Vermeer The Allegory of the Faith

Vermeer The Allegory of the FaithVermeer The Allegory of the Faith detailVermeer Lady with Her Maidservant Holding a LetterVermeer Lady Standing at a Virginal
and glittered in the sun, so that his heart was glad. But Sméagol had been watching him from behind a tree, and as Déagol gloated over the ring, Sméagol came softly up behind.‘“Give us that, Déagol, my love,” said find out secrets, and he put his knowledge to crooked and malicious uses. He became sharp-eyed and keen-eared for all that was hurtful. The ring had given him power according to his stature. It is not to be wondered at that he became very unpopular and was shunned (when visible) by all his relations. They kicked him, and he bit their feet. He took to thieving, and going about muttering to Sméagol, over his friend’s shoulder.‘“Why?” said Déagol.‘ “Because it’s my birthday, my love, and I wants it,” said Sméagol.‘“I don’t care,” said Déagol. “I have given you a present already, more than I could afford. I found this, and I’m going to keep it.”‘ “Oh, are you indeed, my love,” said Sméagol; and he caught Déagol by the throat and strangled him, because the gold looked so bright and beautiful. Then he put the ring on his finger.‘No one ever found out what had become of Déagol; he was murdered far from, and his body was cunningly hidden. But Sméagol returned alone; and he found that none of his family could see him, when he was wearing the ring. He was very pleased with his discovery and he concealed it; and he used it to

Neiman The DiMaggio Cut

Neiman The DiMaggio CutNeiman The Cove at VintageNeiman The CatchNeiman The Big Five
This tale grew in the telling, until it became a history of the Great War of the Ring and included many glimpses of the yet more ancient history that preceded it. It was begun soon after The Hobbit was written and before its publication in 1937; but I did not go on with this sequel, for I wished first to complete and set in order the mythology and legends of the Elder Days, which had then been taking shape for some years. I desired to do in the of The Hobbit, in which there were already some references to the older matter: Elrond, Gondolin, the High-elves, and the orcs, as well as glimpses that had arisen unbidden of things higher or deeper or darker than its surface: Durin, Moria, Gandalf, the Necromancer, the Ring. The this for my own satisfaction, and I had little hope that other people would be interested in this work, especially since it was primarily linguistic in inspiration and was begun in order to provide the necessary background of 'history' for Elvish tongues.When those whose advice and opinion I sought corrected little hope to no hope, I went back to the sequel, encouraged by requests from readers for more information concerning hobbits and their adventures. But the story was drawn irresistibly towards the older world, and became an account, as it were, of its end and passing away before its beginning and middle had been told. The process had

Lawrence Alma-Tadema Thou Rose of all the Roses

Lawrence Alma-Tadema Thou Rose of all the RosesLawrence Alma-Tadema The FrigidariumLawrence Alma-Tadema The Favourite PoetLawrence Alma-Tadema The Conversion Of Paula By Saint Jerome
A chilly breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the forest lifted the hair at Harry's brow. He knew that they would not tell him to go, that it would have to be his decision.

"You'll stay with me?"　　　And he set of. The dementors' chill did not overcome him; he passed through it with his companions, and they acted like Patronuses to him, and together they marched through the old trees that grew closely together, their branches tangled, their roots gnarled and twisted underfoot. Harry clutched the Cloak tightly around him in the darkness, traveling deeper and deeper

"Until the very end," said James.

"They won't be able to see you?" asked Harry.

"We are part of you," said Sirius. "Invisible to anyone else."

Harry looked at his mother.

"Stay close to me," he said quietly.

Cezanne Dr. Gachet's House at Auvers

`hoCezanne Dr. Gachet's House at AuversCezanne Dahlias 1875Cezanne Canyon of BibemusCezanne Bathers in the Open Air
yearning to show him Voldemort's thoughts? He closed his eyes on

her command, and at once, the screams and bangs and all the

discordant sounds of the battle were drowned until they became
dark except for a solitary oil lamp. He was rolling his wand between his figners, watching it, his thoughts on the room in the castle, the secret room only he had ever found, the room, like the chamber, that you had to be clever and cunning and inquisitive to discover...He was confident
distant, as though he stood far, far away from them...

He was standing in the middle of a desolate but strangely familiar

room, with peeling paper on the walls and all the windows boarded

up except for one. The sounds of the assault on the castle were

muffled and distant. The single unblocked window revealed distant

bursts of light where the castle stood, but inside the room was

Romanello Autumn Threshold

Romanello Autumn ThresholdRomanello Autumn Road PanelRomanello Autumn LeavesRomanello Autumn Colors
Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"

　　　"You're joking, Perce!" shouted Fred as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him; he seemed to be turning into some form of sea urchin. Fred looked at Percy with glee.
Death Eaters at their feet, one Stunned, the other Transfigured; and in that fragment of a moment, when danger seemed temporarily at bay, the world was rent apart, Harry felt himself flying through the air, and all he could do was hold as tightly as possible to that thin stick of wood that was his one and only weapon, and shield his head in his arms: He heard the screams and yells of his companions without a hope of knowing
　　　"You actually are joking, Perce. . . . I don't think I've heard you joke since you were –"

　　　The air exploded. They had been grouped together, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and Percy, the two

Kahlo The Deceased Dimas

Kahlo The Deceased DimasKahlo The BusKahlo The Bride Frightened at Seeing Life OpenedKahlo Self Portrait with the Portrait of Doctor Farill
getting as far away from its underground prison as possible; but the question of how and when they were to dismount remained rather frightening. He had no idea how long dragons could fly without landing, nor how this particular dragon, which could barely see, would locate a good place to put down. He glanced around constantly, imagining that he could feel his seat prickling.
　The dragon seemed to crave cooler and fresher air. It climbed steadily until they were flying through wisps of chilly cloud, and Harry could no longer make out the little colored dots which were cars pouring in and out of the capital. On and on they flew, over countryside parceled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscape like strips of matte and glossy ribbon.
　How long would it be before Voldemort knew that they had broken into the Lestranges' vault? How soon would the goblins of Gringotts notify Bellatrix? How quickly would they realize what had been taken? And then, when they discovered that the golden cup was missing? Voldemort would know, at last, that they were hunting Horcruxes.

Kroyer Dia de verano en Skagen

Kroyer Dia de verano en SkagenKroyer Casa de los artistasKroyer Bano de muchachosMcCormack The Carl Family
But, what do you mean?" she said, frowning at him, her wand pointing at the casserole

dish now suspended in midair. "Of course you must not leave, you are safe 'ere!"

She looked rather like Mrs. Weasley as she said it, and he was glad that the back door
combined dining and sitting room where Ron and Hermione were laying the dinner table. Seizing the chance to escape Fleur's questions, Harry grabbed two jugs of pumpkin juice and followed them. "... and if you ever come to our house I'll be able to show you the horn, Daddy wrote to
opened at that moment. Luna and Dean entered, their hair damp from the rain outside and

their arms full of driftwood.

"... and tiny little ears," Luna was saying, "a bit like hippo's, Daddy says, only purple and

hairy. And if you want to call them, you have to hum; they prefer a waltz, nothing too

fast...."

Looking uncomfortable, Dean shrugged at Harry as he passed, following Luna into the

Munier May I Have One Too

Munier May I Have One TooMunier Two Girls PrayingMunier Le SauvatageMunier Playing with the Kitten
The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy fell on Harry's ears. He was panicking now. He could see no way out, and it was easier, as his fear mounted, to block out Voldemort's thoughts, though his scar was still burning.

"They say they've got Potter," said Narcissa's cold voice. "Draco, come here."
　　　Harry was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing in an intricately scrolled frame. Through the slits of his eyes he saw his own reflection for the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place. 　　　His face was huge, shiny, and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione's jinx. His black hair reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had he not known that it was he who stood there
　　　Harry did not dare look directly at Draco, but saw him obliquely; a figure slightly taller than he was, rising from an armchair, his face a pale and pointed blur beneath white-blond hair.

　　　Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place Harry directly beneath the chandelier.

"Well, boy?" rasped the werewolf.

Robinson Low Tide

Robinson Low TideRobinson Low Tide The Riverside Yacht ClubRobinson The Anchorage Cos CobPissarro Gelee Blanche
Hallows, Harry hurried back inside the tent to find Ron and Hermione kneeling on the floor beside the little radio. Hermione, who had been polishing the sword of Gryffindor just for something to do, was sitting open-mouthed, staring at the tiny speaker, from which a most familiar voice was issuing.
"Hi." "Evening, River."
　　　"…apologize for our temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house calls in our area by those charming Death Eaters."

"But that's Lee Jordan!" said Hermione.

"I know!" beamed Ron. "Cool, eh?"

　　　"…now found ourselves another secure location," Lee was saying, and I'm pleased to tell you that two of our regular contributors have joined me here this evening. Evening, boys!"

Rothko Number 12 1951

Rothko Number 12 1951Rothko Number 10Rothko Number 10 IRothko Slate Blue and Brown on Plum
Exceptional Spell-Casting, British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot, Gold Medal-Winner for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo. Dumbledore intended, next, to take a Grand Tour with Elphias "Dogbreath" Doge, the dim-witted but devoted sidekick he had picked up at school.

　The two young men were staying at the Leaky Cauldron in London, preparing to depart for Greece the following morning, when an owl arrived bearing news of Dumbledore's mother's death. "Dogbreath" Doge, who refused to be interviewed for this book, has given the public his own sentimental

version of what happened next. He represents Kendra's death as a tragic blow, and Dumbledore's decision to give up his expedition as an act of noble self-sacrifice.

　Certainly Dumbledore returned to Godric's Hollow at once, supposedly to "care" for his younger brother and sister. But how much

Craig View to the Valley

Craig View to the ValleyCraig View from San GimignanoCraig Verona GardenCraig Twilight Courtyard
they lifted the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus free of Hermione's bag, she kept her wand pointing at it, ready to cast a spell at any moment.

　　　"If somebody swapped the real sword for the face while it was in Dumbledore's office," she panted, as they propped the painting against the side of the tent, "Phineas Nigellus would have seen it happen, he hangs right beside the case!"
　　　"Phineas Nigellus?" said Hermione again. "Professor Black? Please could we talk to you? Please?" 　　　"'Please' always helps," said a cold, snide voice, and Phineas Nigellus slid into his portrait. At one, Hermione cried:
　　　"Unless he was asleep," said Harry, but he still held his breath as Hermione knelt down in front of the empty canvas, her wand directed at its center, cleared her throat, then said:

"Er—Phineas? Phineas Nigellus?"

Nothing happened.

Henri Rousseau The Snake Charmer painting

Henri Rousseau The Snake Charmer paintingPaul Cezanne Trees in Park paintingPaul Cezanne Table Corner painting
pamphlet from the pile beside a young witch. He examined it beneath the Invisibility Cloak. Its pink cover was emblazoned with a golden title:

Mudbloods
　　　"Careful," said the wizard beside her, glancing around nervously; one of his pages slipped and fell to the floor. "What, has she got magic ears as well as an eye, now?"
and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pure-Blood Society

　　　Beneath the title was a picture of a red rose with a simpering face in the middle of its petals, being strangled by a green weed with fangs and a scowl. There was no author's name upon the pamphlet, but again, the scars on the back of his right hand seemed to tingle as he examined it. Then the young witch beside him confirmed his suspicion as she said, still waving and twirling her wand, "Will the old hag be interrogating Mudbloods all day, does anyone know?"

Gustav Klimt The Tree of Life painting

Gustav Klimt The Tree of Life paintingGustav Klimt Expectation (gold foil) paintingSalvador Dali The Persistence of Memory painting
He agreed, but grudgingly, and followed her out onto the landing and past the second door that led off it. There were deep scratch marks in the paintwork below a small sign that he had not noticed in the dark. He passed at the top of the stairs to read it. It was a pompous little sign, neatly lettered by hand the sort of thing that Percy Weasley might have stuck on his bedroom door.

Do Not Enter

Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black

Excitement trickled through Harry, but he was not immediately sure why. He read the sign again. Hermione was already a flight of stairs below him.

　　　"Hermione," he said, and he was surprised that his voice was so calm. "Come back up here."

"What's the matter?"

Thomas Moran Forest Scene painting

Thomas Moran Forest Scene paintingThomas Moran Autumn Landscape paintingJean Francois Millet The Gleaners painting
Tottenham Court Road," panted Hermione. "Walk, just walk, we need to find somewhere for you to change."

　　　Harry did as she asked. They half walked, half ran up the wide dark street thronged with late-night revelers and lined with closed shops, stars twinkling above them. A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of merry pub-goers ogled them as they passed; Harry and Ron were still wearing dress robes.

　　　"Hermione, we haven't got anything to change into," Ron told her, as a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.

　　　"Why didn't I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me?" said Harry, inwardly cursing his own stupidity. "All last year I kept it on me and –"

　　　"It's okay, I've got the Cloak, I've got clothes for both of you," said Hermione, "Just try and act naturally until – this will do."

She led them down a side street, then into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway.

Andrea del Sarto The Sacrifice of Abraham painting

Andrea del Sarto The Sacrifice of Abraham paintingAndrea del Sarto Madonna of the Harpies paintingSalvador Dali Apparition of the Town of Delft painting
Very well then, together," he said, shrugging. He cleared his throat. "I am here, as I'm sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore's will."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another.

　　　"A surprise, apparently! You were not aware then that Dumbledore had left you anything?"

"A-all of us?" said Ron, "Me and Hermione too?"

"Yes, all of --"

But Harry interrupted.

　　　"Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why has it taken this long to give us what he left us?"

　　　"Isn't it obvious?" said Hermione, before Scrimgeour could answer. "They wanted to examine whatever he's left us. You had no right to do that!" she said, and her voice trembled slightly.

Fra Angelico Madonna con Bambino painting

Fra Angelico Madonna con Bambino paintingLeonardo da Vinci Virgin of the Rocks paintingLeonardo da Vinci The Virgin and Child With St Anne painting
At a recent stop along the expedition route in Berlin, Jeschke clarified:
We don't want merely to travel around the world in a spectacular manner. We understand the project 'Paris-New York Transcontinental' as an instrument for targeting, in a spectacular manner, maximum publicity for the themes of CO2-neutral project balances, renewable energies and energy efficiency.And it will be cold. Another facet of the "without traces" objective requires that the vast wildernesses be crossed in the depths of winter, when the permafrost and deep layers of snow will protect sensitive flora and fauna, and quickly erase any hint of the expedition's passage.
Green or Greenwash?Backing up their words andwith acts, the Paris-New York Transcontinental expedition runs on biofuel; specifically, on bioethanol produced from wood waste. Moreover, the lubricating oils for the vehicles are bio-oils. In fact, the team's clarifies that bio-oils are superior to mineral oils in quality and performance, especially in the cold.

Louis Aston Knight paintings

Louis Aston Knight paintings
Leon Bazile Perrault paintings
this Feb. 26, 2007 file photo, Guitar legend Les Paul smiles at the Iridium Jazz Club in the Manhattan Borough of New York. Les Paul is a rock 'n' roll da Vinci, part artist, part inventor, and at age 93 still performing and experimenting. His achievements will be recognized by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in a weeklong tribute starting Monday, Nov. 10, 2008. (AP Photo/ Colin Archer)
When Les Paul's grandchildren are jamming on the video "Guitar Hero," it's not lost on him that he made it all possible.
Paul, known as the "Father of the Electric Guitar," will be honored at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's annual American Masters series, a weeklong event that starts Monday.
Paul is a rock 'n' roll da Vinci, part artist, part inventor, and at age 93 still performs
Leon-Augustin L'hermitte paintings
in New York City.
"It's therapy," Paul said Thursday.
Paul recalled that the first time he heard a guitar on his mother's radio he knew he had to have one. By age 13, he was performing semiprofessionally as a country- guitarist.
He built a solid-body electric guitar in 1941 — an invention born from his frustration that audiences were unable to hear him play.

Vincent van Gogh Mulberry Tree painting

Vincent van Gogh Mulberry Tree paintingVincent van Gogh Bedroom Arles paintingVincent van Gogh Almond Branches in Bloom painting
Night fell. The villagers of Titlipur were grouped around their Sarpanch, Muhammad Din, and serious talks about returning to Titlipur were under way. Perhaps a little of the harvest could be saved. Mishal Akhtar lay dying with her head in her mother's lap, racked by pain, with a single tear emerging from her left eye. And in a far corner of the courtyard of the greenblue mosque with its technicolour tube-lighting, the visionary and the zamindar sat alone and talked. A moon -- new, horned, cold -- shone down. much to go to Mecca Sharif. So we have interests in common, you and I." Ayesha listened. Saeed pressed on: "Ayesha, I'm not a bad man. Let me tell you, I've been damn impressed by many things on this walk; damn
"You're a clever man," Ayesha said. "You knew how to take your chance."
This was when Mirza Saeed made his offer of a compromise. "My wife is dying," he said. "And she wants very

Gustav Klimt The Three Ages of Woman painting

Gustav Klimt The Three Ages of Woman paintingGustav Klimt The Kiss (Le Baiser _ Il Baccio) paintingGustav Klimt Sea Serpents painting
city becomes vague, amorphous. It is becoming impossible to describe the world. Pilgrimage, prophet, adversary merge, fade into mists, emerge. As does she: Allie, Al--Lat. _She is the exalted bird. Greatly to be desired_. He remembers now: she told him, long ago, about Jumpy's poetry. _He's trying to make a collection. A book_. The thumb--sucking artist with his infernal views. A book is a product of a pact with the Devil that inverts the Faustian contract, he'd told Allie. Dr. Faustus sacrificed eternity in return for two dozen years of power; the writer agrees to the gains (but only if he's lucky) maybe not eternity, but posterity, at least. Either way (this was Jumpy's point) it's the Devil who wins.
What does a poet write? Verses. What jingle-jangles in Gibreel's brain? Verses. What broke his heart? Verses and again verses.
The trumpet, Azraeel, calls out from a greatcoat pocket: _Pick me up! Yesyesyes: the Trump. To hell with it all, the whole sorry mess

Thomas Kinkade Studio in The Garden painting

Thomas Kinkade Studio in The Garden paintingThomas Kinkade Rose Gate paintingThomas Kinkade Living Waters painting
all boiled down to love, reflected Saladin Chamcha in his den: love, the refractory bird of Meilhac and Halévy's libretto for _Carmen_ -- one of the prize specimens, this, in the Allegorical Aviary he'd assembled in lighter days, and which included among its winged metaphors the Sweet (of youth), the Yellow (more lucky than me), Khayyám--FitzGerald's adjectiveless Bird of Time (which has but a little way to fly, and lo! is on the Wing), and the Obscene; this last from a letter written by Henry James, Sr, to his sons. . . "Every man who has reached even his intellectual teens begins to suspect that life is no farce; that it is not genteel comedy even; that it flowers and fructifies on the contrary out of the profoundest tragic depths of the essential dearth in which its subject's roots are plunged. The natural inheritance of everyone who is capable of spiritual an unsubdued forest where

Jean Beraud Le Boulevard St. Denis Paris painting

Jean Beraud Le Boulevard St. Denis Paris paintingJean Beraud Le Bal Mabile paintingJean Beraud Jeune femme traversant le boulevard painting
weight of that heavy palanquin, they assumed she was inside. Ayesha returned after relieving herself to find herself alone, and who knows what might have befallen her if a young man, a certain Safwan, had not chanced to pass by on his camel . . . Safwan brought Ayesha back to Yathrib safe and sound; at which point tongues began to wag, not least in the harem, where opportunities to weaken Ayesha's power were eagerly seized by her opponents. The two young people had been alone in the desert for many hours, and it was hinted, more and more loudly, that Safwan was a dashingly handsome fellow, and the Prophet was much older than the young woman, after all, and might she not therefore have been attracted to someone closer to her own age? "Quite a scandal," Salman commented, happily.
"What will Mahound do?" Baal wanted to know.
"O, he's done it," Salman replied. "Same as ever. He saw his pet

Frederick Carl Frieseke The Garden Parasol painting

Frederick Carl Frieseke The Garden Parasol paintingFrederick Carl Frieseke Lady in a Garden paintingFrederick Carl Frieseke Breakfast in the Garden painting
New York sushi bar, along with a female companion, Mildred Mamoulian, described as an actress, forty years of age. The story was that he had approached numbers of society matrons, "movers and shakers", asking for "very substantial" sums of money which he had claimed to need in order to buy his freedom from a sect of winner, especially as the Devil he offered was so democratically responsive to the dictates of the Almighty Dollar. What Billy offered the West Side matrons in return for their fat cheques was verification: yes, there is a Devil; I've seen him with my own eyes -- Goddevil worshippers. Once a confidence man, always a confidence man: it was what Mimi Mamoulian would no doubt have described as a beautiful sting. Penetrating the heart of American religiosity, pleading to be saved -- "when you sell your soul you can't expect to buy back cheap" -- Billy had banked, the investigators alleged, "six figure sums". The world community of the faithful longed, in the late 1980s, for _direct contact with the supernal_, and Billy, claiming to have raised (and therefore to need rescuing from) infernal fiends, was on to a

Carl Fredrik Aagard Amalfi dia Cappuccini painting

Carl Fredrik Aagard Amalfi dia Cappuccini paintingSalvador Dali The Surrealist Shoe paintingSalvador Dali The Enigma of Desire painting
On the seventh day after her disappearance Ayesha was sighted walking towards the village, naked again and dressed in golden butterflies, her silver hair streaming behind her in the breeze. She went directly to the of Sarpanch Muhammad Din and asked that the Titlipur panchayat be convened for an immediate emergency meeting. "The greatest event in the history of the tree has come upon us," she confided. Muhammad Din, unable to refuse her, fixed the time of the meeting for that evening, after dark.
That night the panchayat members took their places on the usual branch of the tree, while Ayesha the kahin stood before them on the ground. "I have flown with the angel into the highest heights," she said. "Yes, even to the lote--tree of the uttermost end. The archangel, Gibreel: he has brought us a message which is also a command. Everything is required of us, and everything will be given."

Unknown Artist Les Vins Rouges painting

Unknown Artist Les Vins Rouges paintingUnknown Artist Les Vins Blancs paintingUnknown Artist Brent Lynch Under the Stars painting
Jumpy Joshi had become Pamela Chamcha's lover by what she afterwards called "sheer chance" on the night she learned of her husband's death in the _Bostan_ explosion, so that the sound of his old friend Saladin's voice speaking from beyond the grave in the middle of the night, uttering the five gnomic words _sorry, excuse please, wrong number_, -- speaking, moreover, less than two hours after Jumpy and Pamela had made, with the assistance of two bottles of whisky, the two-- backed beast, -- put him in a tight spot. "Who was _that?_" Pamela, still mostly asleep, with a blackout mask over her eyes, rolled over to inquire, and he decided to reply, "Just a breather, don't worry about it," which was all very well, except then he had to do the worrying all by himself, sitting up in bed, naked, and sucking, for comfort, as he had all his life, the thumb on his right hand.