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?"

Andrew Atroshenko The Passion of Music painting

Andrew Atroshenko The Passion of Music painting
Vincent van Gogh Starry Night over the Rhone painting
camp; I took Sir Henry with me, and we walked to the top of the slope opposite and gazed out across the desert. The air was very clear, and far, far away I could distinguish the faint blue outlines, here and there capped with white, of the great Suliman Berg.
"There," I said, "there is the wall of Solomon's Mines, but God knows if we shall ever climb it."
"My brother should be there, and if he is I shall reach him somehow," said Sir Henry, in that tone of quiet confidence which marked the man.
"I hope so," I answered, and turned to go back to the camp, when I saw that we were not alone. Behind us, also gazing earnestly towards the far-off mountains, was the great Zulu, Umbopa.
The Zulu spoke when he saw that I had observed him, but addressed himself to Sir Henry, to whom he had attached himself.
"Is it to that land that thou wouldst journey, `Incubu?" (a native word meaning, I believe, an elephant, and the name given to Sir Henry by the Kaffirs) he said, pointing towards the mountains with his broad assegai.