, yes! Old Gandalf. Three months back he walked right into my room without a knock. Barley, he says, I'm off in the morning. Will you do something for me? You've only to name it, I said. I'm in a hurry, said he, and I've no time myself, but I want a message took to the Shire. Have you anyone you can send, and trust to go? I can find someone, I said, tomorrow, maybe, or the day after. Make it tomorrow, he says, and then he gave me a letter.eagerly.'Ah! That was Gandalf, if you know who I mean. A wizard they say he is, but he's a good friend of mine, whether or no. But now I don't know what he'll have to say to me, if I see him again: turn all my ale sour or me into a block of wood, I shouldn't wonder. He's a bit hasty. Still what's done can't be undone. ''Well, what have you done?' said Frodo, getting impatient with the slow unravelling of Butterbur's thoughts.'Where was I?' said
stout little fellow with red cheeks,' said Mr. Butterbur solemnly. Pippin chuckled, but Sam looked indignant. 'That won't help you much; it goes for most hobbits. Barley, he says to me,' continued Mr. Butterbur with a glance at Pippin. 'But this one is taller than some and fairer than most, and he has a cleft in his chin: perky chap with a bright eye. Begging your pardon, but he said it, not me.''He said it? And who was he?' asked Frodo the landlord, pausing and snapping his fingers. 'Ah, yes! Old Gandalf. Three months back he walked right into my room without a knock. Barley, he says, I'm off in the morning. Will you do something for me? You've only to name it, I said. I'm in a hurry, said he, and I've no time myself, but I want a message took to the Shire. Have you anyone you can send, and trust to go? I can find someone, I said, tomorrow, maybe, or the day after. Make it tomorrow, he says, and then he gave me a letter.eagerly.'Ah! That was Gandalf, if you know who I mean. A wizard they say he is, but he's a good friend of mine, whether or no. But now I don't know what he'll have to say to me, if I see him again: turn all my ale sour or me into a block of wood, I shouldn't wonder. He's a bit hasty. Still what's done can't be undone. ''Well, what have you done?' said Frodo, getting impatient with the slow unravelling of Butterbur's thoughts.'Where was I?' said
Monday, December 1, 2008
Bastida Sailing Vessels on a Breezy Day Valencia
Bastida Sailing Vessels on a Breezy Day ValenciaBastida Palm GroveBastida Valencian FishermanBastida Valencian Fishergirl
have a talk.’They went into the farmer’s kitchen, and sat by the wide fire-place. Mrs. Maggot brought out beer in a huge jug, and filled four large mugs. It was a good brew, and Pippin found himself more than compensated for missing the Golden Perch. Sam sipped his beer suspiciously. He had a natural mistrust of the inhabitants of other parts of the Shire; and also he was not disposed to be quick friends with anyone who had ‘To tell you the truth, since you have guessed it, we got into the lane from the other end: we had come over your fields. But that was quite by accident. We lost our way in the woods, back near Woodhall, trying to take a short cut to the Ferry.’‘If you were in a hurry, the road would have served you better,’ said the farmer. ‘But I wasn’t worrying about that. You have leave to walk over my land, if you have a mind, Mr. Peregrin. And you, Mr. Baggins - though I daresay you still like mushrooms.’ He laughed. ‘Ah yesbeaten his master, however long ago.After a few remarks about the weather and the agricultural prospects (which were no worse than usual), Farmer Maggot put down his mug and looked at them all in turn.‘Now, Mr. Peregrin,’ he said, ‘where might you be coming from, and where might you be going to? Were you coming to visit’ me? For, if so, you had gone past my gate without my seeing you.’‘Well, no,’ answered Pippin.
have a talk.’They went into the farmer’s kitchen, and sat by the wide fire-place. Mrs. Maggot brought out beer in a huge jug, and filled four large mugs. It was a good brew, and Pippin found himself more than compensated for missing the Golden Perch. Sam sipped his beer suspiciously. He had a natural mistrust of the inhabitants of other parts of the Shire; and also he was not disposed to be quick friends with anyone who had ‘To tell you the truth, since you have guessed it, we got into the lane from the other end: we had come over your fields. But that was quite by accident. We lost our way in the woods, back near Woodhall, trying to take a short cut to the Ferry.’‘If you were in a hurry, the road would have served you better,’ said the farmer. ‘But I wasn’t worrying about that. You have leave to walk over my land, if you have a mind, Mr. Peregrin. And you, Mr. Baggins - though I daresay you still like mushrooms.’ He laughed. ‘Ah yesbeaten his master, however long ago.After a few remarks about the weather and the agricultural prospects (which were no worse than usual), Farmer Maggot put down his mug and looked at them all in turn.‘Now, Mr. Peregrin,’ he said, ‘where might you be coming from, and where might you be going to? Were you coming to visit’ me? For, if so, you had gone past my gate without my seeing you.’‘Well, no,’ answered Pippin.
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