Gustav Klimt Expectation (gold foil) painting

Gustav Klimt Expectation (gold foil) paintingGustav Klimt Death and Life paintingGustav Klimt Danae (detail) painting
Mr. Saladin Chamcha, appalled by the noises emanating from Gibreel Farishta's mouth, fought back with verses of his own. What Farishta heard wafting across the improbable night sky was an old song, too, lyrics by Mr. James Thomson, seventeenhundred to seventeen-forty-eight. ". . . at Heaven's command," Chamcha carolled through lips turned jingoistically redwhiteblue by the cold, "arooooose from out the aaaazure main." Farishta, horrified, sang louder and louder of Japanese shoes, Russian hats, inviolately subcontinental hearts, but could not still Saladin's wild recital: "And guardian aaaaangels sung the strain."
Let's face it: it was impossible for them to have heard one another, much less conversed and also competed thus in song. Accelerating towards the planet, atmosphere roaring around them, how could they? But let's face this, too: they did.
Downdown they hurtled, and the winter cold frosting their eyelashes and

Vincent van Gogh Green Wheat Field painting

Vincent van Gogh Green Wheat Field paintingVincent van Gogh Flower Beds in Holland paintingClaude Monet Chemin dans les Bles a Pourville painting
Armenia: when all the "public Business" that kept him was boating and bathing at Terracina. He said that he himself, now in the decline , might be excused for an occasional absence from the City: he might plead that his energies had been exhausted by prolonged public service with the sword and the pen. But what except insolence could detain his son? This was most unjust: Castor had been commissioned to make a report on coastal defence during the recess and had not been able to collect all the evidence in time: rather than waste time by a journey to Rome and then back again to Terracina he was finishing his task.
When Castor returned he almost immediately fell ill. The symptoms were those of rapid consumption. He lost colour and weight and began coughing blood. He wrote to his father and asked him to come and visit him in his room -he lived at the other end of the Palace-because he believed that he was dying, and to forgive him if he had in any way offended. Sejanus advised Tiberius against the visit: the illness might be real, but on the other

John Collier Lady Godiva painting

John Collier Lady Godiva paintingCaravaggio Supper at Emmaus paintingCaravaggio Judith Beheading Holofernes painting
before, that there are two different ways of writing history: one is to persuade men to virtue and the other is to compel men to truth. The first is Livy's way and the other is yours: and perhaps they are not irreconcilable."
"Why, boy, you're an orator," said Pollio delightedly. Sulpicius who had been standing on one leg with his foot held in his hand, as his habit was when excited or impatient, and twisting his beard in knots, now summed up:epigram on the noble Pollio)-people who record no more than actually occurred-such men can only hold an audience while they have a good cook and a cellar of Cyprian wine." This made Livy really furious. He said, "Pollio, this talk is idle. Young Claudius here has always been considered dull-witted by his family
"Yes, Livy will never lack readers. People love being 'persuaded to ancient virtue' by a charming writer, particularly when they are told in the same breath that modern civilization has made such virtue impossible of attainment. But mere truthtellers-'undertakers who lay out the corpse of history' (to quote poor Catullus's

Eduard Manet Flowers In A Crystal Vase painting

Eduard Manet Flowers In A Crystal Vase paintingEduard Manet Bouquet Of Violets paintingEduard Manet Spring painting
Not for her the cruel, delicate luxury of choice, the indolent, cat-and-mouse pastimes of the hearth-rug. No Penelope she; she must hunt in the forest. She had made a preposterous little picture of the kind of man who would do: he was an English diplomat of great but not very virile beauty, now abroad, with a house smaller than Brideshead, nearer to London; he was old, thirty-two or -three, and had been recently and tragically widowed; Julia thought she would prefer a man a little subdued by earlier grief. He had a great career before him but had grown listless in his loneliness; she was not sure he was not in danger of falling into the hands of an unscrupulous foreign adventuress; he needed a new infusion of young life to carry him to the Embassy at Paris. While professing a mild agnosticism himself he had a liking for the shows of religion