Michelangelo Buonarroti The Creation of Adam painting

Michelangelo Buonarroti The Creation of Adam paintingMichelangelo Buonarroti Creation of Adam paintingThomas Kinkade The Rose Garden painting
had expected him to end the cruel pretense and become his normal self again. Had he but smashed even alittle porcelain, called out a few obscenities, or pinched the waitress's behind, she might have dined with some small appetite despite the novelty of the occasion. As it was, she could eat nothing, and trembled with worry that she had displeased him in some way. His question she could scarcely comprehend; not until they rose from table did she venture to say, "Whateveryou think, dear" -- and that only to terminate the suspense, for she was certain that as soon as she took the bait of his polite inquiry he'd perpetrate some characteristic outrage in the tea-room. He had been drawing out her chair as she replied, and when he took her elbows then she'd closed her eyes and waited, almost with relief, to be assaulted upon the table or otherwise indignified -- but he had gently ushered her out, expressing his pleasure in her company and his hope that they might have lunch together more often.
"Did he go to the Chancellor's Mansion then?" I asked.

Edvard Munch Madonna painting

Edvard Munch Madonna paintingAlbert Moore silver paintingRene Magritte The Blank Check painting
woman turn her cheek to him for kissing; she was sitting with a group of similarly comely young men and women, all of whom except herself rose at his approach; he chatted for some moments, more with them than with her, and then led us to a row of white motorcycles with large closed sidecars, along the curb. I found myself honored with a seat in the first of these, along with the Chancellor; the remainder of the party paired off in the others.
"I told Mrs. Rexford I hoped you could help us with the East-Campus Transfer problem," he joked as we started off. The sidecars were elegantly appointed, and virtually soundproof. "Since you made it through the Turnstile and Scrapegoat Grate, maybe you can find a way for people to slip through the Power Line." He asked me then how I was faring, and I recounted briefly my morning's travels and my concern at Harold Bray's promiscuous Certifications. He tisked sympathetic disapproval of Max's attitude. If only Max would leave all pleading to the lawyers, he said, there would be no trouble getting

Caravaggio The Supper at Emmaus painting

Caravaggio The Supper at Emmaus paintingCaravaggio Taking of Christ paintingCaravaggio The Incredulity of Saint Thomas painting
evidence of a Student-Unionist conspiracy to assassinate all ex-Bonifacists now doing important work for New Tammany), were much impressed by the humble tone of his confession, in which they seemed to hear a recantation not only of Student-Unionism in favor of Informationalism, but of Moishianism in favor of Enochism. "Go now, and flunk no more," appeared to be their net reaction, whereas the liberals' was just the contrary: that Max had formerly been among the persecuted Passed, but now had flunked himself. The argument had grown intenser, I read, since early morning, when the prisoner had been Certified for Candidacy by the new Grand Tutor -- who, however, emphasized to reporters that the Certification by no means implied that Max was innocent of the murder or deserving of mitigated punishment: "Passèd are the flunked," Bray had quoted from the Founder's Scroll, "who repent and suffer for their failings."
What alarmed me, other than Max's confession itself, was not that Bray had Certified him -- he seemed to be Certifying everyone -- but that Max had evidently accepted the Certification, as if Bray were qualified to give it! And how had Bray found time

Claude Monet Water Lily Pond painting

Claude Monet Water Lily Pond paintingClaude Monet The Water Lily Pond paintingFrancisco de Goya Nude Maja painting
undergraduates. He lifted his hand slightly and a little stiffly to acknowledge the tumult, as if it embarrassed him; but his eyes were merry, even mischievous, and when a group of co-eds pressed between Stoker's guards to shower roses in his path, he grinned, stepped out of his way to pick up a white boutonniere, and shook several hands over the footlights while his attendants fidgeted. In vain their waves for silence when he reached the rostrum; only the playing of NTC's Varsity Anthem brought order to the hall:

Dear old New Tammany,
The University
On thee depends.

Teach us thy Answers bright;
Lead us from flunkèd Night;
Commence us to the Light
When our School-Term ends!

As we stood in the ringing echo of this plea a dark-frocked dignitary raised both hands: everyone present (excepting myself, who was ignorant of the rite, and some turbaned chaps in the Visitors' Gallery) closed his eyes, pressed fingertips to temples, and recited with the dignitary the traditionalGrand Tutor's Petition from the New Syllabus:

Thomas Kinkade Studio in The Garden painting

Thomas Kinkade Studio in The Garden paintingThomas Kinkade Rose Gate paintingThomas Kinkade Living Waters painting
threw a number of switches on a nearby panel. Around the upper margin of the walls, just under the dome-edge, was a row of slightly convex glass screens, each half a meter square, which now glowed bluish-white in the manner of the Powerhouse Telerama. Scenes appeared on them, mostly unfamiliar: streets, buildings, interiors, for the most part dark and deserted. On one screen, however -- which Eierkopf selected, shutting off the rest -- a considerable crowd was represented, around a single column that marked the scene as Founder's Hill. A white figure stood near the pediment alternately haranguing the throng and bending to touch and speak to individuals who knelt before him. To certain of them, it appeared, he gave something cylindrical and white, like a rolled paper.
"He's Certifying Candidates already," Eierkopf snorted. It was indeed Bray, I saw now in a closer view. "You'd better get busy, there won't be anybody left to Commence."
"Is he really Certified by WESCAC? He claimed to be." I wondered too how the man had contrived to appear from the air, like a great stork, and who he was anyhow

Leonardo da Vinci original picture of the last supper painting

Leonardo da Vinci original picture of the last supper paintingGeorge Frederick Watts Pablo and Francesca paintingFrancisco de Goya The Quail Shoot painting
naked female corpse. It seems to me
the woman could have waited till tonight,
when I was gone.

COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN: It sure was impolite
of her.

MAILMAN: You said it. But, that's how it goes.
In any case, I forgot to close
the bedroom door, and as I stood there swearing
and ogling her, young Taliped comes tearing
in. He yelled and hollered; I said, "Hi
there, Taliped," but he never did reply.

COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN:Another rude one. Cadmus seems to be
a little short on hospitality.

MAILMAN: That's right. Anyhow, he grabbed a knife
from somewhere and cut down his black-faced wife --
/mean his black-faced mother. . .

COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN: Let it go;
we get the general picture.

MAILMAN: And you know
what he did then?

COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN: I hope he wasn't rude
to you.

MAILMAN: Judge for yourself. There lay his nude
old lady, with the gown around her chin;
he tore off his diamond-studded fraternity pin
and also his old man's --she wore them both,

Vincent van Gogh Two Cypresses painting

Vincent van Gogh Two Cypresses paintingBenjamin Williams Leader The Last Gleam, Wargrave on Thames paintingGustave Clarence Rodolphe Boulanger La Fille De Ferme painting
ardently, swore their love, repented their abuses of it, mourned the past, vowed to do better. He listened to their words with tender unbelief. No matter. Even the question that had come to live with him some months earlier -- having visited his fancy on rare occasions over the years -- now lost its urgency and seemed just interesting: the question of the broken glass.shower before the cocktail party we were having that evening for some Tower Hall big-shots. I got to making ugly faces at myself and feeling terrible, and suddenly it struck me maybe that wasn't no window at all I'd chunked that rock through, or any flunkèd Peeping Tom hollering at Miss Sally Ann; it could of been one of them mirrors that make you look
"What it was," he said, "I was looking at myself in the bathroom mirror one afternoon, just when my big started. I'd been out all day with the stiffs on the picket-line, busting the windowlights out of one of my papermills, and I'd come to

Edvard Munch Puberty 1894 painting

Edvard Munch Puberty 1894 paintingEdvard Munch Madonna paintingAlbert Moore silver painting
classmate as oneself was a Right Answer; He'd had no option, except to be or not to be a Grand Tutor; had He commanded us otherwise, He'd not have been one.sacrifice himself in the name of studentdom as Enos Enoch did -- and yet by no means be a Grand Tutor in his own right, but only an imitation Enos Enoch. On the other hand Enos could not have gone about saying justanything, or nothing, and still have been Enos Enoch. In truth the doer did not define the deed nor did the deed the doer; their relation (in the case at least of Grand Tutors and Grand-Tutoring) was first of all that of artists I on the contrary had sometimes held that to love one's classmate as oneself was Correct only because Enos Enoch so commanded; that to hate oneself and one's classmate would be just as Correct instead had He commandedthat ; in short that His choice was free because His nature wasn't, He being in any case a Grand Tutor. But now I felt that we both had been in error: Max himself might love his classmate and the rest, and teach others to -- might even

Claude Monet Monet Water Lillies I painting

Claude Monet Monet Water Lillies I paintingClaude Monet Boulevard des Capucines paintingHorace Vernet Judith and Holofernes painting
more colorful lights. A small door, also of steel mesh, was built into the screen. Stoker approached it and set up a shout in what seemed to be no particular language, merely an abusive clamor accompanied by grimaces, foot-stampings, and waving of the arms.
"Awah!Nyet! Da! Open sesame! Borscht borscht!"
At once a man near us turned a series of knobs on his dial-panel, and on the Nikolayan side a stocky young fellow with a black eye-patch did the same. On both sides impassive guards with rifles appeared -- they had been standing at such rigid attention in the corners that I hadn't noticed them -- clicked their bolts, and held their weapons ready. The door swung open of itself.
"Don't you move," Stoker warned. But he himself swaggered through the doorway, made a deep bow to the Nikolayan riflemen (saluting them too with a cracking fart), and returned to pay the same compliment to the guards on our side. The dials were turned back, the door swung shut and latched itself, the guards marched precisely to their corners. Except for myself, who caught my breath with astonishment, and the young Nikolayan with the eye-patch, who grinned and shook his head, no one appeared even

William Bouguereau the first kiss painting

William Bouguereau the first kiss paintingClaude Monet Water Lily Pond paintingClaude Monet The Water Lily Pond painting
with Uncle Ira, but I guess I'd become sort of an expert at guessing what people needed, sometimes even before they guessed it themselves; and being brought up the way I was, I couldn't help trying to please them, whether I understood what I was doing or not. If I'd been allowed to go out with any of those nice boys, I'd have seduced them before they ever got their nerve up to kiss me, and probably I'd've thought I was a real Graduate for doing it!"
This intuition, she went on, plainly showed her that while Ira Hector was honestly horrified by her behavior, he also relished chastizing her for it. In particular, she observed, it had done him a campus of good to administer that spanking: time and again he alluded to it; teased or threatened her, according to his mood, with the prospect of another, and never failed, when he kissed her good-night, to swat her playfully athwart the haunches "in case she thought he couldn't do it again if he had to." Finally one day when he was in a rage over political reverses (young Lucius Rexford, the chancellor-to-be, had just won his party's nomination and had pledged to break up the reference-book monopoly

Wassily Kandinsky Improvisation painting

Wassily Kandinsky Improvisation paintingVincent van Gogh The Sower paintingVincent van Gogh The Night Cafe painting
even my competence in theoretical physics, for example, was pejorated by my attitude. At best I found it moderately poetic that every action had an equal and opposite reaction, or that an embryo's gestation repeated the evolution of its phylum; for the most part I regarded natural laws with the same provisional neutrality with which one regards the ground-rules of a game or the exposition of a fable, and the reflection that one had no choice of whatever (when so many others were readily imaginable) could bring me on occasion to severe melancholy. Indeed, if I never came truly to despair at the awful arbitrariness of Facts, it was because I never more than notionally accepted them.The Encyclopedia Tammanica I read from Aardvaark to Zymurgy in quite the same spirit as I read theOld School Tales, my fancy prefacing each entry "Once upon a time. . ."
Especially did I consider in this manner the Facts of my own existence and nature. There was no birthdate, birthplace, or ancestry to define me. I had seen generations of kids grow to goathood, reproduce themselves, and die, like successive casts of

Thomas Kinkade venice painting

Thomas Kinkade venice paintingThomas Kinkade New York 5th Avenue paintingThomas Kinkade Mountains Declare his Glory painting
man's nature. Disgraced and penniless, he was obliged to take whatever employment he could find to keep body and soul together; and thus it came about that he spent his last years as Senior Goatherd on the New Tammany ceFarms. Ignominy -- yet who can say Max didn't make the most of it? His masterwork,The Riddle of the Sphincters, twenty years in the writing and done but for the index, he fed to the goats a chapter at a time: I myself, so he told me years later over Mont d'Or cheese and bock beer, had lunched on the Second Appendix, a poem-in-numbers meant to demonstrate mathematically his belief in the fundamental rectitude of student nature. Embittered, but too great-hearted for despair, he removed himself entirely from society and devoted all his genius to the herd. Year-round he lived among us: made in a stall through the winter and pastured with us when the weather warmed. Call it if you will the occupational affliction of the field-researcher, he soon came to feel for the objects of his study more love than he had ever felt for his

Fabian Perez red hat painting

Fabian Perez red hat paintingFabian Perez man in black hat painting
quarters upstairs. The entire area was a playground which had all the casual opulence of a Riviera resort and found its focus in the sparkling waters of a swimming pool, set like an oblong sapphire amid flowered walks and a fanciful growth of beach umbrellas. There, at ten minutes past four each day, Mannix could be found, his uniform shed in an instant and a gin fizz in his hand—a sullen, mountainous figure in a lurid spoBoth Mannix and Culver hated the place—its factitious luxury, its wanton atmosphere of alcohol and torpid ease and dances, the vacant professional talk of the regular officers and the constant teasing presence of their wives, who were beautiful and spoke in tender drawls and boldly flaunted at the wifeless reserves—in a proprietary, Atlanta-—their lecherous sort of chastity. The place seemed to offer up, like a cornucopia, the fruits of boredom, of foot-lessness and dissolution. It was, in Mannix's words, like a prison where you could have anything you wanted

Frida Kahlo The Suicide of Dorothy Hale painting

Frida Kahlo The Suicide of Dorothy Hale paintingFrida Kahlo The Frame painting
the expression of a man who might be fatuous and a ham of sorts, but was not himself evil or unjust—a man who would like to overhear some sergeant say, "He keeps a tight outfit, but he's straight." In men like Templeton all emotions—all smiles, all anger—emanated from a priestlike, religious fervor, throbbing inwardly with the cadence of parades and booted footfalls. By that passion rebels are ordered into quick damnation but simple doubters sometimes find indulgence— depending upon the priest, who may be one inclined toward mercy, or who is one ever rapt in some litany of punishment and court-martial. The Colonel was devout but inclined toward mercy. He was not a tyrant, and his smile was a sign that the Captain's doubts were forgiven, probably even forgotten. But only Culver had seen the Captain's face: a quick look of both fury and suffering, like the tragic Greek mask, or a shackled slave. Then Mannix flushed. "Yes, sir," he said.
The Colonel walked toward the door. He seemed already to have put the incident out of his mind. "Culver," he said, "if you can ever make radio contact with Able

Amedeo Modigliani Landscape painting

Amedeo Modigliani Landscape paintingAmedeo Modigliani Caryatid 1 painting
recognized in him a not uncommon type with the hard need to be the stud duck in the pond. He couldn’t see much of Jack in either one of them, took a breath.
“I feel awful bad about Jack. Can’t begin to say how bad I feel. I knew him a long time. I come by to tell you that if you want me to take his ashes up there on Brokeback like his wife says he wanted I’d be proud to.”
There was a silence. Ennis cleared his throat but said nothing more. The old man said, “Tell you what, I know where Brokeback Mountain is. He thought he was too goddamn special to be buried in the family plot.”
Jack’s mother ignored this, said, “He used a every year, even after he was married and down in Texas, and help his daddy on the ranch for a week fix the gates and mow and all. I kept his room like it was when he was a boy and I think he appreciated

Filippino Lippi Adoration of the Child painting

Filippino Lippi Adoration of the Child paintingBartolome Esteban Murillo Madonna and Child paintingFilippino Lippi Madonna with Child and Saints painting
all the way to the top of the Forest, "and if I go on singing it much longer," he thought, "it will be time for the little something, and then the last line won't be true." So he turned it into a hum instead. Christopher Robin was sitting outside his door, putting on his Big Boots. As soon as he saw the Big Boots, Pooh knew that an Adventure was going to happen, and he brushed the honey off his nose with the back of his paw, and spruced himself up as well as he could, so as to look Ready for Anything. Pooh sat down, dug his feet into the ground, and pushed hard against Christopher Robin's back, and Christopher Robin pushed hard against his, and pulled and pulled at his boot until he had got it on. "And that's that," said Pooh. "What do we do next?" "We are all going on an Expedition," said Christopher Robin, as he got up and brushed himself. "Thank you, Pooh." "Going on an Expotition?" said Pooh eagerly"Good morning, Christopher Robin," he called out. "Hallo, Pooh Bear. I can't get this boot on." "That's bad," said Pooh. "Do you think you could very kindly lean against me, 'cos I keep pulling so hard that I fall over backwards."

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema promise of spring painting

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema promise of spring paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema Courtship the Proposal paintingSir Lawrence Alma-Tadema A Favorite Custom painting
moment, he disappeared entirely, like a feather in a flame. The Bull ran over him and left him lying on the ground. One side of his face cuddled too hard into the sand, and one leg kicked the air three times before it stopped.
He fell without a cry, and Schmendrick and Molly alike were stricken as silent as he, but the unicorn turned. The Red Bull halted when she did, and wheeled to put her once more between himself and the sea. He began his mincing, dancing advance again, but he might have been a courting bird for all the attention the unicorn paid him. She stood motionless, staring at the twisted body of Prince Lir.
The tide was grumbling in hard now, and the beach was already a slice narrower. Whitecaps and skipper's-daughters spilled up into the sprawling dawn, but Molly Grue still saw no other unicorn but her own. Over the castle, the sky was scarlet, and on the highest tower King Haggard stood up as clear and black as a winter tree. Molly could see the straight scar of his mouth, and his nails darkening as he gripped the parapet. But the castle cannot fall now. Only Lir could have made it fall.

Francois Boucher The Interrupted Sleep painting

Francois Boucher The Interrupted Sleep paintingFrancois Boucher Leda and the Swan paintingJohannes Vermeer the Milkmaid painting
power than you have; less, for you can touch her, and I cannot." Then he said suddenly, "Look. It is over."
The unicorn was standing very still before the Red Bull, her head down and her whiteness drabbled to a soapy gray. She looked gaunt and small; and even Molly, who loved her, could not keep from seeing that a unicorn is an absurd animal when the shining has gone out of her. Tail like a lion's tail, deerlegs, goatfeet, the mane cold and fine as foam over my hand, the charred horn, the eyes—oh the eyes! Molly took hold of Schmendrick's arm and dug her nails into it as hard as she could.
"You have magic," she said. She heard her own voice, as deep and clear as a sibyl's. "Maybe you can't find it, but it's there. You called up Robin Hood, and there is no Robin Hood, but he came, and he was real. And that is magic. You have all the power you need, if you dare to look for it."
Schmendrick regarded her in silence, staring as hard as though his green eyes were beginning the search for his magic in Molly Grue's eyes. The Bull stepped lightly toward the unicorn, no longer pursuing, but commanding her with the weight of his presence, and she moved

Claude Monet Autumn at Argenteuil painting

Claude Monet Autumn at Argenteuil paintingRene Magritte Woman Bathing paintingRene Magritte The Voice of the Winds painting
You didn't see any supper, I notice," his wife replied coldly. "I hate a man who talks with his mouth empty."
"Baby, a unicorn!" The jay abandoned his casual air and hopped up and down on the branch. "I haven't seen one of those since the time—"
"You've never seen one," she and what you haven't."
The jay paid no attention. "There was a strange-looking party in black with her," he rattled. "They were going over
Cat Mountain. I wonder if they were heading for Haggard's country." He cocked his head to the artistic angle that had first won his wife. "What a vision for old Haggard's breakfast," he marveled. "A unicorn coming to call, bold as you please, rat-tat-tat on his dismal door. I'd give anything to see—"
"I suppose the two of you didn't spend the whole day watching unicorns," his wife interrupted with a click of her beak. "At least, I understand that she used to be considered quite imaginative in matters of spare time." She advanced on him, her neck feathers ruffling.
"Honey, I haven't even seen her—" the blue jay began, and his wife knew that

Thomas Kinkade Streams of Living Water painting

Thomas Kinkade Streams of Living Water paintingThomas Kinkade San Francisco A View Down California Street From Nob Hill paintingThomas Kinkade Petals of Hope painting
He was slow-spoken, unexcitable, verging on the lugubrious. "I think so," he said. He looked at me. "You can judge," he said. "After you've been there."
He would say no more. A ship's captain is a person who has that privilege.
The ship did not put into the bay, but was met out beyond the bar by a boat that took passengers ashore. The other passengers were still in their cabins. Nobody but the captain and a couple of sailors watched me (all rigged out head to foot in a suit of strong but gauzy mesh which I had rented from the ship) clamber down into the boat and wave good-bye. The captain nodded. One of the sailors waved. I was frightened. It was no help at all that I didn't know what I was frightened of.
Putting the captain and Postwand together, it sounded as if the price of immortality was the horrible disease udreba. But I really had very little evidence, and my curiosity was intense. If a virus that made you immortal turned up in my country, vast sums of money would be poured into studying it, and if it had bad effects, scientists would alter it genetically to get rid of them, and the talk shows

Guido Reni Cleopatra painting

Guido Reni Cleopatra paintingGuido Reni Reni Charity paintingFrancois Boucher The Setting of the Sun painting
ground for a moment, and so I couldn't resist, I couldn't help it, I began to run and to loft my wings, and then beat down, and loft again, and I was up! But there was the Weights and Measures Building right in front of me, this grey stone facade right in my face, and I actually had to fend off, push myself away from it with my hands, and drop down to the pavement. But I turned around and there I had the full run ahead of me, clear across the marketplace to the Assay Office. And I ran, and I took off.
I swooped around the marketplace for a while, staying low, learning how to turn and bank, and how to use my tail feathers. It comes pretty natural, you feel what to do, the air tells you... but the people down below were looking up, and ducking when I banked too steep, or stalled... I didn't care. I flew for over an hour, till after dark, after all the people had gone. I'd got way up over the roofs by then. But I

Vincent van Gogh Autumn Landscape painting

Vincent van Gogh Autumn Landscape paintingVincent van Gogh Le Moulin de la Galette paintingVincent van Gogh Farmhouse in Provence painting
Actually a wide choice of parties: one in a gilded ballroom, with balloons and waltzes and an orchestra; one in a "Green-which Village Flapper Days Loft," with jazz and bootleg gin; one in a "Cheers-Type Bar," one at a "Sixties Hippie Love-In," and so on. An appropriate costume for the evening, from ball gown or black tie to purple mohawk wig and temporary nose and lip studs, may be rented. Studying the faces in the photographs of parties in progress, I'd guess that an appropriate companion for the evening may also be rented. Among the dancers, at the buffet tables, clinking champagne glasses, are a lot of pretty, young women and handsome, fortyish men. They are all slender, all dark, and all smiling. They don't look like tourists. The tourists do.
I got the impression from these brochures that a visit to the Great Joy Corporation's plane might be quite expensive, though no prices are listed. If you call the 800 number or try to find out on the Net, they just assure you that

Camille Pissarro Bouquet Of Flowers painting

Camille Pissarro Bouquet Of Flowers paintingCamille Pissarro Boulevard Montmarte paintingClaude Lorrain The Rest on the Flight into Egypt painting
WHEN DAWODOW, Fiftieth Emperor of the Fourth Dynasty of Mahigul, came to the throne, many statues of his grandfather Andow and his father Dowwode stood in the capital city and the lesser cities of the land. Dawodow ordered them all re-carved into his own image, so that they all became portraits of him. He also had countless new likenesses of himself carved. Thousands of workmen were employed at immense stoneyards and workshops making idealised portrait figures of the Emperor Dawodow. What with the old statues with new faces and the new statues, there were so many that there weren't pedestals and plinths enough to set them on or niches enough to set them in, so they were placed on sidewalks, at street

Eric Wallis paintings

Eric Wallis paintings
Edmund Blair Leighton paintings
Eugene de Blaas paintings
Most carry with them only what they can carry in a backpack or load on a ruba (from Kergemmeg's description, rubac are something like small, feathered donkeys). Some of the traders who have become during the desert season start out with whole trains of rubac loaded with goods and treasures. Though most people travel alone or in a small family group, on the more popular roads they follow pretty close after one another. Larger groups form temporarily in places where the going is hard and the older and weaker people need help gathering and carrying food.
There are no children on the road north.
Kergemmeg did not know how many Ansarac there are but guessed some hundreds of thousands, perhaps a million. All of them join the migration.
As they go up into the mountainous Middle Lands, they do not bunch together

Salvador Dali Ascension painting

Salvador Dali Ascension paintingJuarez Machado Copacabana Palace Hotel paintingJuarez Machado Art Deco Evening painting
The idea that when once the usual amount of semen has been secreted, secretion largely or completely ceases, only enough being secreted usually to replace what is absorbed, and this even under frequent or habitual sexual excitement, is, I believe, probably correct, and agrees with my own understanding of the matter. But ever and anon, with the usual man, a surplus does accumulate, is not sublimated, and an orgasm occurs.
The question of whether the woman's orgasm is essential to the best conception seems to have a new sidelight thrown upon it by the discussion concerning birthmarks and prenatal influence.
If, as most modern physicians seem to agree, there is no truth in the old theory of prenatal influence; if the germplasm is something separate, of which the individual sex-partner is only a carrier, as a postman carries a letter, but with the message within which he has nothing to do, then it would appear that the woman's orgasm or nonorgasm has as little influence as any other prenatal factor. Just as it would not really matter, so far as the message in the letter was concerned

Alphonse Maria Mucha Spirit of Spring painting

Alphonse Maria Mucha Spirit of Spring paintingPeter Paul Rubens Woman with a Mirror paintingPeter Paul Rubens The Crucified Christ painting
The man who would be an artist in touch must learn to put this vital elixir into his fingertips, his palms, into the glance of his eyes, suggest it in the tones of his voice, convey it at will from any part of his body which may touch the body of another - yes, even to convey it by mere aura, invisibly, secretly, to another body, near, but not in contact. He must learn to touch with firm and thrilling strength, or with tender gentleness and restfulness. He must learn to stroke and caress with an exquisite delicacy, tactfulness and grace, suggesting music. In the actual embrace he must learn to alternate violent speed and force (yet controlled and never really rude or inconsiderate), in his movements, with touches delicate and soothing, in a contrast of symphonic "storm and peace," which may sink to absolute quietude of strong, tender enfolding.
p. 19
O touch me, touch me right! she said -(O God, how often womanhood hath said!)That we two ones as one be wed,That all with all, throughout, we wed,Close, close and tender close! she said,The touch that knows, O Man! she saidO touch me, touch me right! she said.

Diane Romanello Sunset Beach painting

Diane Romanello Sunset Beach paintingGustav Klimt The Virgins (Le Vergini) paintingGustav Klimt The Fulfillment (detail I) painting
There was a soft splashing noise to his left and he saw that the merpeople had broken the surface to listen, too. He remembered Dumbledore crouching at the water's edge two years ago, very close to where Harry now sat, and conversing in Mermish with the Merchieftainess. Harry wondered where Dumbledore had learned Mermish. There was so much he had never asked him, so much he should have said ...
And then, without warning, it swept over him, the dreadful truth, more completely and undeniably than it had until now. Dumbledore was dead, gone ... he clutched the cold locket in his hand so tightly that it hurt, but he could not prevent hot tears spilling from his eyes: he looked away from Ginny and the others and stared out over the lake, towards the Forest, as the little man in black droned on ... there was movement among the trees. The centaurs had come to pay their respects, too. They did not move into the open but Harry saw them

Alphonse Maria Mucha Gismonda painting

Alphonse Maria Mucha Gismonda paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha Dance paintingMichelangelo Buonarroti Crucifix painting
dark water the moment they were out of sight of the bank.
"Voldemort would have been reasonably confident that none but a very great wizard would have been able to find the boat," said Dumbledore. "I think he would have been prepared to risk what was, to his mind, the most unlikely possibility that somebody else would find it, knowing that he had set other obstacles ahead that only he would be able to penetrate. We shall see whether he was right."
Harry looked down into the boat. It really was very small. "It doesn't look like it was built for two people. Will it hold both of us? Will we be too heavy together?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Voldemort will not have cared about the weight, but about the amount of magical power that crossed his lake. I rather think an enchantment will have been placed upon this boat so that only one wizard at a time will be able to sail in it."
"But then — ?"

Camille Pissarro The Hermitage at Pontoise painting

Camille Pissarro The Hermitage at Pontoise paintingTheodore Robinson The Ship Yard painting
is essential that you understand this!" said Dumbledore, standing up and striding about the room, his glittering robes swooshing in his wake; Harry had never seen him so agitated. "By attempting to kill you, Voldemort himself singled out the remark-able person who sits here in front of me, and gave him the tools for the job! It is Voldemort's fault that you were able to see into his thoughts, his ambitions, that you even understand the snakelike language in which he gives orders, and yet, Harry, despite your privileged insight into Voldemort's world (which, incidentally, is a gift any Death Eater would kill to have), you have never been se-duced by the Dark Arts, never, even for a second, shown the slight-est desire to become one of Voldemort's followers!"
"Of course I haven't!" said Harry indignantly. "He killed my mum and dad!"
"You are protected, in short, by your ability to love!" said Dum-bledore loudly. "The only protection that can possibly work against the lure of power like Voldemort's! In spite of all the temptation you have

John Singer Sargent Dorothy Barnard painting

John Singer Sargent Dorothy Barnard paintingJohn Singer Sargent Atlantic Storm painting
pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."
"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," suggested Dumbledore.

"Well, then, what better place to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts?" said Voldemort. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves — or so rumor has it — the Death Eaters?"
Harry could tell that Voldemort had not expected Dumbledore to know this name; he saw Voldemort’s eyes flash red again and the slitlike nostrils flare.
"My friends," he said, after a moment's pause, "will carry on without me, I am sure."

Frida Kahlo The Suicide of Dorothy Hale painting

Frida Kahlo The Suicide of Dorothy Hale paintingFrida Kahlo The Frame painting
Do Mum and Dad know?" Fred asked Ginny. "They've already seen him, they arrived an hour ago — they're in Dumbledore's office now, but they'll be back soon. . . ."
There was a pause while they all watched Ron mumble a little in his sleep.
"So the poison was in the drink?" said Fred quietly.
"Yes," said Harry at once; he could think of nothing else and was glad for the opportunity to start discussing it again. "Slughorn poured it out —"
"Would he have been able to slip something into Ron's glass without you seeing?"
"Probably," said Harry, "but why would Slughorn want to poison Ron?"
"No idea," said Fred, frowning. "You don't think he could have mixed up the glasses by mistake? Meaning to get you?"
"Why would Slughorn want to poison Harry?" asked Ginny. "I dunno," said Fred, "but there must be loads of people who'd like to poison Harry,

Frederic Edwin Church Cotopaxi painting

Frederic Edwin Church Cotopaxi paintingFrederic Edwin Church Twilight in the Wilderness painting
Who's Greyback?"
"You haven't heard of him?" Lupin's hands closed convulsively in his lap. "Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in lifeto bite and to conta-minate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough were-wolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback specializes in children. . . . Bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people's sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results."
Lupin paused and then said, "It was Greyback who bit me." "What?" said Harry, astonished. "When — when you were a kid, you mean?"
"Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me; I even felt pity for him, thinking that he had had no control, know-ing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims,

John Collier The Water Nymph painting

John Collier The Water Nymph paintingJohn Collier Spring paintingJohn Collier Priestess of Delphi painting
Harry awoke next morning feeling slightly dazed and confused by a series of dreams in which Ron had chased him with a Beater’s bat, but by midday he would have happily exchanged the dream Ron for the real one, who was not only cold-shouldering Ginny and Dean, but also treating a hurt and bewildered Hermione with an icy, sneering indifference. What was more, Ron seemed to have become, overnight, as touchy and ready to lash out as the average Blast-Ended Skrewt. Harry spent the day attempting to keep the peace between Ron and Hermione with no success; finally, Hermione departed for bed in high dudgeon, and Ron stalked off to the boys' dormitory after swearing angrily at several frightened first years for looking at him.
To Harry’s dismay, Ron's new aggression did not wear off over the next few days. Worse still, it coincided with an even deeper dip in his Keeping skills, which made him still more aggressive, so that during the final Quidditch practice before Saturdays match, he failed to save every si