Rembrandt The Return of the Prodigal Son painting

Rembrandt The Return of the Prodigal Son painting
Edvard Munch The Scream painting
Gustav Klimt Mother and Child detail from The Three Ages of Woman painting
classification-problem, now I considered it, pointed clearly to the sense of my task -- a sense altogether harmonious (as Sear could never have guessed) with the rest of the Assignment. What had my day's work proved, if not the necessity of clear distinction? And what were my labors but a series of paradigms, or emblems of this necessity? To distinguish Tick from Tock, East Campus from West, Grand Tutor from goat, appearance from reality (or whatever contraries were involved in seeing through My Ladyship) -- all these tasks, like my sundry concomitant advisings, were but ways of saying, "Passage is Passage, Failure Failure: let none confuse them." All that was wanted to put the Founder's Scroll in its place was sharper definition, I was confident -- and eager to tackle the problem, I grew impatient at the little delay, for it began to seem not impossible that I might request Examination that same evening, and thus complete my Assignment in a single day -- as close to "no time," surely, as anyone could demand!
After a few minutes Anastasia reported, with some concern, that Stoker had not appeared at the Powerhouse all day, nor had his new secretary at Main Detention seen

Vincent van Gogh Red vineyards painting

Vincent van Gogh Red vineyards paintingVincent van Gogh Mulberry Tree paintingVincent van Gogh Bedroom Arles painting
seedy campus streets through which we happened to be passing. Many were garishly dressed women -- prostitute ladies, in fact, as I presently learned, or "campus-followers," who throve in the rougher quadrangles of the college. They all waved back, as did their pimps and the other toughs of the quad. "That would be going a little far, if you mean refuse to do Business with him at all."
"Then you won't like my plan for ending the Boundary Dispute, I'm sure," I said; "my notion about opposites is that they ought to be kept as distinct and far apart as possible."
The Chancellor assured me that he quite agreed. We were passing now through an equally squalid quadrangle: the paths and steps were littered with drunks; youths loitered in mean-looking knots; posters advertised erotic films; a man punched a woman in the mouth with such force that she almost dropped the baby she was nursing. This last

Thomas Kinkade Spirit of Christmas painting

Thomas Kinkade Spirit of Christmas paintingThomas Kinkade San Francisco Fisherman's Wharf paintingThomas Kinkade Paris City of Lights painting
Then the doctor's face brightened, and he undid the latch. "Certainly, gentlemen." The guards came in, looked first at the fluoroscope screen, then at Mrs. Sear, and only finally at me.
"Mr. George forgives your misunderstanding," Dr. Sear said smoothly, "but it really would be pleasanter all around if you apologized." I was, he declared, no Gate-crasher at all, but the man of the hour, the first in modern history who legitimately had passed the Trial-by-Turnstile!
"Legitimately?" Jake asked.
"Of course legitimately." It was an unhappy symptom of studentdom's malaise, he said, that Heroes were arrested for disturbing the peace; however, he believed I harbored no grudge, and would overlook the insult if they'd take me at once to the Assembly-Before-the-Grate. I listened astonished, but had presence enough of mind to keep a neutral expression.
"He's already sent word to Maurice Stoker that you're not to be punished," Mrs. Sear put in. "If I'd hadmy way you'd be locked up yourselves, the way you barged in here."

Dirck Bouts Resurrection painting

Dirck Bouts Resurrection paintingDirck Bouts The Gathering of the Manna paintingDirck Bouts The Meeting of Abraham and Melchizedek painting
But show me theprogramme without hitches, Goat-Boy!" He had come to this campus with bad eyesight and false teeth, he declared; was never robust; could hardly stand on his legs (they were stronger then) -- all this was duly punched into his card, he'd signed the loyalty-oath, got his clearance-papers, watched WESCAC's card-sorters riffle and click. Going then to the lodging assigned him he found there not the clear-eyed practical,gemütlich young engineer he'd rather expected (himself being subject to sick headaches and "too busy in the head" to bother with housekeeping), but Croaker, the famous Athlete -- All-Campus candidate in football he was then, before they named him Frumentius's delegate to the University Council for his own protection.
"Imagine, Goat-Boy! A mindless brute that ate raw hamburger at the Coach's order, wore nothing but a loin-cloth, picked his nose, took what he pleased, urinated in the shower-bath, danced and farted, rolled his eyes, bared his teeth, and had his way with a parade of co-eds!"

George Frederick Watts Orpheus and Eurydice detail painting

George Frederick Watts Orpheus and Eurydice detail paintingUnknown Artist The SunFlowers paintingSalvador Dali Portrait of the Cellist Ricard Pichot painting
COMMITTEE CHAIRMAN: [Aside]
Prepare yourselves to see things fall to pieces:
The Dean believes his own press releases.

I was by this time entirely involved with Taliped's resolve to learn his identity. I'd finished my popcorn, and began to eat the tasty box as the committee sang a brief and sprightly song of conjecture about Dean Taliped's parentage, coming curiously to a full stop at each line's end, whether the word was complete or not.

Whoopee! Hooray for truth! The un[STROPHE 1
examined life is not
worth living! Truth will make you free!
And other campus mot

toes of that sort. What is a coll[ANTISTROPHE 1
ege for if not to seek
the truth? Hooray for truth! Whoopee!
I'll bet this time next week

end, when the moon's full, we'll be dan[STROPHE 2
cing up in Dean's Ravine,
where Taliped was transferred out
of Cadmus to the Dean

Zhang Xiaogang Two Sisters painting

Zhang Xiaogang Two Sisters paintingZhang Xiaogang The Big Family No. 3 paintingZhang Xiaogang My Dream Little General painting
apologized for her hysteria, for leaving him in charge of the house and children, for whatever was her share of responsibility in their difficulties. . .
"I missed her so much and felt so flunking flunkèd I thought I'd die," he said. "First thing I did, I come home and got drunk as a hooty-owl, all by my lonesome. But drunk or sober, sir, it seemed to me one minute there was something awful wrong with the way we lived, trying to be pals and lovers and equals all the same time, and next minute it wasn't our fault at all, we'd come to the right idea, the best idea, but the past was a-gumming us up. Then right in the midst of this pull and haul, who should come into the bar where I went one night but O.B.G.'s daughter -- as a customer, mind, and I didn't even know they served darkies in the place! She asked me how Miss Sally Ann was, all the time a-smiling in her mischievous way, like she was daring me to grab ahold of her, and she said she figured I must be awful upset to be out drinking so late all by myself, a big family-man like me. I knew what she was up to, but I didn't bear her no grudge for all the things she'd

Claude Monet Monet The Luncheon painting

Claude Monet Monet The Luncheon paintingClaude Monet Monet Water Lillies I paintingClaude Monet Boulevard des Capucines painting
was in her unbandaged mouth, her eyes were closed, and the guards from the dais were spreading mustard on her hams. I spurred Croaker on lest he too caught sight of her. We bounded to the exit-door, which opened at our approach, and as we entered the corridor beyond, Stoker's merry voice roared out from loudspeakers on every side:great iron portal of the entrance-chamber through which we issued now as we had entered hours before, not knowing how we'd got there. The watchdogs snarled, but were held in check; Croaker snarled back, but I steered him on. We crossed the graveled apron, floodlit still and chilly in the early light, and plunged down a wooded slope, through groves of oak and dew-soaked laurel. At the foot, in a bright-misted clearing near the road, a kilometer at least from the Powerhouse, we came to ground, collapsed in fact together into the leaves, from an exhaustion I'd not guessed he shared. And though rage, remorse
"Think it over, Goat-Boy! I'll see you again!"
And his laugh preceded and pursued us as we went, unopposed, unaccompanied, from hallway to hallway, chamber to chamber. Guards stood back with a grin; levers were pulled, lights flashed, all doors opened before us and closed behind -- even the

John William Waterhouse Gather Ye Rosebuds while ye may painting

John William Waterhouse Gather Ye Rosebuds while ye may paintingLeonardo da Vinci Leda and the Swan paintingLeonardo da Vinci Head of Christ painting
when the door slid back -- a roar like an endless thunderclap, shocking the heart.
"Furnace Room!" Stoker shouted in my ear; I could scarcely hear him. At first, owing to the darkness, I could see only that we had stepped onto a long balcony, beyond and below which were considerable steaming spaces lit by intermittent fires. The air was hot, with the reek of the fumigating-candles we sometimes used in the barns, and from near and far the din assailed us: grindings, shrieks, cracks, roars, hisses, crashes, shouts! When my eyes accommodated I went to the railing with Stoker and saw how truly whelming was the place: the floor was a barn's-height below us, the ceiling lost in dark vapors above; a fair-sized herd could scatter in the space between the walls -- rough-hewn from the mountain's bowels, black as coal, and warm to the touch. Vats or caldrons huge as silos rose before us, interlaced with catwalks, pipes, and cables; the red glow came from under them, where great fires seemed to rage beneath the floor. The steam issued everywhere: from joints in

Thomas Kinkade Mountain Memories painting

Thomas Kinkade Mountain Memories paintingThomas Kinkade Footprints in the sand paintingThomas Kinkade Christmas Cottage painting
dosomething like that because I was so stupid. But he couldn't draw right, he said so himself: the people in the pictures had the funniest expressions on their faces! I told him if his drawing of the girl's parts was right, then there must be something wrong with mine, the proportions were all different; but I said I was pretty suremine must be okay because they were just like Miss Fine's, my language-tutor's, and when Miss Fine and I used to play with each other she always said mine were the nicest she'd ever seen."
Though her tone remained glib as a child's, Anastasia blushed furiously. Max also, but not I, though my blood pulsed.
"You see howdumb I was! I was going to show him then and there to make sure, in case Miss Fine had just been being polite, and I told him I couldn't for theof me see why he was so angry at her, when my other tutors and governesses and maids had all done andI'd learned to play -- I liked him better than Miss Fine anyway, because she would bite sometimes; what's more he had whiskers, and I was sure

Edmund Blair Leighton The Accolade painting

Edmund Blair Leighton The Accolade paintingEdmund Blair Leighton The End of The Song paintingFrank Dicksee Romeo and Juliet painting
Mornings and afternoons were devoted to my tuition. Indeed the entire day was, and in a sense the night, as shall be shown; not a minute but Max turned to pedagogical account. We rose as always just before daybreak with the herd, and for exercise I forked down hay or did push-ups in the peat. At the same time, while memory was still fresh, I would recount my nightsworth of dreams -- of which there were a great many compared to the old days -- and we would discuss them with reference both to general human nature and to the character of my particular mind, which was revealed to be a guileful, impious rascal. One night in my twenty-second year, for example, I dreamt of a terrible misfortune: at the sound of the shophar old Freddie stormed into the barn (that troublesome Toggenburger of days gone by, whom I had known only after his castration); he butted Max square in the chest and caused him to fall upon the patent docker, so injuring himself that he could never rise again. Then, fleeced oddly in angora, the brute set

Thomas Kinkade Boston painting

Thomas Kinkade Boston paintingPeter Paul Rubens Rape of the Daughters of Leucippus paintingWinslow Homer Gloucester Harbor painting
Tammany's Speech Department, whose filibuster in the Senate had blocked passage of the Qualifying Anals bill and contributed to Spielman's downfall, was named Fred. Max saw in this a sign, and took his vengeance. He dared not approach the Toggenburg openly, and so one October night when the bucks were bleating their lust as usual (none more loudly than treacherous Freddie), he arranged for a spry young nan to find her way into his enemy's stall: some moments later, Max crept up behind with a patent docker.Zut , the old rogue was clipped in mid-service, no joy in his windfall then! And all his fierceness withered; he grew fat and docile, never said a word when his keeper dehorned him a few weeks later. Of his trophies Max made the earlier into an amulet, of which more anon, the latter into a kind of shophars wherewith thenceforward he summoned the flock -- and his studies proceeded without further trouble. Indeed, whether because they understood "after their

Claude Monet Cliffs Near Dieppe painting

Claude Monet Cliffs Near Dieppe paintingFabian Perez white and red painting
the colonel. "I just have to repeat, sir," he said finally, "that I don't have the faintest idea what my first consideration would be. I never went to cargo-loading school. I'm an 0302. And I'd like to respectfully add, sir, if I might, that there's hardly anybody in this room who knows that answer, either. They've forgotten everything they ever learned seven years ago. Most of them don't even know how to take an M-l apart. They're too old. They their family." There was passion in his tone but it was controlled and straightforward—he had managed to keep out of his voice either anger or insolence—and then he fell silent. His words had the quality, the sternness, of an absolute and unequivocal fact, as if they had been some intercession for grace spoken across the heads of a courtroom by a lawyer so quietly convinced of his man's innocence that there was no need for gesticulations or frenzy. The colonel's eyes bulged incredulously at Mannix from across the rows of seats, but in the complete, astounded hush that had followed he was apparently at a loss for words. A bit unsteadily, he called

Andrew Atroshenko The Passion of Music painting

Andrew Atroshenko The Passion of Music paintingPablo Picasso Weeping Woman with Handkerchief painting
displacement and the confusion filled him with an anxiety which would not have been possible six years before, and increased his fatigue. The tent itself, in its tiny, momentary permanence, might have had all of the appeal of the which he so desperately hungered for, had it not been so cold, and had it not seemed, as he sat there suddenly shivering with fear, so much more like a coffin instead.
Then it occurred to him that he was actually terrified of the march, of the thirty-six miles: not because of the length—which was beyond comprehension—but because he was sure he'd not be able to make it. The contagion of Mannix's fear had touched him. And he wondered then if Mannix's fear had been like his own: that no matter what his hatred of the system, of the Marine Corps, might be, some instilled, twisted pride would make him walk until he dropped, and his fear was not of the hike itself, but of dropping. He looked up at Mannix and said, "Do you think you can make it, Al?"

Edward Hopper Cape Cod Morning painting

Edward Hopper Cape Cod Morning paintingAmedeo Modigliani the Reclining Nude painting
about your name and address. Jack kept most a his friends’ addresses in his head. It was a terrible thing. He was only thirty-nine years old.”
The huge sadness of the northern plains rolled down on him. He didn’t know which way it was, the tire iron or a real accident, blood choking down Jack’s throat and nobody to turn him over. Under the wind drone he heard steel slamming off bone, the hollow chatter of a settling tire rim.
“He buried down there?” He wanted to curse her for letting Jack die on the dirt road.
The little Texas voice came slip-sliding down the wire. “We put a stone up. He use to say he wanted to be cremated, ashes scattered on Brokeback Mountain. I didn’t know where that was. So he was cremated, like he wanted, and like I say, half his ashes was interred here, and the rest I sent up to his folks. I thought Brokeback Mountain was around where he grew up. But knowing Jack, it might be some pretend place where the bluebirds sing and there’s a whiskey spring.”
“We herded sheep on Brokeback one summer,” said Ennis. He could hardly speak.
“Well, he said it was his place. I thought he meant to get drunk.

Francisco de Zurbaran Still life painting

Francisco de Zurbaran Still life paintingFrancisco de Zurbaran The Immaculate Conception paintingArthur Hughes The Property Room painting
sort of boat, I think," said Pooh. "Oh! that sort." "Yes. And we're going to discover a Pole or something. Or was it a Mole? Anyhow we're going to discover it." "We are, are we?" said Rabbit. "Yes. And we've got to bring Pro-things to eat with us. In case we want to eat them. Now I'm going down to Piglet's. Tell Kanga, will you?" He left Rabbit and hurried down to Piglet's house. The Piglet was sitting on the ground at the door of his house blowing happily at a dandelion, and wondering whether it would be this year, next year, some time or never. He had just discovered that it would be never, and was trying to remember what "it" was, and hoping it wasn't anything nice, when Pooh came up. "Oh! Piglet," said Pooh excitedly, we're going on an Expotition, all of us, with things to eat. To discover something." "To discover what?" said Piglet anxiously.

William Bouguereau The Two Sisters painting

William Bouguereau The Two Sisters paintingWilliam Bouguereau Two Sisters paintingWilliam Bouguereau The Wasp's Nest painting
The Lady Amalthea fell as irrevocably as a flower breaks. Schmendrick leaped to one side, wheeling to drag Molly Grue with him. They brought up hard against a split slab of rock, and there they crouched together as the Red Bull raged by without turning. But he came to a halt between one stride and the next; and the sudden stillness—broken only by the Bull's breathing and the distant grinding of the sea—would have been absurd, but for the cause of it.The Lady Amalthea fell as irrevocably as a flower breaks. Schmendrick leaped to one side, wheeling to drag Molly Grue with him. They brought up hard against a split slab of rock, and there they crouched together as the Red Bull raged by without turning. But he came to a halt between one stride and the next; and the sudden stillness—broken only by the Bull's breathing and the distant grinding of the sea—would have been absurd, but for the cause of it.
She lay on her side with one leg bent beneath her. She moved slowly, but she made no sound. Prince Lir stood between her body and the Bull, weaponless, but with his hands up as though they still held a sword and shield. Once more in that endless night, the prince said, "No."
She lay on her side with one leg bent beneath her. She moved slowly, but she made no sound. Prince Lir stood between her body and the Bull, weaponless, but with his hands up as though they still held a sword and shield. Once more in that endless night, the prince said, "No."

Alphonse Maria Mucha Spring painting

Alphonse Maria Mucha Spring paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha Moet and Chandon White Star paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha La Dame aux Camelias painting
and hammering at her skin from within. "He was too strong," she said, "too strong. There was no end to his strength, and no beginning. He is older than I."
Her eyes widened, and it seemed to Molly that the Bull moved in them, crossing their depths like a flaming fish, and vanishing. The girl began to touch her face timidly, recoiling from the feel of her own features. Her curled fingers brushed the mark on her forehead, and she closed her eyes and gave a thin, stabbing howl of loss and weariness and utter despair.
"What have you done to me?" she cried. "I will die here!" She tore at the smooth body, and blood followed her fingers. "I will die here! I will die!" Yet there was no fear in her face, though it ramped in her voice, in her hands and feet, in the white hair that fell down over her new body. Her face remained quiet and untroubled.
Molly huddled over her, as near as she dared, begging her not to hurt herself. But Schmendrick said, "Be still," and the two words cracked like autumn branches. He said, "The magic knew what it was doing. Be still and listen."
"Why did you not let the Bull kill me?" The white girl moaned. "Why did you not leave me to the harpy? That would have been kinder than closing me in this cage." The magician winced, remembering Molly Grue's mocking accusation, but he spoke with a desperate

Rene Magritte Primevere painting

Rene Magritte Primevere paintingRene Magritte Personal Values paintingRene Magritte Dangerous Liaisons painting
Bull was in the land before Haggard, or it came with him, or it came to him. It protects him from raids and revolutions, and saves him the expense of arming his men. It keeps him a prisoner in his own castle. It is the devil, to whom Haggard has sold his soul. It is the thing he sold his soul to possess. The Bull belongs to Haggard. Haggard belongs to the Bull."
The unicorn felt a shiver of sureness spreading though her, widening from the center, like a ripple. In her mind the butterfly piped again, "They passed down all the roads long ago, and the Red Bull ran close behind them and covered their footprints." She saw white forms blowing away in a bellowing wind, and yellow horns shaking. "I will go there," she said. "Magician, I owe you a boon, for you set me free. What would you have of me before I leave you?"
Schmendrick's long eyes were glinting like leaves in the sun. "Take me with you."
She moved away, cool and dancing, and she did not answer. The magician said, "I might be useful. I know the way into Haggard's country, and the languages of the lands between here and there." The

Amedeo Modigliani Nude Sdraiato painting

Amedeo Modigliani Nude Sdraiato paintingAmedeo Modigliani Nu couche de dos paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha Winter painting
up. Instead, since I had a whole day before the ship sailed, I went to the library and looked up the Island of the Immortals.
The Central Library of Undund is a noble old building fьll of modern conveniences, including legemats. I asked a librarian for assistance and he brought me Postwand's Explorations, written about a hundred and sixty years earlier, from which I copied what follows. At the time Postwand wrote, the port city where I was staying, An Ria, had not been founded; the great wave of settlers from the east had not begun; the peoples of the coast were scattered tribes of shepherds and farmers. Postwand took a rather patronising but intelligent interest in their stories.
"Among the legends of the peoples of the West Coast," he writes, "one concerned a large island two or three days west from Undund Bay, where live the people who never die. All whom I asked about it were familiar with the reputation of the Island of the Immortals, and some even told me that members of their tribe had visited the place. Impressed with the unanimity of this tale, I determined to test its veracity. When at length Vong had finished making

Camille Pissarro Boulevard Montmarte painting

Camille Pissarro Boulevard Montmarte paintingClaude Lorrain The Rest on the Flight into Egypt paintingClaude Lorrain Landscape with Shepherds painting
He said, "I never flew, no. I was twenty when I got sick. I'd thought I was past the age, safe. It was a terrible blow. My parents had already spent a good deal of money, made sacrifices to get me into college. I was doing well in college. I liked learning. I had an intellect. To lose a year was bad enough. I wasn't going to let this eat up my whole life. To me the wings are simply excrescences. Growths. Impediments to walking, dancing, sitting in a civilised manner on a normal chair, wearing decent clothing. I refused to let something like that get in the way of my education, my life. Fliers are stupid, their brains go all to feathers. I wasn't going to trade in my mind for a chance to flitter about over rooftops. I'm more interested in what goes on under the roofs. I don't care for scenery. I prefer people. And I wanted a I wanted to marry, to have children. My father was a kind man; he died when I was sixteen, and I'd always thought that if

Johannes Vermeer Girl with a Red Hat painting

Johannes Vermeer Girl with a Red Hat paintingDiane Romanello Windsong paintingDiane Romanello Weeping Willows painting
little manger. Oh, it just puts our First Baptist lawn scene to shame. I am here to tell you. It is so beautiful. And the animals. Not just a sheep or two, butflocks of sheep, and cows, and donkeys, and the camels, and they're real. And the people are real! Alive. And that adorable baby! Oh, I know they must just be actors and do it for a living, but I do feel they must be blessed by it even if they don't know it. I spoke to one of the Josephs once, I recognised him in the yard of one of those sweet little cottages in the village. I'd seen him being Joseph more than once, a fine-looking man, about fifty, he has a nice face, and you know somehow Joseph isn't so awesome as the others? The Kings, now, I'd never. And that little Mary is just too angelic for this world. But Joseph seems like more approachable. So I greeted him, and he smiled and waved his hands like foreigners do and said Merra-Krissma! the way they do. They're just all so sweet. They truly show the Christmas spirit."

Alphonse Maria Mucha Flower painting

Alphonse Maria Mucha Flower paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha Flirt paintingAlphonse Maria Mucha Biscuits Lefevre Utile painting
The godless persons were shipped by train to the northwestern border. There they were held in various fenced camps or pens for weeks or months, before being taken to the Venian border. They were dumped from trucks or train cars and ordered to cross the border. At their backs were soldiers with guns. They obeyed. But there were also soldiers facing them: Ven border guards. The first time this happened, the Ven soldiers, thinking they were facing an Obtrian invasion, shot hundreds of people before they realised that most of the invaders were children or babies or old or pregnant, that none of them were armed, that all of them were cowering, crawling, trying to run away, crying for mercy. Some of the Ven soldiers continued shooting anyway, on the principle that Obtrians were the enemy.
President Diud continued his campaign of rounding up all the godless persons, city by city. Most were taken to remote regions and kept herded in fenced areas

Cheri Blum paintings

Cheri Blum paintings
Camille Pissarro paintings
Carl Fredrik Aagard paintings
tall, thin, strong, angular, a little stooped by age, with a narrow head, large, round, black-and-gold eyes, and a beak. There is an all-or-nothing quality about a beak that keeps the beaked face from being as expressive as those on which the nose and mouth are separated, but Kergemmeg's eyes and eyebrows reveal his feelings very clearly. Old he may be. but he is a passionate man.
He was a little bored and lonely among the uninterested tourists, and when he found me a willing listener (surely not the first or last, but currently the only one), he took pleasure in telling me about his people, as we sat with a tall glass of iced ii in the long, soft evenings, in a purple darkness all aglow with the light of the stars, the shining of the sea waves full of luminous creatures, and the pulsing glimmer of clouds of fireflies up in the fronds of the feather trees.
From time immemorial, he said, the Ansarac have followed a Way. Madan, he called it. The way of my people, the way things are done, the way things are, the way to go, the way that is hidden in the word always: like ours

Gustave Courbet Marine painting

Gustave Courbet Marine paintingGustave Courbet Woman with a Parrot paintingCamille Pissarro The Hermitage at Pontoise painting
While staying with the Asonu I met a man from the Can-densian plane, which is very much like ours, only more of it consists of Toronto. He told me that in order to change planes all a Candensian has to do is eat two dill pickles, tighten his belt, sit upright in a hard chair with his back not touching the back, and breathe ten times a minute for about ten minutes. This is enviably easy, compared to our technique. We (I mean people from the plane I occupy when not traveling) seem unable to change planes except at airports.
The Interplanary Agency long ago established that a specific combination of tense misery, indigestion, and boredom is the essential facilitator of interplanary travel; but most people, from most planes, don't have to suffer the way we do.
The following reports and descriptions of other planes, given me by friends

Camille Pissarro The Hermitage at Pontoise painting

Camille Pissarro The Hermitage at Pontoise paintingTheodore Robinson The Ship Yard paintingTheodore Robinson World's Columbian Exposition painting
The denunciation of it as injurious is almost equally an expression of thoughtless prejudice. I have now had personal knowledge of it for over forty years. I learned of it from A. Chavannes, who with his wife had practiced it twenty years. It has been before the American people since 1846. The Oneida Communists practiced it, Havelock Ellis states, thirty years. I have known members of the Oneida Community. I have read all I possibly could on it, talked with everyone I could hear of who had knowledge of it; I have yet to meet or hear of a single woman who has the slightest accusation to make against it on the score of injury to health or disagreeable sensations or after effects. Three only (all with slight experience) told me they thought there was more pleasure in the old embrace; the others most emphatically to the contrary. Van de Warker, says, Havelock Ellis, "studied forty-two women of the community without finding any undue prevalence of reproductive diseases, nor could he find any diseased condition attributable to the sexual habits of the community." (Italics mine.) Contrast this with the usual sex-relation, which is constantly

Francois Boucher The Marquise de Pompadour painting

Francois Boucher The Marquise de Pompadour paintingFrancois Boucher Nude on a Sofa paintingAndrea del Sarto The Sacrifice of Abraham painting
It was, I believe, in the winter of 1915-16 that a woman-friend in California wrote and asked me why I did not write a special little book on Karezza.
As events had convinced me that there certainly was crying need of instruction on the matter, her suggestion took root and this small brochure is the fruit.
For though quite a number have written more or less concerning controlled intercourse, they have usually done so guardedly and so vaguely that to the average inquirer the subject remains a mystery and the beginner does not know how to proceed. For which reason most men fail and give up who could just as well succeed. And success or failure here may make all the difference between divorce or a lifetime of love-Happiness.

Guido Reni Archangel Michael painting

Guido Reni Archangel Michael paintingGuido Reni The Coronation of the Virgin paintingGuido Reni Girl with a Rose painting
Then take off your Invisibility Cloak — there is no need for it now — and let us take the plunge," And with the sudden agility of a much younger man, Dumble-dore slid from the boulder, landed in the sea, and began to swim, with a perfect breaststroke, toward the dark slit in the rock face, his lit wand held in his teeth. Harry pulled off his cloak, stuffed it into his pocket, and followed. The water was icy; Harry's waterlogged clothes billowed around him and weighed him down. Taking deep breaths that filled his nostrils with the tang of salt and seaweed, he struck out for the shimmering, shrinking light now moving deeper into the cliff. The fissure soon opened into a dark tunnel that Harry could tell would be filled with water at high tide. The slimy walls were barely three feet apart and glimmered like wet tar in the passing light of Dumbledore's wand. A little way in, the passageway curved to the left, and Harry saw that it extended far into the cliff. He continued to swim in Dumbledore's wake, the tips of his benumbed fingers brushing the rough, wet rock.

Frederic Edwin Church Twilight in the Wilderness painting

Frederic Edwin Church Twilight in the Wilderness paintingFrederic Edwin Church Landscape with Waterfall painting
They had one of their rare joint free periods after Charms and walked back to the common room together. Ron seemed to be positively lighthearted about the end of his relationship with Lavender, and Hermione seemed cheery too, though when asked what she was grinning about she simply said, "It's a nice day." Neither of them seemed to have noticed that a fierce battle was raging inside Harry's brain:

She's Rons sister.
But she's ditched Dean!
She's still Rons sister.
I'm his best mate!
That'll make it worse.
If I talked to him first —
He'd hit you.
What if I don't care?
He's your best mate!

Harry barely noticed that they were climbing through the portrait hole into the sunny common room, and only vaguely registered the small group of seventh years clustered together there, until Hermione cried, "Katie! You're back! Are you okay?"

John Singer Sargent The Chess Game painting

John Singer Sargent The Chess Game paintingJohn Singer Sargent Oyster Gatherers of Cancale painting
am surprised you have remained here so long," said Voldemort after a short pause. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."
"Well," said Dumbledore, still smiling, "to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."
"I see it still," said Voldemort. "I merely wondered why you — who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister —"
"Three times at the last count, actually," said Dumbledore. "But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."

Francisco de Goya Blind Man's Buff painting

Francisco de Goya Blind Man's Buff paintingEdgar Degas The Rehearsal painting

, all in all, not one of Ron's better birthdays?" said Fred.
It was evening; the hospital wing was quiet, the windows curtained, the lamps lit. Ron's was the only occupied bed. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting around him; they had spent all day waiting outside the double doors, trying to see inside whenever somebody went in or out. Madam Pomfrey had only let them enter at eight o'clock. Fred and George had arrived at ten past.
"This isn't how we imagined handing over our present," said George grimly, putting down a large wrapped gift on Ron's bedside cabinet and sitting beside Ginny.

Titian The Three Ages of Man painting

Titian The Three Ages of Man paintingTitian Saint Christopher painting
He tried to sound casual, as though this was a throwaway com-ment of no real importance, but he was not sure he had achieved the right effect; Lupins smile was a little too understanding.
"Yes," he said, "but he wasn't the only one. As I say, it was very popular. . . . You know how these spells come and go. , . ."
"But it sounds like it was invented while you were at school," Harry persisted.
"Not necessarily," said Lupin. "Jinxes go in and out of fashion like everything else."
He looked into Harry's face and then said quietly, "James was a pureblood, Harry, and I promise you, he never asked us to call him 'Prince.'"
Abandoning pretense, Harry said, "And it wasn't Sirius? Or you?"
"Definitely not."
"Oh." Harry stared into the fire. "I just thought — well, he's helped me out a lot in Potions classes, the Prince has."
"How old is this book, Harry?"

Thomas Kinkade Key West painting

Thomas Kinkade Key West paintingThomas Kinkade Graceland paintingThomas Kinkade Fisherman's Wharf painting
against the wall.
"Don't be stupid —"
"Harry's snogged Cho Chang!" shouted Ginny, who sounded close to tears now. "And Hermione snogged Viktor Krum, it's only you who acts like it's something disgusting, Ron, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!"
And with that, she stormed away. Harry quickly let go of Ron; the look on his face was murderous. They both stood there, breath-ing heavily, until Mrs. Norris, Rich's cat, appeared around the cor-ner, which broke the tension.
"C'mon," said Harry, as the sound of Filch's shuffling feet reached their ears.
They hurried up the stairs and along a seventh-floor corridor. "Oi, out of the way!" Ron barked at a small girl who jumped in fright and dropped a bottle of toadspawn.
Harry hardly noticed the sound of shattering glass; he felt dis-oriented, dizzy; being struck by a lightning bolt must be something like this. It's just because she's Ron’s sister, he told himself. You just didn't like seeing her kissing Dean because she's Ron's sister. . . .