Caravaggio Amor Vincit Omnia painting

Caravaggio Amor Vincit Omnia paintingRaphael Saint George and the Dragon paintingPablo Picasso The Old Guitarist painting
pointedly) many other problems in the University, whose resolution must inevitably be attended with some upheaval. The fact was, I asserted, that the Founder's Scroll, like the Old and New Syllabi, was unique;sui generis, of necessity, else it would be false. The CACAFILE needed then simply to be instructed to create unique categories for unique items, and the filing should proceed without difficulty.
"Nonsense!" snorted a gentleman-librarian. His colleagues agreed, objecting that such "special categories" would in fact be classes of one member, an unacceptable paralogism.
"So are Grand Tutorials," I replied.
"Now that was inspired!" Bray exclaimed with a sort of laugh, and though the library-scientists seemed far from delighted with my plan, he urged that it be transmitted to the catalogue-programmer and CACAFILEd as soon as practicable. "You don't intend to stand here until it's actually carried out, I suppose?" he asked me. "Quite enough to've solved the problem, I should think."

Ford Madox Brown The Coat of Many Colors painting

Ford Madox Brown The Coat of Many Colors paintingPierre Auguste Renoir La Loge paintingPierre Auguste Renoir Dance at Bougival painting
To be the agent of the general will," he asserted through the felt, "is an honor exceeded only by being its instrument. If the will of the Union is that the button be pressed, then the one thing better than being the presser is to be the button." He made a scarcely perceptible bow, presumably by way of taking leave of me, and entered the room. But I pressed after.
"That's just plain vanity!" I protested. Several large Nikolayans moved towards me when I raised my voice, but I went on. "It's as bad as Max saying he wants to be Shafted in the name of studentdom! You're not really selfless at all!"
"Max is a fool!" Classmate X said sharply -- his first betrayal of any emotion. But though my taunt evidently angered him, he motioned aside the aides who scowled between us and said in a small, hard voice -- still covering his face: "One's original family was murdered by the Bonifacists, except for a single son, who fled with oneself to be killed in action later in the Riot. One's second wife died this year. And so Leonid Andreich is one's sole surviving relative. . ." Only when he mentioned Leonid's name did I understand that

Talantbek Chekirov Close Encounter painting

Talantbek Chekirov Close Encounter paintingMartin Johnson Heade Rio de Janeiro Bay paintingUnknown Artist Persian woman pouring wine painting
stone stairs as if Croaker knew what he was about, and emerged into a bright chamber under the dome, of which my first impression was that it was full of apparatus as had been the Powerhouse Control Room. Lights winked on panels; things hummed. But more arresting than the furniture was the occupant of the room, before whom Croaker squatted now. Hairless he was and naked, with the whitest skin I'd seen; his legs were useless-looking sticks that dangled from the high stool he perched on; shrunk too were his hams (though his hips were wide) and his bald gonads scarcely there at all. His paunch however was considerable, even bloat, and rounded up to a smaller chest and the sloped white shoulders from which plumpish arms depended. Most remarkable was his head: an outsized hairless browless ball that dandled forward and to one side as if too weighty for the neck. Thick round eyeglasses he wore on it, whose rimless lenses magnified his thumbnail-colored eyes. He had no teeth.
"So," he said, Z-ing the sibilant as Max did. But his voice was a furry pipe. Croaker at once set to whining.
"He wants you off so he

Albert Bierstadt Valley of the Yosemite painting

Albert Bierstadt Valley of the Yosemite paintingAlbert Bierstadt the oregon trail paintingThomas Kinkade country living painting
Ann got done with me I could recite you the Founder's Scroll backwards or forwards."
"Isthat how to pass the Finals!" I exclaimed with a frown.
"Pfui,"Max said. "It's how to flunk a whole ."
But Greene insisted that Miss Sally Ann was Founder and Chancellor and Examiners too, to his mind, and had besides the prettiest face and figure in the entire territory, durned if she didn't. She herself was the Answer: she had rescued him from the clutches of the Dean o' Flunks, from the way to failure, and he would let no vileness near her. It was chiefly for her sake, to provide her with every comfort known to studentdom, that when not yet twenty he claimed squatter's rights to vast tracts of virgin timber, formed his own Sub-Department of Lumbering and Paper Manufacture, built sawmills and factories, laid waste the wilderness, dammed the watersheds, spoiled the streams, and became a power in the School and an influence in Tower Hall. For her sake too (though it wasn't clear whether she demanded these things or he volunteered them) he eschewed liquor and tobacco, and forbade them to others; left off cursing, gambling, and fist-fighting, of which he'd been fond

Edgar Degas Ballet Rehearsal painting

Edgar Degas Ballet Rehearsal paintingEdgar Degas Absinthe paintingFrida Kahlo The Broken Column painting
foul. "Doesn't he have classic features, Hed?" he asked his wife.
"He looks like Maurice in bronze!" Mrs. Sear exclaimed. "He could be your younger brother, Maurice." She too, and her voice, were dry and not unhandsome, but where her husband seemedcured, like supplest vellum, Mrs. Sear was brittle -- sharp-edged as the stones on her ears and hands, but more fragile.
Stoker affirmed the resemblance. "George's got more in common with me thansome brothers I could mention."
"You're really Max Spielman's protégé?" Dr. Sear asked smoothly. "Wemust have some interviews."
"And evenings," Mrs. Sear insisted, narrowing her bright eyes and touching my fleece with her long red nails. "Something moreintime than this madhouse of Maurice's. Are you matriculating, or just on tour?"
"Ma'am?" Despite my liquor I felt at ease and self-possessed, they so obviously admired me. But I had difficulty following conversations. It occurred to me to remark that

Andrew Atroshenko Just for Love painting

Andrew Atroshenko Just for Love paintingEdward Hopper Sunday paintingEdward Hopper Morning Sun painting
I been doing? Oh boy. Oh boy. You don't know what it means, Georgie, a Moishian to believe the Grand Tutor's on campus!"
I reminded him that we were not yet on the main campus of New , and that he had better get on with his job, and we three with my journey, unless there was work to be done in the woodland where we were.
"Just one, right here," he replied. And clutching my arm with one thin hand to steady himself, with the other he removed from his waist the token of herdsmanship he'd so long worn there: the withered testicles of Freddie, his old foe, and the leather cord they hung on. "Tie these round your wrapper," he advised me. "It's you that's the Good Goatsman now, with a bigger herd than I ever looked after." I did what he bade me, and he said very seriously, "What these mean, George, if you ever had any faun in you before -- any stud-buck in your blood sometimes, you know? Well, you got to cut it off from now on, or you're not the Grand Tutor. No more Heddas, and no more Lady

Thomas Kinkade Paris City of Lights painting

Thomas Kinkade Paris City of Lights paintingThomas Kinkade New Horizons paintingThomas Kinkade Mountain Paradise painting
been the case: Did he rather risk exposure by the mad book-sweep or the "crazy old Moishian" -- as Max's foes called him -- than repeat and compound his felony? Was it that the perpetrator of the deed, like Snow White's forestry-major, was not its instigator, but had only followed orders that he was glad to see miscarry, and had dared not then report or affirm the miscarriage? Or could it be, as Max himself chose to think, that while some influential personage or personages wanted me dead, some other of comparable influence did not, so that, the attempt having failed and come to light, my secret enemies were prevented by my secret friends from finishing the job -- perhaps even from knowing it was unfinished? It was no coincidence, Max argued, that prior to my discovery he'd been a mere helper about the goat-barn, which was scheduled to be razed and the herd disposed of to make room for more poultry-pens; then not a month after he'd received me from George these plans had been changed without explanation: the Senior Goatherd was given a vice-chairmanship in Animal Husbandry, and Max had been allowed, almost unofficially, to manage the barn and herd until the Rexford administration took office and dignified his position with titles and a modest research-budget.

Fabian Perez red hat painting

Fabian Perez red hat paintingFabian Perez man in black hat paintingFabian Perez isabella painting
His features softened. "Yes, well. The Moishians is the Chosen Class."
"Chosen for what?"
His reply was matter-of-fact. "To suffer, dear Billy. Chosen to fail and suffer."
I pondered these words. "Who chose you to do that?"
Max smiled proudly. "Who's going to choose you to be a goat or an undergraduate? My boy, we chose ourselves. It's the Moishians' best talent: WESCAC puts it on our Aptitude Cards when we matriculate. I'll tell you one day."
I understood: he was not putting me off, but clearing way for more pressing inquiries. And though my curiosity was strong, it was no longer pressed. Great doors had quietly been opened; there stretched the wide campus and everything to be learned. But quite so, I had to learneverything, and those doors I felt were open now for good; there was no rush. I felt suddenly exhausted and relieved.
"Well," I asked him. "Are Moishians the same as goats?"
"Not all goats is Moishians," he replied with a smile, "but all Moishians is a little bit goat. Of course, there's goats and goats."
Now I wanted to know: was I a Moishian?

John Collier In the Venusberg Tannhauser painting

John Collier In the Venusberg Tannhauser paintingCaravaggio The Entombment of Christ painting
news had not seemed yet to have spread around the command post; the men began to get up and walk to the chow-line to clean their mess-gear, strolled back beneath the trees and flopped down, heads against their packs, for a moment's nap. The Colonel spoke in an easy, confidential voice with the other battalion commander: the casualties were confined, Culver gathered, to that outfit. It was a battalion made up mostly of young reserves and it was one in which, he suddenly thanked God, he knew no one. Then he heard the Colonel go on calmly—to promise more aid, to promise to come down himself, shortly. "Does it look rough, Luke?" Culver heard him say, "Hold on tight, Luke boy"—all in the cool and leisurely, almost bored, tones of a man to whom the greatest embarrassment would be a show of emotion, and to whom, because of this quality, had been given, in the midst of some strained and violent combat situation long ago, the name "Old Rocky." He was not yet forty-five, yet the adjective "old" applied, for there was a gray sheen in his hair and a bemused, unshakable look in his tranquil eyes that made him seem, like certain young ecclesiastics, prematurely aged and perhaps even wise. Culver saw him put the

Titian Saint Christopher painting

Titian Saint Christopher paintingFrancisco de Goya The Parasol paintingFilippino Lippi Adoration of the Child painting
for doubting or understanding. The men-at-arms were in the hall now, and their clashing steps sent echoes booming back and forth between the walls, while King Haggard hissed and cursed them on. The Lady Amalthea never hesitated. She entered the clock and vanished as the moon passes behind clouds—hidden by them, but not in them, thousands of miles alone.
As though she were a dryad, Molly thought madly, and time were her tree. Through the dim, speckled glass Molly could see the weights and the pendulum and the cankered chimes, all swaying and burning as she stared. There was no door beyond, through which the Lady Amalthea might have gone. There was only the rusty avenue of the works, leading her eyes away into rain. The weights drifted from side to side like seaweed.
King Haggard was shouting, "Stop them! Smash the clock!" Molly started to turn her head, meaning to tell Schmendrick that she thought she knew what the skull had meant; but the magician had disappeared, and so had the great hall of King Haggard. The clock was gone too, and she was standing beside the Lady Amalthea in a cold place.

William Blake Los painting

William Blake Los paintingWilliam Blake Jacob's Ladder paintingVincent van Gogh Wheat Field with Crows painting
Schmendrick propped his chin on his knuckles and regarded Drinn with a sagging smile. "What about your own children?" he asked. "How can you keep one of them from growing up to fulfill the curse?" He looked around the inn, sleepily studying every wrinkled face that looked back at him. "Come to think of it," he said slowly, "are there no young people in this town? How early do you send children to bed in Hagsgate?"
No one answered him. Molly could hear blood creaking in ears and eyes, and skin twitching like water plucked by the wind. Then Drinn said, "We have no children. We have had none since the day that the curse was laid upon us." He coughed into his fist and added, "It seemed the most obvious way of foiling the witch."
Schmendrick threw back his head and laughed without making a sound, laughed to make the torches dance. Molly realized that the magician was quite drunk. Drinn's mouth disappeared, and his eyes hardened into our plight," he said softly. "None at all."
"None," Schmendrick gurgled, bowing over the table and spilling his wine. "None, pardon me, none

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Braid painting

Frida Kahlo Self Portrait with Braid paintingFrida Kahlo Portrait of Dona Rosita Morillo paintingFrida Kahlo Portrait of Diego Rivera painting
by day in a great cavern beneath the castle. We'll know soon enough, but that's not our problem now. The nearer danger lies there."
He pointed down into the valley, where a few lights had begun to shiver.
"That is Hagsgate," he said.
Molly made no answer, but she touched the unicorn with a hand as cold as a cloud. She often put her hands on the unicorn when she was sad, or tired, or afraid.
"This is King Haggard's town," Schmendrick said, "the first one he took when he came over the sea, the one that has lain longest under his hand. It has a wicked name, though none I ever met could say exactly why. No one goes into Hagsgate, and nothing comes out of it but tales to make children behave—monsters, werebeasts, witch covens, demons in broad daylight, and the like. But there is something evil in Hagsgate, I think. Mommy Fortuna would never go there, and once she said that even Haggard was not safe while Hagsgate stood. There is something there."
He peered closely at Molly as he spoke, for it was his one bitter pleasure these days to see her frightened in spite of the white presence of the unicorn. But she answered him quite calmly

Claude Monet Chrysanthemums painting

Claude Monet Chrysanthemums paintingClaude Monet Camille Monet in the Garden paintingClaude Monet Blue Water Lilies painting
It is possible that the ever-increasing vastness of the Building is a metaphor or illustration of precisely such a factual enormity. Or the Building's size may be purely a result of its age. The oldest sections, far inside its outermost walls, show no indication that they were—or were not—seen as the beginning of something immense. They are exactly like the Aq children's "houses" on a larger scale.
All the rest of the Building has been added on, year by year, to this modest beginning, in much the same style. After perhaps some centuries the builders began to add stories onto the flat roofs of the early Building, but have never gone above four stories, except for towers and pinnacles and the airy barrel domes that reach a height of perhaps sixty meters. The great bulk of the Building is no more than five to six meters high. Inevitably it has kept growing outwards laterally, by way of ells and wings and joining arcades and courtyards, until it covers so vast an area that from a distance it looks like a fantastic terrain, a low mountain landscape all in silvery green stone.

Pablo Picasso The Pipes of Pan painting

Pablo Picasso The Pipes of Pan paintingPablo Picasso Studio with Plaster Head paintingPablo Picasso Crucifixion painting
workforce. Guarded by archers and spearmen, these Huyans, by furious digging and the planting of explosive charges in the ground, in the course of twenty-six hours changed the course of the Alon for the whole disputed mile and half. With their explosives they dammed the stream and dug a channel that led it to run in an arc along the border they claimed, west of its old course. This new course followed the line of ruins of the various walls they had built and Meyun had torn down.
They then sent messengers across the meadows to Meyun to announce, in polite and ceremonious terms, that peace between the cities was restored, since the boundary Meyun had always claimed—the east bank of the river Alon—was acceptable to Huy, so long as the cattle of Huy were allowed to drink at certain watering places on the eastern bank.
A good part of the Council of Meyun was willing to accept

Louis Aston Knight paintings

Louis Aston Knight paintings
Leon Bazile Perrault paintings
Leon-Augustin L'hermitte paintings
said some conventionality—"What a pity."
My hostess glanced at me with faint puzzlement but pursued her thought, still smiling. "She says we're married! I love to talk with her. It's a real honor to have so much abba in the house, don't you think? I feel very lucky!"
I knew abba: it was a common shrub, an evergreen; we used abba berries, pungent, a bit like juniper, in certain dishes. There was an abba bush in the back yard and a little jar of the dried berries in the cupboard. But I didn't think the house was full of them.
I brooded over Mrs. Tattava's "hali shrine." I knew of no shrines at all on Hennebet, except the little niche in the living room where Mrs. Nannattula always kept a few flowers or reeds or, come to think of it, a sprig of abba. I asked her if the niche had a name, and she said it was the tutuve.

Douglas Hofmann Model painting

Douglas Hofmann Model paintingDouglas Hofmann Jessica paintingJose Royo Momento de Paz painting
Some excitement was caused among the younger students, who had never seen it before, when a powder-blue carriage the size of a house, pulled by a dozen giant winged palo-minos, came soaring out of the sky in the late afternoon before the funeral and landed on the edge of the Forest. Harry watched from a window as a gigantic and handsome olive-skinned, black-haired woman descended the carriage steps and threw herself into the waiting Hagrid's arms. Meanwhile a delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minister for Magic himself, was being accommodated within the castle. Harry was diligently avoiding contact with any of them; he
was sure that, sooner or later, he would be asked again to account for Dumbledore's last excursion from Hogwarts.
Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were spending all of their time together. The beautiful weather seemed to mock them; Harry could imagine how it would have been if Durnbledore had not

Edmund Blair Leighton The Charity of St painting

Edmund Blair Leighton The Charity of St paintingEdmund Blair Leighton Alain Chartier painting
Then you told me, two years later, that on the night that Volde-mort returned to his body, he made a most illuminating and alarm-ing statement to his Death Eaters. ‘I who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.’ That was what you told me he said. 'Further than anybody!' And I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death Eaters did not. He was referring to his Horcruxes, Horcruxes in the plural, Harry, which I don’t believe any other wizard has ever had. Yet it fitted: Lord Voldomort has seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he had undergone seemed to me to be only explainable if his soul was mutilated beyond the realms of what we might call 'usual evil' . . ."
"So he's made himself impossible to kill by murdering other people?" said Harry. "Why couldn't he make a Sorcerer's Stone, or steal one, if he was so interested in immortality?"
"Well, we know that he tried to do just that, five years ago," s;n?l Dumbledore. "But there are several reasons why, I think, a Sorcerer's Stone would appeal less than Horcruxes to Lord Voldemort,

Johannes Vermeer the Milkmaid painting

Johannes Vermeer the Milkmaid paintingJohannes Vermeer The Love letter painting
Well. . . they've been following Malfoy for me," he said.
"Night and day," croaked Kreacher.
"Dobby has not slept for a week, Harry Potter!" said Dobby proudly, swaying where he stood. Hermione looked indignant.
"You haven't slept, Dobby? But surely, Harry, you didn't tell him not to —"
"No, of course I didn't," said Harry quickly. "Dobby, you can sleep, all right? But has either of you found out anything?" he has-tened to ask, before Hermione could intervene again.
"Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pure blood," croaked Kreacher at once. "His features recall the fine bones of my mistress and his manners are those of—"

Edmund Blair Leighton Alain Chartier painting

Edmund Blair Leighton Alain Chartier paintingEdmund Blair Leighton Off painting
Harry stared at Malfoy. It was not the sucking-up that intrigued him; he had watched Malfoy do that to Snape for a long time. It was the fact that Malfoy did, after all, look a little ill. This was the first time he had seen Malfoy close up for ages; he now saw that Malfoy had dark shadows under his eyes and a distinctly grayish tinge to his skin.
"I'd like a word with you, Draco," said Snape suddenly.
"Now , Severus," said Slughorn, hiccuping again, "it's Christ mas, do n't be too hard —"
"I am his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or other-wise, to be," said Snape curtly. "Follow me, Draco."

They left, Snape leading the way, Malfoy looking resentful. Harry stood there for a moment, irresolute, then said, "I'll be back in a bit, Luna — er — bathroom."

Rembrandt Christ On The Cross painting

Rembrandt Christ On The Cross paintingRembrandt Bathsheba at Her Bath paintingLord Frederick Leighton Wedded painting
Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Harry, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of small, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.
"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."
Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."