Mary Cassatt paintings

Mary Cassatt paintings
Maxfield Parrish paintings
Martin Johnson Heade paintings
dignity and authority of the school system, I had added, a sad and grim strain of my own. Now, that summer term with Sebastian, it seemed as though I was being given a brief spell of what I had never known, a happy childhood, and though its toys were silk shirts and liqueurs and cigars and its naughtiness high in the catalogue of grave sins, there was something of nursery freshness about us that fell little short of the joy of innocence. At the end of the term I took my first schools; it was necessary to pass, if I was to remain at Oxford and pass I did, after a week in which I forbade Sebastian my rooms and sat up to a late hour, with iced black, and charcoal biscuits, cramming myself with the neglected texts. I remember no syllable of them now, but the other, more ancient lore which I acquired that term will be with me in one shape or another to my last hour. ‘I like this bad set and I like getting drunk at luncheon’; that was enough then. Is more needed now?

Edwin Austin Abbey paintings

Edwin Austin Abbey paintings
Edward Hopper paintings
Edgar Degas paintings
undergraduates would kill themselves sooner or later if they stayed up long enough, very few would kill anyone else.
Once decided upon, the murder was accomplished with the straightforward efficiency which one would expect from a student of the cinematograph and one who, until his second failure in History previous (through his inability to draw maps) had been a senior History scholar.
Mr. Curtis’s room was on the first floor just above the side gate. The side gate was closed at nine and the key kept in the porter’s lodge. The other key was kept in the Bursary. Edward knew that this was the key which he would have to take. He went into the Bursary at lunch time and found the Bursar there. The keys were hung on a nail by his desk. The Bursar sat at the desk. Edward began a story of a burned carpet; the Bursar became angry but did not move. He included the sofa; the Bursar stood up but remained at his desk. Edward threw a chair into the conflagration and then described how the three mini-max

Fra Angelico paintings

Fra Angelico paintings
Frederic Edwin Church paintings
Frederic Remington paintings
What a ghastly thing facetious photographs are. What on earth am I doing with that girl?”
“Throwing her in the lake. I remember the incident now. I took the photograph.”
“Who?”
“I’ve no idea. Perhaps it says on the back. Just ‘Basil and Betty.’ She must have been much younger than us, not our kind at all. I’ve got an idea she was the daughter of some duke or other. The Stayles—that’s who she was.”
Basil studied the picture and shuddered. “What can have induced me to behave like that?”
“Youthful high spirits.”
“I was thirty-four, God help me. She’s very plain.”
“I’ll tell you who she is—was. Charles Albright’s mother. That’s an odd coincidence if you like. Let’s look her up and make sure.”
She found a Peerage and read: “Here we are. Fifth daughter of the late duke. Elizabeth Ermyntrude Alexandra, for whom H.R.H. The Duke of Connaught stood sponsor. Born

Bartolome Esteban Murillo paintings

Bartolome Esteban Murillo paintings
Berthe Morisot paintings
childe hassam paintings
doesn’t count for more than senile vanity.....” She paused, exhausted.
“There’s more to it than that.”
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“Now, Pobble, you have to take this calmly. For your own good, not for mine. I’m used to violence, God knows. If you had been poor the police would have been after you for the way you’ve knocked me about all these years. I can take it; but you, Pobble, you are at an age when it might be dangerous. So keep quite calm and I’ll tell you. I’m engaged to be married.”
It was not a shock; it was not a surprise. It was what Basil had expected. “Rot,” he said.
“I happen to be in love. You must know what that means. You must have been in love once—with mummy or someone.”
“Rot. And dammit, Babs, don’t blub. If you think you’re old enough to be in love, you’re old enough not to blub.”

Pierre-Auguste Cot paintings

Pierre-Auguste Cot paintings
Philip Craig paintings
Paul McCormack paintings
with puppies too? That is very significant. How do you react to kittens?”
“I mean the young men are puppies.”
“Ah. And are you fond of puppies, Mr. Seal?”
“Reasonably.”
“Ah.” The man of studied the paper on his desk. “Have you always been conscious of this preference for your own sex?”
“I’m not conscious of it now.”
“You are fifty-eight years and ten months. That is often a crucial age, one of change, when repressed and unsuspected inclinations emerge and take control. I should strongly recommend your putting yourself under a psychoanalyst. We do not give treatment of that kind here.”
“I just want to be cured of feeling I’m going to burst.”
“I’ve no doubt our régime will relieve the symptoms. You will not find many young men here to disturb you. Our patients are mostly mature women. There is a markedly virile young physical training instructor. His hair is quite short but you had better keep away from the gym. Ah, I see from your paper that you are handicapped by war-wounds. I will

John Everett Millais paintings

John Everett Millais paintings
James Jacques Joseph Tissot paintings
Jules Joseph Lefebvre paintings
Where to now?”
“I . I left Angela on her own. Barbara’s at a party of Robin Trumpington’s.”
“Well, good-night.”
“I say, those places where they starve you,—you know what I mean—do they do any good?”
“Molly swears by one.”
“She’s not fat and red.”
“No. She goes to those starving places.”
“Well, good-night.”
Peter turned east, Basil north, into the mild, misty October night. The streets at this hour were empty. Basil stumped across Piccadilly and up through Mayfair, where Angela’s house was almost the sole survivor of the private houses of his youth. How many doors had been closed against him then that were now open to all comers as shops and offices!
The lights were on. He left his hat and coat on a marble table and began the ascent to the drawing-room floor, pausing on the half-landing to recuperate.
“Oh, Pobble, you toeless wonder. You always turn up just when you’re wanted.”
Florid he might be, but there were compensations. It was not thus

Francois Boucher Adoration of the Shepherds painting

Francois Boucher Adoration of the Shepherds paintingJohannes Vermeer The Concert paintingGustave Courbet The Origin of the World painting
Major Gordon could forget the war. More than once on his walks there he met Mme. Kanyi, saluted her, and smiled.
Then, after a week, he received a signal from his headquarters in Bari saying: Unrra research team require particulars displaced persons Yugoslavia stop report any your district. He replied: One hundred and eight Jews. Next day (there was wireless communication for only two hours daily): Expedite details Jews names nationality conditions. So his duty took him away from the into the streets where the lime trees still flourished between the stucco shells. He passed ragged, swaggering partisans, all young, some scarcely more than children; girls in battle dress, bandaged, bemedalled, girdled with grenades, squat, chaste, cheerful, sexless, barely human, who had grown up in mountain bivouacs, singing patriotic songs, arm-in-arm along the pavements where a few years earlier rheumatics had crept with parasols and light, romantic novels.

Leonardo da Vinci Lady With An Ermine painting

Leonardo da Vinci Lady With An Ermine paintingEdward Hopper Chop Suey paintingCaravaggio Adoration of the Shepherds painting
the first time I’ve run up against anything like this,” he concluded.
At length Dr. Mackenzie said: “You got pretty badly knocked about in the war, Mr. Verney?”
“My knee. It still gives me trouble.”
“Bad time in hospital?”
“Three months. A beastly place outside Rome.”
“There’s always a good deal of nervous shock in an injury of that kind. It often persists when the wound is healed.”
“Yes, but I don’t quite understand ...”
“My dear Mr. Verney, your wife asked me to say nothing about it, but I think I must tell you that she has already been here to consult me on this matter.”
“About her sleep-walking? But she can’t ...” then John stopped.
“My dear fellow, I quite understand. She thought you didn’t know. Twice lately you’ve been out of bed and she had to lead you back. She knows all about it.”
John could find nothing to say.

Gustav Klimt Mother and Child detail from The Three Ages of Woman painting

Gustav Klimt Mother and Child detail from The Three Ages of Woman paintingGuido Reni The Archangel Michael paintingFrancois Boucher The Rape of Europa painting
Tube journeys, he found Elizabeth in bed and deeply asleep. She did not stir when he entered. Unlike her normal habit, she was snoring. He stood for a minute, fascinated by this new and unlovely aspect of her, her head thrown back, her mouth open and slightly dribbling at the corner. Then he shook her. She muttered something, turned over and slept heavily and soundlessly.
Half an hour later, as he was striving to compose himself for sleep, she began to snore again. He turned on the light, looked at her more closely and noticed with surprise, which suddenly changed to joyous hope, that there was a tube of unfamiliar pills, half empty, beside her on the bed table.
He examined it. “24 Comprimés narcotiques, hypnotiques,” he read, and then in large, scarlet letters, “NE PAS DEPASSER DEUX.” He counted those which were left. Eleven.
With tremulous butterfly wings Hope began to flutter in his heart, became a certainty

Vincent van Gogh Self Portrait painting

Vincent van Gogh Self Portrait paintingVincent van Gogh Sunflowers paintingVincent van Gogh The Starry Night painting
dear. And when it was over there was absolutely nothing for John Verney to do.
He remained in Hampstead, helped his aunt make the beds after Elizabeth had gone to her office, limped to the greengrocer and fishmonger and stood, full of hate, in the queues; helped Elizabeth wash up at night. They ate in the kitchen, where his aunt cooked deliciously the scanty rations. His uncle went three days a week to help pack parcels for Java.
Elizabeth, the deep one, never spoke of her work, which, in fact, was concerned with setting up hostile and oppressive governments in Eastern Europe. One evening at a restaurant, a man came and spoke to her, a tall young man whose sallow, aquiline face was full of intellect and humour. “That’s the head of my department,” she said. “He’s so amusing.”
“Looks like a Jew.”
“I believe he is. He’s a strong Conservative and hates the work,” she added hastily, for since his defeat in the election John had become fiercely anti-Semitic.

Claude Monet Water Lilies 1914 painting

Claude Monet Water Lilies 1914 paintingUnknown Artist Heighton After Hours paintingUnknown Artist Brent Lynch Evening Lounge painting
Carmichael—awfully known at Spierpoint as “A. A.,” the splendid dandy and wit, fine flower of the Oxford Union and the New Essay Society, the reviewer of works of classical scholarship for the New Statesman, to whom Charles had never yet spoken; whom Charles had never yet heard speak directly, but only at third hand as his mots, in their idiosyncratic modulations, passed from mouth to mouth from the Sixth in sanctuary to the catechumens in the porch; whom Charles worshipped from afar—Mr. Carmichael, from a variety of academic costume, was this morning robed as a baccalaureate of Salamanca. He looked, as he stooped over his desk, like the prosecuting counsel in a cartoon by Daumier.
Nearly opposite him across the chapel stood Frank Bates; an unbridged gulf of boys separated these rival and contrasted deities, that one the ineffable dweller on cloud-capped Olympus, this thely clay image, the intimate of hearth and household, the patron of threshing-floor and olive-press. Frank wore only an ermine hood, a B.A.’s gown, and loose,

Thomas Moran Monterey Coast painting

Thomas Moran Monterey Coast paintingThomas Moran Grand Canyon paintingThomas Moran Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone painting
term. You know the way he has. He said, ‘I’ve some unpleasant news for you, O’Malley. I’m putting you head of the Upper Dormitory.’ I said, ‘It ought to be someone on the Settle. No one else could keep order.’ I thought he’d keep Easton up there. He said, ‘These things are a matter of personality, not of official position.’ I said, ‘It’s been proved you have an official. You know how bolshie we were with Fletcher.’ He said, ‘Fletcher wasn’t the man for the job. He wasn’t my appointment.’”
“Typical of his lip. Fletcher was Frank’s appointment.”
“I wish we had Frank still.”
“So does everyone. Anyway, why are you telling me all this?”
“I didn’t want you to think I’d been greasing. I heard Tamplin say I had.”
“Well, you are on the Settle and you are head of the dormitory, so what’s the trouble?”
“Will you back me up, Ryder?”
“Have you ever known me back anyone up, as you call it?”
“No,” said O’Malley miserably, “that’s just it.”
“Well, why d’you suppose I should start with you?”

Thomas Kinkade Make a Wish Cottage 2 painting

Thomas Kinkade Make a Wish Cottage 2 paintingVincent van Gogh Wheat Fields paintingEdward Hopper Summertime painting
Apthorpe looked at the new boy. “Would it be troubling you too much if I asked you to give me my matches?” he said.
The new boy rose to his feet, walked the few steps, picked up the matchbox and gave it to the house-captain, with the ghastly semblance of a smile.
“Extraordinary crew of new men we have this term,” said Apthorpe. “They seem to be entirely half-witted. Has anyone been turned on to look after this man?”
“Please, I have,” said Wykham-Blake.
“A grave responsibility for one so young. Try and convey to his limited intelligence that it may prove a painful practice here to throw matchboxes about in Evening School, and laugh at house officials. By the way, is that a workbook you’re reading?”
“Oh, yes, Apthorpe.” Wykham-Blake raised a face of cherubic innocence and presented the back of the Golden Treasury.
“Who’s it for?”
“Mr. Graves. We’re to learn any poem we like.”
“And what have you chosen?”
“Milton-on-his-blindness.”

Bill Brauer Paintings

Check on Bill Brauer Paintings
Bill Brauer's modern, provocative work dramatically crackles with sensual tension and the mystery of a sizzling underlying narrative. From New York, Bill Brauer began as an illustrator and printmaker, transitioning into oil painting so that his works could be rendered in unlimited sizes and colors. Highly suggestive and moody, Brauer's artworks use a single light source, deep, intense colors and strong, alluring poses that accentuate the curves of fabric and the female form. Often basing his themes upon dancing, beauty and mythology, Brauer opts not to use models so that his figures retain an edgy appearance.