Jack Vettriano Elegy for the Dead AdmiralJack Vettriano Elegy for The Dead Admiral iJack Vettriano Edith and the Kingpin
The exercise itself doesn't make you smarter, but it puts the brain of the learners in the optimal position for them to learn,” Ratey said. “There's no way to say for sure that improves learning capacity for kids, but it certainly seems to correlate to that."It's baffling, maddening, difficult, violent, obscene, over-indulgent, under-edited and way too long, but 2666 — a number that appears nowhere in the actual book — is also the best novel of the year. The two Teresa. But only two of the book's five sections (2666 is a bit like Dante's hell, in five easy circles) deal with those stories directly. Packed with red herrings and digressions and leads that lead nowhere, 2666 is a work of anger and anarchy that laughs bitterly at the idea of tidy resolutions. It's like a Borges story that exploded. But beneath the chaos is a fanatical order, the desperate artistry of a genius scribbling as out — Bolaño died of liver disease in Spain in 2003.central plots of 2666 are, very loosely speaking, the life story of an enigmatic German novelist called Archimboldi, and a murder mystery about the killings of hundreds of women in and around a seedy Mexican town called Santa
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Bouguereau The Holy Family
Bouguereau The Holy FamilyBouguereau A Soul in HeavenBouguereau The Newborn LambBouguereau Evening Mood
When the next logical step was taken—using the technique with human cells—researchers were off to the races.
Two groups announced stunning breakthroughs within weeks of each other this year. The first group derived iPS cells from the skin Ignoring the lure of stem cells, another group of researchers demonstrated that one does not need them to produce various mature cell types; instead, they forced mature cells to change their form and function. Working with live mice, an American research team demonstrated that pancreatic exocrine cells can be forced to function as beta cells. Using a trio of viruses as theirof an elderly woman suffering from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease). They then directed the cells to develop into neurons and glia, two of the cell types most affected by ALS. Shortly after this announcement, a second group reported the creation of patient-specific iPS cell lines for 10 additional diseases. Many of these 10 disease are not well suited, or even possible, to study via animal models. gene delivery vectors, the
When the next logical step was taken—using the technique with human cells—researchers were off to the races.
Two groups announced stunning breakthroughs within weeks of each other this year. The first group derived iPS cells from the skin Ignoring the lure of stem cells, another group of researchers demonstrated that one does not need them to produce various mature cell types; instead, they forced mature cells to change their form and function. Working with live mice, an American research team demonstrated that pancreatic exocrine cells can be forced to function as beta cells. Using a trio of viruses as theirof an elderly woman suffering from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease). They then directed the cells to develop into neurons and glia, two of the cell types most affected by ALS. Shortly after this announcement, a second group reported the creation of patient-specific iPS cell lines for 10 additional diseases. Many of these 10 disease are not well suited, or even possible, to study via animal models. gene delivery vectors, the
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Dawson Rolling Seas - Eastern Monarch
Dawson Rolling Seas - Eastern MonarchDawson Sun-Flecked Foam--The Barnabas Webb of ThomastonMonsted By The River, BrondbyvesterDawson Swinging Along
door and the ramp beyond at such acceleration that a man on foot couldn’t catch it.Stepping from a run into an isosceles shooting stance, squarely facing the target, right leg quartering back for balance, left knee flexed, both hands on the weapon, Ethan than before, and the exposed wheel rim bit at the quartzite with a sound like a stone saw cutting cobbles.When Ethan reached the top of the ramp, he saw the car following the driveway along the side of the mansion. Heading toward the front. Forty feet away. Making speed in spite of being crippled. Nothing to stop it from grinding all the way to the distant gate, [581] which opened automatically from the inside when sensors buried in the pavement of the exit lane detected traffic.risked three quick shots, aiming low in fear of hitting Fric with a ricochet, targeting the rear tire on the passenger’s side.The fender skirt shielded almost half the wheel, giving him a narrow window in which to place the shot. One round pocked metal, one went wide, but one popped the tire.The car sagged back and to one side. Kept going. Still too fast to be chased down. The slap-slap-slap of loose rubber marked its ascent along the lower half of the ramp.The quartzite paving provided good traction, dry or wet, but the Buick’s rear tires spun briefly, churning up a spray of dirty water and blue smoke, maybe because of the cant to the right.As Ethan closed the gap once more, the Buick found its footing, lunged forward, upward. Spin-shredded rubber flapped louder
door and the ramp beyond at such acceleration that a man on foot couldn’t catch it.Stepping from a run into an isosceles shooting stance, squarely facing the target, right leg quartering back for balance, left knee flexed, both hands on the weapon, Ethan than before, and the exposed wheel rim bit at the quartzite with a sound like a stone saw cutting cobbles.When Ethan reached the top of the ramp, he saw the car following the driveway along the side of the mansion. Heading toward the front. Forty feet away. Making speed in spite of being crippled. Nothing to stop it from grinding all the way to the distant gate, [581] which opened automatically from the inside when sensors buried in the pavement of the exit lane detected traffic.risked three quick shots, aiming low in fear of hitting Fric with a ricochet, targeting the rear tire on the passenger’s side.The fender skirt shielded almost half the wheel, giving him a narrow window in which to place the shot. One round pocked metal, one went wide, but one popped the tire.The car sagged back and to one side. Kept going. Still too fast to be chased down. The slap-slap-slap of loose rubber marked its ascent along the lower half of the ramp.The quartzite paving provided good traction, dry or wet, but the Buick’s rear tires spun briefly, churning up a spray of dirty water and blue smoke, maybe because of the cant to the right.As Ethan closed the gap once more, the Buick found its footing, lunged forward, upward. Spin-shredded rubber flapped louder
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Rothko Untitled 19692
Rothko Untitled 19692Rothko Untitled 1969Rothko Untitled 1968 Blue On Blue GroundRothko Untitled 1963
elegant, he might board a sleigh two nights hence and harry wingless reindeer into flight.Leaning conspiratorially across the table, Typhon says, “Son, any of a thousand have sent him running from that house, to his Granny Rose or to a bar. You didn’t need to be so direct. And if you continue will certainly fail your friend, Ethan, and in fact may yourself be look—to quote the Bard—[484] and your rough edges might alarm them. They are a wary group, and skittish. One politician and two of his handlers.”Dunny dares to ask, “May I continue to protect Ethan?”“After your repeated breaches, I’d be justified in removing you now. There must be standards for guardian angels, don’t you think? Something more than good intentions. The position the cause of his death and the death of the boy.”They stare at each other.Dunny is hesitant to ask if he will be allowed to remain on the case, for fear that he already knows the answer.After Typhon tastes his martini again, he says, “My, but you are a firecracker, Dunny. You’re headstrong, impetuous, frustrating—but you’re also a hoot. You tickle me. You do.”Uncertain how to interpret those statements, Dunny waits, still and silent.“I don’t mean to be rude,” Typhon says, “but my dinner guests will shortly be arriving. Your lean and hungry
elegant, he might board a sleigh two nights hence and harry wingless reindeer into flight.Leaning conspiratorially across the table, Typhon says, “Son, any of a thousand have sent him running from that house, to his Granny Rose or to a bar. You didn’t need to be so direct. And if you continue will certainly fail your friend, Ethan, and in fact may yourself be look—to quote the Bard—[484] and your rough edges might alarm them. They are a wary group, and skittish. One politician and two of his handlers.”Dunny dares to ask, “May I continue to protect Ethan?”“After your repeated breaches, I’d be justified in removing you now. There must be standards for guardian angels, don’t you think? Something more than good intentions. The position the cause of his death and the death of the boy.”They stare at each other.Dunny is hesitant to ask if he will be allowed to remain on the case, for fear that he already knows the answer.After Typhon tastes his martini again, he says, “My, but you are a firecracker, Dunny. You’re headstrong, impetuous, frustrating—but you’re also a hoot. You tickle me. You do.”Uncertain how to interpret those statements, Dunny waits, still and silent.“I don’t mean to be rude,” Typhon says, “but my dinner guests will shortly be arriving. Your lean and hungry
Friday, December 19, 2008
Edward Hopper Early Sunday Morning painting
Edward Hopper Early Sunday Morning paintingLeroy Neiman Ryder Cup paintingLeroy Neiman 37th Ryder Cup painting
the bedroom he drizzled an uninterrupted gasoline trail into the narrow upstairs hallway and down the stairs to the ground floor. At the bottom of ugh the living room and the dining room, to the kitchen doorway. There he set the can on the threshold. He unscrewed the cap and tossed it aside.From a jacket pocket, he retrieved the black-and-red object that was about the size of a single-serving yogurt container: a chemical-action detonator.The casing of the to the bedroom on the second floor, to the corpse.This would be a bad time for the doorbell to ring.No chimes sounded, of course, because in addition to his fine strategy, solid tactics, and meticulous preparation, he could count on Laputa luck. His guardian angel was chaos, and he was always at the safe calm eye of its world-destroying force.He returned to the ovens and latched both doors as required to initiate the self-cleaning cycle. On each he pressed a button marked CLEAN.Heat would rapidly expand the pressurized contents of the cans, which would explode. Because detonator was somewhat pliable. He shaped it into the hole that had been covered by the screw-on cap, plugging the two-gallon can in which approximately half a gallon of gasoline remained.He popped a ring tab off the red cap. This initiated a chemical process that would rapidly generate heat and, in four minutes, an [399] explosion fiery enough to ignite the remaining contents of the two-gallon can and the trail of fuel leading away from it
the bedroom he drizzled an uninterrupted gasoline trail into the narrow upstairs hallway and down the stairs to the ground floor. At the bottom of ugh the living room and the dining room, to the kitchen doorway. There he set the can on the threshold. He unscrewed the cap and tossed it aside.From a jacket pocket, he retrieved the black-and-red object that was about the size of a single-serving yogurt container: a chemical-action detonator.The casing of the to the bedroom on the second floor, to the corpse.This would be a bad time for the doorbell to ring.No chimes sounded, of course, because in addition to his fine strategy, solid tactics, and meticulous preparation, he could count on Laputa luck. His guardian angel was chaos, and he was always at the safe calm eye of its world-destroying force.He returned to the ovens and latched both doors as required to initiate the self-cleaning cycle. On each he pressed a button marked CLEAN.Heat would rapidly expand the pressurized contents of the cans, which would explode. Because detonator was somewhat pliable. He shaped it into the hole that had been covered by the screw-on cap, plugging the two-gallon can in which approximately half a gallon of gasoline remained.He popped a ring tab off the red cap. This initiated a chemical process that would rapidly generate heat and, in four minutes, an [399] explosion fiery enough to ignite the remaining contents of the two-gallon can and the trail of fuel leading away from it
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
John William Waterhouse Miranda - The Tempest painting
John William Waterhouse Miranda - The Tempest paintingJohn William Waterhouse Echo and Narcissus paintingLeonardo da Vinci Madonna with the Yarnwinder painting
Hospital was a golden beacon. High above the dome, at the top of the radio mast, the red aircraft-warning lamp winked in the gray mist, as if the storm were a living beast and this were its malevolent Cyclopean eye.In the elevator, on the way from the garage to the fifth floor, Ethan listened to a lushly orchestrated version of a classic Elvis Costellothe tables qualified as chairs no more than the room deserved the grand name on its door.Having arrived five minutes early, Ethan fed coins to one of the machines and selected black . When he sipped the stuff, he knew what death must taste like, but he drank it anyway because he’d slept only four or five hours and needed the kick.Dr. Kevin O’Brien arrived precisely on time. About forty-five, [347] handsome, he had the vaguely number tricked up with violins and fulsome French horns. This cable-hung cubicle, ascending and descending twenty-four hours a day, was a little outpost of Hell in perpetual motion.The physicians’ lounge on the fifth floor, to which he’d been given directions by phone, was nothing more than a dreary windowless vending-machine room with a pair of Formica-topped tables in the center. The orange plastic items that surrounded
Hospital was a golden beacon. High above the dome, at the top of the radio mast, the red aircraft-warning lamp winked in the gray mist, as if the storm were a living beast and this were its malevolent Cyclopean eye.In the elevator, on the way from the garage to the fifth floor, Ethan listened to a lushly orchestrated version of a classic Elvis Costellothe tables qualified as chairs no more than the room deserved the grand name on its door.Having arrived five minutes early, Ethan fed coins to one of the machines and selected black . When he sipped the stuff, he knew what death must taste like, but he drank it anyway because he’d slept only four or five hours and needed the kick.Dr. Kevin O’Brien arrived precisely on time. About forty-five, [347] handsome, he had the vaguely number tricked up with violins and fulsome French horns. This cable-hung cubicle, ascending and descending twenty-four hours a day, was a little outpost of Hell in perpetual motion.The physicians’ lounge on the fifth floor, to which he’d been given directions by phone, was nothing more than a dreary windowless vending-machine room with a pair of Formica-topped tables in the center. The orange plastic items that surrounded
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Edward Hopper Early Sunday Morning painting
Edward Hopper Early Sunday Morning paintingLeroy Neiman Ryder Cup paintingLeroy Neiman 37th Ryder Cup painting
his considered opinion, pure anarchists didn’t believe in the supernatural, neither in the powers of Darkness nor in the powers of Light. They put all their faith in the power of destruction and in the new and better order that might arise from ruin.“Considering to the fact that sanitary and pest-control conditions in this very room and elsewhere in this facility had been deplorable.“The place must be rat-proof now. I’m looking around,” Corky said, “and I don’t see any lowbrow cousins of Mickey Mouse noshing on anyone’s nose.”The silence of shocked disbelief greeted this statement. When Roman Castevet could speak, he said, “You can’t be where I think you are.”“I’m exactly where you think I am.”your backlog of work,” said Corky, “it seems to me academics aren’t the only ones who don’t always earn their fat checks from the taxpayers. What do you guys do here on the evening shift—just play poker, swap ghost stories?”Roman must have been only half listening. He didn’t pick up on the word here. “Banter isn’t your strong suit. Get to the point. What do you want? You always want something.”“And I always pay well for it, don’t I?”“The ability to pay cash in full is the virtue I admire most.”“I see you people have solved the rat problem.”“What rat problem?”Two years ago, the media had given extensive grisly coverage
his considered opinion, pure anarchists didn’t believe in the supernatural, neither in the powers of Darkness nor in the powers of Light. They put all their faith in the power of destruction and in the new and better order that might arise from ruin.“Considering to the fact that sanitary and pest-control conditions in this very room and elsewhere in this facility had been deplorable.“The place must be rat-proof now. I’m looking around,” Corky said, “and I don’t see any lowbrow cousins of Mickey Mouse noshing on anyone’s nose.”The silence of shocked disbelief greeted this statement. When Roman Castevet could speak, he said, “You can’t be where I think you are.”“I’m exactly where you think I am.”your backlog of work,” said Corky, “it seems to me academics aren’t the only ones who don’t always earn their fat checks from the taxpayers. What do you guys do here on the evening shift—just play poker, swap ghost stories?”Roman must have been only half listening. He didn’t pick up on the word here. “Banter isn’t your strong suit. Get to the point. What do you want? You always want something.”“And I always pay well for it, don’t I?”“The ability to pay cash in full is the virtue I admire most.”“I see you people have solved the rat problem.”“What rat problem?”Two years ago, the media had given extensive grisly coverage
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Sung Kim Gazebo painting
Sung Kim Gazebo paintingSung Kim Gallery Steps paintingSung Kim Floral Patio II paintingSung Kim Floral Patio I painting
The figure seemed to be motioning for him to come forward, closer.Ethan would not have admitted to Hazard Yancy or to any other cop from the old days, perhaps not even to Hannah if she were alive, that when he put his hand to the mirror, he half expected to feel not wet glass, but the hand of another, making contact from a cop under fire and dared not panic.Anyway, he felt as though he were half in a trance, accepting the impossible here as he might easily accept it in a dream.The apparition leaned toward him, as if trying to discern his nature from the far side of the silvered glass, in much the same way that he himself leaned forward to study it.Raising his hand once more, Ethan tentatively wiped away a narrow swath of mist, fully expecting that when he came eye to eye with his reflection, the eyes would not be his, but gray like Dunny Whistler’s eyes.cold and forbidding Elsewhere.He swabbed away an arc of mist, leaving a glimmering smear of water.Even as Ethan’s hand moved, so did the phantom in the mirror, sliding away from the cleansing swipe. Cunningly elusive, it remained behind the shielding condensation—and moved directly in front of him.With the exception of his face, Ethan’s vague reflection in the misted glass had been dark because his clothes were dark, his hair. The steam-frosted shape now before him rose as pale as moonlight and moth wings, impossibly supplanting his own image.[107] Fear knocked on his heart, but he wouldn’t let it in, as when he’d been a
The figure seemed to be motioning for him to come forward, closer.Ethan would not have admitted to Hazard Yancy or to any other cop from the old days, perhaps not even to Hannah if she were alive, that when he put his hand to the mirror, he half expected to feel not wet glass, but the hand of another, making contact from a cop under fire and dared not panic.Anyway, he felt as though he were half in a trance, accepting the impossible here as he might easily accept it in a dream.The apparition leaned toward him, as if trying to discern his nature from the far side of the silvered glass, in much the same way that he himself leaned forward to study it.Raising his hand once more, Ethan tentatively wiped away a narrow swath of mist, fully expecting that when he came eye to eye with his reflection, the eyes would not be his, but gray like Dunny Whistler’s eyes.cold and forbidding Elsewhere.He swabbed away an arc of mist, leaving a glimmering smear of water.Even as Ethan’s hand moved, so did the phantom in the mirror, sliding away from the cleansing swipe. Cunningly elusive, it remained behind the shielding condensation—and moved directly in front of him.With the exception of his face, Ethan’s vague reflection in the misted glass had been dark because his clothes were dark, his hair. The steam-frosted shape now before him rose as pale as moonlight and moth wings, impossibly supplanting his own image.[107] Fear knocked on his heart, but he wouldn’t let it in, as when he’d been a
Francois Boucher The Rest on the Flight into Egypt painting
Francois Boucher The Rest on the Flight into Egypt paintingFrancois Boucher Portrait of Marquise de Pompadour paintingFrancois Boucher Diana Resting after her Bath paintingJohannes Vermeer Girl Reading a Letter at an Open Window painting
entertainment reporters in a shared [9] swoon of admiration for his charismatic good looks. In truth, no doubt a clever and perpetually sleepless publicist had called in favors and paid out cold cash to engineer this spontaneous acclamation and then to sustain it for more than a decade.In a black-and-white Hollywood so distant in time and quality that contemporary moviegoers had only a little more knowledge of it than they had of the Spanish-American War, a fine actress named Greta Garbo had in her day been known as the Face. That flattery had been the work of a studio flack, but Garbo had proved to be more than mere flackery.For ten months, Ethan had been chief of security for Channing Manheim, the Face of the new millennium. As yet he hadn’t glimpsed even the suggestion of Garboesque depths. The face of the Face seemed to be nearly all there was of Channing.Ethan didn’t despise the actor. The Face was affable, as relaxed as might be a genuine demigod for him eternal.The star’s indifference to any circumstances other than his own arose neither from self-absorption nor from a willful lack of compassion. Intellectual limitations denied him an awareness that other people had more than a single script page of backstory, and that their character arcs were too complex to be portrayed in ninety-eight minutes.His occasional cruelties were never conscious.If he hadn’t been who he was, however, and if he hadn’t been so striking in appearance, nothing that Channing said or did would have left an impression. In a Hollywood deli that named sandwiches after stars, Clark Gable might have been roast beef and Liederkranz on rye with horseradish; Cary Grant might have been peppered chicken breast with Swiss cheese on whole
entertainment reporters in a shared [9] swoon of admiration for his charismatic good looks. In truth, no doubt a clever and perpetually sleepless publicist had called in favors and paid out cold cash to engineer this spontaneous acclamation and then to sustain it for more than a decade.In a black-and-white Hollywood so distant in time and quality that contemporary moviegoers had only a little more knowledge of it than they had of the Spanish-American War, a fine actress named Greta Garbo had in her day been known as the Face. That flattery had been the work of a studio flack, but Garbo had proved to be more than mere flackery.For ten months, Ethan had been chief of security for Channing Manheim, the Face of the new millennium. As yet he hadn’t glimpsed even the suggestion of Garboesque depths. The face of the Face seemed to be nearly all there was of Channing.Ethan didn’t despise the actor. The Face was affable, as relaxed as might be a genuine demigod for him eternal.The star’s indifference to any circumstances other than his own arose neither from self-absorption nor from a willful lack of compassion. Intellectual limitations denied him an awareness that other people had more than a single script page of backstory, and that their character arcs were too complex to be portrayed in ninety-eight minutes.His occasional cruelties were never conscious.If he hadn’t been who he was, however, and if he hadn’t been so striking in appearance, nothing that Channing said or did would have left an impression. In a Hollywood deli that named sandwiches after stars, Clark Gable might have been roast beef and Liederkranz on rye with horseradish; Cary Grant might have been peppered chicken breast with Swiss cheese on whole
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Jean Fragonard The Fountain of Love painting
Jean Fragonard The Fountain of Love paintingJean Fragonard The Confession of Love paintingJean Fragonard The Bolt paintingJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida The Milkmaid painting
Running wilfully to death and ruining our cause. If any mortals have claim to the Ring, it is the men of Númenor, and not Halflings. It is not yours save by unhappy chance. It might have been mine. It should be mine. Give it to me! 'Frodo did not answer, but moved away till the great flat stone stood between them. `Come, come, my friend! ' said Boromir in a softer voice. 'Why not get rid of it? Why not be free of your doubt and fear? You can lay the blame ona stone, he fell sprawling and lay upon his face. For a while he was as still as if his own curse had struck him down; then me, if you will. You can say that I was too strong and took it by force. For I am too strong for you, halfling,' he cried; and suddenly he sprang over the stone and leaped at Frodo. His fair and pleasant face was hideously changed; a raging fire was in his eyes.Frodo dodged aside and again put the stone between them. There was only one thing he could do: trembling he pulled out the Ring upon its chain and quickly slipped it on his finger, even as Boromir sprang at him again. The Man gasped, stared for a moment amazed, and then ran wildly about, seeking here and there among the rocks and trees.'Miserable trickster!' he shouted. `Let me get my hands on you! Now I see your mind. You will take the Ring to Sauron and sell us all. You have only waited your chance to leave us in the lurch. Curse you and all halflings to death and darkness! ' Then, catching his foot on
Running wilfully to death and ruining our cause. If any mortals have claim to the Ring, it is the men of Númenor, and not Halflings. It is not yours save by unhappy chance. It might have been mine. It should be mine. Give it to me! 'Frodo did not answer, but moved away till the great flat stone stood between them. `Come, come, my friend! ' said Boromir in a softer voice. 'Why not get rid of it? Why not be free of your doubt and fear? You can lay the blame ona stone, he fell sprawling and lay upon his face. For a while he was as still as if his own curse had struck him down; then me, if you will. You can say that I was too strong and took it by force. For I am too strong for you, halfling,' he cried; and suddenly he sprang over the stone and leaped at Frodo. His fair and pleasant face was hideously changed; a raging fire was in his eyes.Frodo dodged aside and again put the stone between them. There was only one thing he could do: trembling he pulled out the Ring upon its chain and quickly slipped it on his finger, even as Boromir sprang at him again. The Man gasped, stared for a moment amazed, and then ran wildly about, seeking here and there among the rocks and trees.'Miserable trickster!' he shouted. `Let me get my hands on you! Now I see your mind. You will take the Ring to Sauron and sell us all. You have only waited your chance to leave us in the lurch. Curse you and all halflings to death and darkness! ' Then, catching his foot on
Friday, December 5, 2008
Gustav Klimt Danae painting
Gustav Klimt Danae paintingSalvador Dali The Persistence of Memory painting
even as the orc flung down the truncheon and swept out his scimitar, Andúril came down upon his helm. There was a flash like flame and the helm burst asunder. The orc fell with cloven head. His followers fled howling, as Boromir and Aragorn sprang at them.Doom, doom went the drums in the deep. The great voice rolled out again.'Now! ' shouted Gandalf. 'Now is the last chance. Run for it! 'Aragorn picked up Frodo where he lay by the wall and made for the stair, pushing Merry and Pippin in front of him. The others followed; but Gimli had to
Salvador Dali Figure at a Window paintingGeorgia O'Keeffe From the Lake No. 1 painting
blow caught him on the right side, and Frodo was hurled against the wall and pinned. Sam, with a cry, hacked at the spear-shaft, and it broke. But be dragged away by Legolas: in spite of the peril he lingered by Balin's tomb with his head bowed. Boromir hauled the eastern door to, grinding upon its hinges: it had great iron rings on either side, but could not be fastened.'I am all right,' gasped Frodo. `I can walk. Put me down! 'Aragorn nearly dropped him in his amazement. 'I thought you were dead! ' he cried.'Not yet! ' said Gandalf. 'But there is time for wonder. Off you go, all of you, down the stairs! Wait a few minutes for me at the bottom, but if I do not come soon, go on! Go quickly and choose paths leading right and downwards.'
even as the orc flung down the truncheon and swept out his scimitar, Andúril came down upon his helm. There was a flash like flame and the helm burst asunder. The orc fell with cloven head. His followers fled howling, as Boromir and Aragorn sprang at them.Doom, doom went the drums in the deep. The great voice rolled out again.'Now! ' shouted Gandalf. 'Now is the last chance. Run for it! 'Aragorn picked up Frodo where he lay by the wall and made for the stair, pushing Merry and Pippin in front of him. The others followed; but Gimli had to
Salvador Dali Figure at a Window paintingGeorgia O'Keeffe From the Lake No. 1 painting
blow caught him on the right side, and Frodo was hurled against the wall and pinned. Sam, with a cry, hacked at the spear-shaft, and it broke. But be dragged away by Legolas: in spite of the peril he lingered by Balin's tomb with his head bowed. Boromir hauled the eastern door to, grinding upon its hinges: it had great iron rings on either side, but could not be fastened.'I am all right,' gasped Frodo. `I can walk. Put me down! 'Aragorn nearly dropped him in his amazement. 'I thought you were dead! ' he cried.'Not yet! ' said Gandalf. 'But there is time for wonder. Off you go, all of you, down the stairs! Wait a few minutes for me at the bottom, but if I do not come soon, go on! Go quickly and choose paths leading right and downwards.'
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Cassius Marcellus Coolidge Dogs Playing Poker painting
Cassius Marcellus Coolidge Dogs Playing Poker paintingLeonardo da Vinci Lady With An Ermine painting
courses, to control it. We can bide our time, we can keep our thoughts in our hearts, deploring maybe evils done by the way, but approving the high and ultimate purpose: Knowledge, Rule, Order; all the things that we have so far striven in vain to accomplish, hindered rather than helped by our weak or idle friends. There need not be, there would not be, any real change in our designs, only in our means."' "Saruman," I said, "I have heard speeches of this kind before, but only in the mouths of emissaries sent from Mordor to deceive the ignorant. I cannot think that you brought me so far only to weary my ears."'He looked at me sidelong, and paused a while considering. "Well, I see that this wise course does not commend itself to you," he said. "Not yet? Not if some better way can be contrived? "
Caravaggio Adoration of the Shepherds paintingThomas Moran Forest Scene painting
power to order all things as we will, for that good which only the Wise can see.' "And listen, Gandalf, my old friend and helper! " he said, coming near and speaking now in a softer voice. "I said we, for we it may be, if you will join with me. A new Power is rising. Against it the old allies and policies will not avail us at all. There is no hope left in Elves or dying Númenor. This then is one choice before you. before us. We may join with that Power. It would be wise, Gandalf. There is hope that way. Its victory is at hand; and there will be rich reward for those that aided it. As the Power grows, its proved friends will also grow; and the Wise, such as you and I, may with patience come
courses, to control it. We can bide our time, we can keep our thoughts in our hearts, deploring maybe evils done by the way, but approving the high and ultimate purpose: Knowledge, Rule, Order; all the things that we have so far striven in vain to accomplish, hindered rather than helped by our weak or idle friends. There need not be, there would not be, any real change in our designs, only in our means."' "Saruman," I said, "I have heard speeches of this kind before, but only in the mouths of emissaries sent from Mordor to deceive the ignorant. I cannot think that you brought me so far only to weary my ears."'He looked at me sidelong, and paused a while considering. "Well, I see that this wise course does not commend itself to you," he said. "Not yet? Not if some better way can be contrived? "
Caravaggio Adoration of the Shepherds paintingThomas Moran Forest Scene painting
power to order all things as we will, for that good which only the Wise can see.' "And listen, Gandalf, my old friend and helper! " he said, coming near and speaking now in a softer voice. "I said we, for we it may be, if you will join with me. A new Power is rising. Against it the old allies and policies will not avail us at all. There is no hope left in Elves or dying Númenor. This then is one choice before you. before us. We may join with that Power. It would be wise, Gandalf. There is hope that way. Its victory is at hand; and there will be rich reward for those that aided it. As the Power grows, its proved friends will also grow; and the Wise, such as you and I, may with patience come
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Klimt The Dancer
Klimt The DancerKlimt Longing for HappinessRemington Whipping in a StragglerRemington Ugly Oh The Wild Charge He Made
addressed plain enough,' said Mr. Butterbur, producing a letter from his pocket, and reading out the address slowly and proudly (he valued his reputation as a lettered man):Mr FRODO BAGGINS, BAG END, HOBBITON infind nobody willing to go to the Shire next day, nor the day after, and none of my own folk were to spare; and then one thing after another drove it out of my mind. I'm a busy man. I'll do what I can to set matters right, and if there's any help I can give, you've only to name it.'Leaving the letter aside, I promised Gandalf no less. Barley, he says to me, this friend of mine from the Shire, he may be coming out this way before long, him and another. He'll be calling himself the SHIRE.'A letter for me from Gandalf!' cried Frodo.'Ah!' said Mr. Butterbur. 'Then your right name is Baggins?''It is,' said Frodo, 'and you had better give me that letter at once, and explain why you never sent it. That's what you came to tell me, I suppose, though you've taken a long time to come to the point.'Poor Mr. Butterbur looked troubled. 'You're right, master,' he said, 'and I beg your pardon. And I'm mortal afraid of what Gandalf will say, if harm comes of it. But I didn't keep it back a-purpose. I put it by safe. Then I couldn't
addressed plain enough,' said Mr. Butterbur, producing a letter from his pocket, and reading out the address slowly and proudly (he valued his reputation as a lettered man):Mr FRODO BAGGINS, BAG END, HOBBITON infind nobody willing to go to the Shire next day, nor the day after, and none of my own folk were to spare; and then one thing after another drove it out of my mind. I'm a busy man. I'll do what I can to set matters right, and if there's any help I can give, you've only to name it.'Leaving the letter aside, I promised Gandalf no less. Barley, he says to me, this friend of mine from the Shire, he may be coming out this way before long, him and another. He'll be calling himself the SHIRE.'A letter for me from Gandalf!' cried Frodo.'Ah!' said Mr. Butterbur. 'Then your right name is Baggins?''It is,' said Frodo, 'and you had better give me that letter at once, and explain why you never sent it. That's what you came to tell me, I suppose, though you've taken a long time to come to the point.'Poor Mr. Butterbur looked troubled. 'You're right, master,' he said, 'and I beg your pardon. And I'm mortal afraid of what Gandalf will say, if harm comes of it. But I didn't keep it back a-purpose. I put it by safe. Then I couldn't
Monday, December 1, 2008
Harlamoff Auburn-haired Beauty with Bouqet of Roses
Harlamoff Auburn-haired Beauty with Bouqet of Rosessheepherder and Lambs in the dawningBastida The Tuna Catch AyamonteBastida The Inquisitive Child
What fellow do you mean?’ asked Pippin.‘Then you haven’t seen him?’ said the farmer. ‘He went up the lane towards the causeway not a long while back. He was a funny customer and asking funny questions. But perhaps you’ll come along inside, and we’ll pass the news more comfortable. I’ve a drop of good ale on tap, if you and your friends are willing, Mr. Took.’It seemed plain that the farmer would tell them more, if allowed to do it in his own , so they all accepted the invitation. ‘What about the dogs?’ asked Frodo anxiously.The farmer laughed. ‘They won’t harm you - not unless I tell ‘em to. Here, Grip! Fang! Heel!’ he cried. ‘Heel, Wolf!’ To the relief of Frodo and Sam, the dogs walked away and let them go free.Pippin introduced the other two to the farmer. ‘Mr. Frodo Baggins,’ he said. ‘You may not remember him, but he used to live at Brandy Hall.’ At the name Baggins the farmer started, and gave Frodo a sharp glance. For a moment Frodo thought that the memory of stolen mushrooms had been aroused, and that the dogs would be told to see him off. But Farmer Maggot took him by the arm.‘Well, if that isn’t queerer than ever?’ he exclaimed. ‘Mr. Baggins is it? Come inside
What fellow do you mean?’ asked Pippin.‘Then you haven’t seen him?’ said the farmer. ‘He went up the lane towards the causeway not a long while back. He was a funny customer and asking funny questions. But perhaps you’ll come along inside, and we’ll pass the news more comfortable. I’ve a drop of good ale on tap, if you and your friends are willing, Mr. Took.’It seemed plain that the farmer would tell them more, if allowed to do it in his own , so they all accepted the invitation. ‘What about the dogs?’ asked Frodo anxiously.The farmer laughed. ‘They won’t harm you - not unless I tell ‘em to. Here, Grip! Fang! Heel!’ he cried. ‘Heel, Wolf!’ To the relief of Frodo and Sam, the dogs walked away and let them go free.Pippin introduced the other two to the farmer. ‘Mr. Frodo Baggins,’ he said. ‘You may not remember him, but he used to live at Brandy Hall.’ At the name Baggins the farmer started, and gave Frodo a sharp glance. For a moment Frodo thought that the memory of stolen mushrooms had been aroused, and that the dogs would be told to see him off. But Farmer Maggot took him by the arm.‘Well, if that isn’t queerer than ever?’ he exclaimed. ‘Mr. Baggins is it? Come inside
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