Caravaggio Portrait of Alof de Wignacourt

Caravaggio Portrait of Alof de Wignacourtyoung girlStiltz The Best of Cakebread detailVermeer Young Girl with a Flute
among them a family of high repute, for it was large and than most, and it was ruled by a grandmother of the folk, stern and wise in old lore, such as they had. The most inquisitive and curious-minded of that family was called Sméagol. He was interested in roots and beginnings; he dived into deep pools; he burrowed under trees and growing plants; he tunnelled into green mounds; and he ceased to look up at the hill-tops, or the leaves on trees, or the flowers opening in the air: his head and his eyes were downward.‘He had a friend called Déagol, of similar sort, sharper-eyed but not so quick and strong. On a time they took a boat and went down to the he thought he saw something shining in the river-bed; and holding his breath he grabbed at it.‘Then up he came spluttering, with weeds in his hair and a handful of mud; and he swam to the bank. And behold! when he washed the mud away, there in his hand lay a beautiful golden ring; Gladden Fields, where there were great beds of iris and flowering reeds. There Sméagol got out and went nosing about the banks but Déagol sat in the boat and fished. Suddenly a great fish took his hook, and before he knew where he was, he was dragged out and down into the water, to the bottom. Then he let go of his line, for

Neiman The Beatles

Neiman The BeatlesNeiman The 21 ClubNeiman The 1st at SpyglassNeiman The 16th at Cypress
discovery of the significance of these glimpses and of their relation to the ancient histories revealed the Third Age and its culmination in the War of the Ring.Those who had asked for more information about hobbits eventually got it, but they had to wait a long time; for the composition of The Lord of the Rings went on at Book Five; and there as the beacons flared in Anórien and Théoden came to Harrowdale I stopped. Foresight had failed and there was no time for thought.It was during 1944 that, leaving the loose ends and perplexities of a war which it was my task to conduct, or at least to report, I forced myself to tackle the journey of Frodo to Mordor. These Chapters, eventually to become Book Four, were written and sent out as a serial to my son, Christopher, then intervals during the years 1936 to 1949, a period in which I had many duties that I did not neglect, and many other interests as a learner and teacher that often absorbed me. The delay was, of course, also increased by the outbreak of war in 1939, by the end of which year the tale had not yet reached the end of Book One. In spite of the darkness of the next five years I found that the story could not now be wholly abandoned, and I plodded on, mostly by night, till I stood by Balin's tomb in Moria. There I halted for a long while. It was almost a year later when I went on and so came to Lothlórien and the Great River late in 1941. In the next year I wrote the first drafts of the matter that now stands as Book Three, and the beginnings of Chapters I and III of

Lawrence Alma-Tadema Tarquinius Superbus

Lawrence Alma-Tadema Tarquinius SuperbusLawrence Alma-Tadema Summer OfferingLawrence Alma-Tadema Silver FavoritesLawrence Alma-Tadema Love's Votaries
forest, with no idea where exactly Voldemort was, but sure that he would find him. Beside him, making scarcely a sound, walked James, Sirius, Lupin, and Lily, and their presence was his courage, and the reason he was able to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
　"Someone there," came a rough whisper close at hand. "He's got an Invisibility Cloak. Could it be --- ?"
　　　His body and mind felt oddly disconnected now, his limbs working without conscious instruction, as if he were passenger, not driver, in the body he was about to leave. The dead who walked beside him through the forest were much more real to him now than the living back at the castle: Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and all the others were the ones who felt like ghosts as he stumbled and slipped toward the Voldemort . . .

　　　A thud and a whisper: Some other living creature had stirred close by. Harry stopped under the Cloak, peering around, listening, and his mother and father, Lupin and Sirius stopped too.

　　

Cezanne Mount Sainte-Victoire Seen from Bellevue

Cezanne Mount Sainte-Victoire Seen from BellevueCezanne Houses on the RoadsideCezanne Grindstone and Cistern in a GroveCezanne Flower Pots
the other Weasleys, and above all make sure, make quite sure, that

Ginny was not--but he could not permit that idea to form in his

mind--
"You need to find out where Voldemort is, because he'll have the snake with him, won't he? Do it, Harry--look inside him!" Why was it so easy? Because his scar had been burning for hours,
"We will fight!" Hermione said. "We'll have to, to reach the snake!

But let's not lose sight now of what we're supposed to be d-doing!

We're the only ones who can end it!"

She was crying too, and she wiped her face on her torn and singed

sleeve as she spoke, but she took great heaving breaths to calm

herself as, still keeping a tight hold on ron, she turned to Harry.

Romanello Bethpage Black, 18th Hole

Romanello Bethpage Black, 18th HoleRomanello Bay Window Vista IIRomanello Bay Window Vista IRomanello Azalea Walk
"Must've learned from the Carrows," said Harry grimly.

　　　"Shame he wasn't concentrating when they mentioned how to stop it, really," said Ron, whose hair, like Hermione's, was singed, and whose face was blackened. "If he hadn't tried to kill us all, I'd be quite sorry he was dead."　　　Harry, Ron, and Hermione ran forward to help: Jets of light flew in every direction and the man dueling Percy backed off, fast: Then his hood slipped and they saw a high forehead and streaked hair – 　　　"Hello, Minister!" bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx

　　　"But don't you realize?" whispered Hermione. "This means, if we can just get the snake –"

　　　But she broke off as yells and shouts and the unmistakable noises of dueling filled the corridor. Harry looked around and his heart seemed to fail: Death Eaters had penetrated Hogwarts. Fred and Percy had just backed into view, both of them dueling masked and hooded men.

Kahlo Self Portrait with Royal Gold Vest

Kahlo Self Portrait with Royal Gold VestKahlo Self Portrait with ParrotKahlo Self Portrait with Curly HairKahlo Self Portrait Dedicated to Leon Trotsky Between the Curtains
What do you reckon it's looking for?" Ron yelled as they flew farther and farther north.
out of sight beneath them, its enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a giant dark cloud. Every part of Harry ached with the effort of holding on to the dragon's back. 　"Is it my imagination," shouted Ron after a considerable stretch of silence, "or are we losing height?" 　Harry looked down and saw deep green mountains and lakes, coppery
　"No idea," Harry bellow back. His hands were numb with cold but he did not date attempt to shift his grip. He had been wondering for some time what they would do if they saw the coast sail beneath them, if the dragon headed for open seal he was cold and numb, not to mention desperately hungry and thirsty. When, he wondered, had the beast itself last eaten? Surely it would need sustenance before long? And what if, at that point, it realized it had three highly edible humans sitting on its back?

　The sun slipped lower in the sky, which was turning indigo; and still the dragon flew, cities and towns gliding

McCormack Mother and Child

McCormack Mother and ChildMcCormack Contemplation IIHomer Three Boys in a Dory with Lobster PotsHomer The New Novel
me about it but I haven't seen it yet, because the Death Eaters took me from the Hogwarts

Express and I Christmas," Luna was saying, as she and Dean relit the

fire.

"Luna, we told you," Hermione called over to her. "That horn exploded. It came from an
Ollivander down the stairs. The wandmaker still looked exceptionally frail, and he clung to Bill's arm as the latter supported him, carrying a large suitcase. "I'm going to miss you, Mr. Ollivander," said Luna, approaching the old man.
Erumpent, not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack --"

"No, it was definitely a Snorkack horn," said Luna serenely, "Daddy told me. It will

probably have re-formed by now, they mend themselves, you know."

Hermione shook her head and continued laying down forks as Bill appeared, leading Mr.


"And I you, my dear," said Ollivander, patting her on the shoulder.

"You were an inexpressible comfort to me in that terrible

Munier Mother and Child

Munier Mother and ChildMunier Les ConfituresMunier Essai de l'EauMunier Young Girl with Goat Flowers
would have wondered who was wearing his glasses. He resolved not to speak, for his voice was sure to give him away; yet he still avoided eye contact with Draco as the latter approached.

"Well, Draco?" said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"
　　　"Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv –" 　　　"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope Mr. Malfoy?" said Greyback menacingly.
　　　"I can't – I can't be sure," said Draco. He was keeping his distance from Greyback, and seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!"

Harry had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited.

Robinson The E. M. J. Betty

Robinson The E. M. J. BettyPissarro Orchard in Bloom at LouveciennesPissarro The Railway Bridge at PontoisePissarro Sunlight on the Road - Pontoise
'River'" that's Lee," Ron explained. "They've all got code names, but you can usually tell ---"

"Shh!" said Hermione.

　　　"But before we hear from Royal and Romulus," Lee went on, "let's take a moment to report those deaths that the Wizarding Wimurders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell."

　　　Harry felt a sick, swooping in his belly. He, Ron, and Hermione gazed at one another in horror.

　　　"A goblin by the name of Gornuk was also killed. It is believed that Muggle-born Dean Thomas and a second goblin, both believed to have been traveling with Tonks, Cresswell, and Gornuk, may have escaped. If Dean is listening, or if anyone has any knowledge of his whereabouts, his parents and sisters are desperate for news.

Rothko Old Gold over White

Rothko Old Gold over WhiteRothko Old Gold over White 1956Rothko Number 5Rothko Number 14 1960
Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother's death, With his friend Gellert Grindelwald.

　　　Harry gaped at the last word for several long moments. Grindelwald. His friend Grindelwald. He looked sideways at Hermione, who was still contemplating the name as though she could not believe her eyes. Slowly she looked up at Harry.

"Grindelwald!"
Together, he and Hermione started to read: Now approaching his eighteenth birthday, Dumbledore left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory --- Head Boy, Prefect, Winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize
　　　Ignoring the remainder of the photographs, Harry searched the pages around them for a recurrence of that fatal name. He soon discovered it and read greedily, but became lost: It was necessary to go farther back to make sense of it all, and eventually he found himself at the start of a Chapter entitled "The Greater Good."

Craig Tuscan Valley View

Craig Tuscan Valley ViewCraig Tuscan CastleCraig The Lily PondCraig Sunlit Terrace Crillon le Brave
Obscura!"

　　　A black blindfold appeared over Phineas Nigellus's clever, dark eyes, causing him to bump into the frame and shriek with pain.

"What—how dare—what are you—?"
"Can that possible be the voice of the elusive Mr. Potter?" 　　　"Maybe," said Harry, knowing that this would keep Phineas Nigellus's interest. "We've got a couple of questions to ask you—about the sword of Gryffindor."
　　　"I'm very sorry, Professor Black," said Hermione, "but it's a necessary precaution!"

　　　"remove this foul addition at once! Remove it, I say! You are ruining a great work of art! Where am I? What is going on?"

　　　"Never mind where we are," said Harry, and Phineas Nigellus froze, abandoning his attempts to peel off the painted blindfold.

Bill Brauer The Gold Dress painting

Bill Brauer The Gold Dress paintingUnknown Artist Pink Floyd Back Catalogue paintingClaude Monet Water Lilies painting
The witch glanced toward the shining mahogany door facing the space full of pamphlet-makers; Harry looked too, and the rage reared in him like a snake. Where there might have been a peephole on a Muggle front door, a large, round eye with a bright blue iris had been set into the wood – an eye that was shockingly familiar to anybody who had known Alastor Moody.
Dolores Umbridge Senior Undersecretary to the Minister Below that a slightly shinier new plaque read: Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission
　　　For a split second Harry forgot where he was and what he was doing there: He even forgot that he was invisible. He strode straight over to the door to examine the eye. It was not moving. It gazed blindly upward, frozen. The plaque beneath it read:

Salvador Dali Figure at a Window painting

Salvador Dali Figure at a Window paintingGeorgia O'Keeffe From the Lake No. 1 paintingMark Rothko Orange and Yellow painting
.A.B. I think I've found him."

There was a gasp, and then Hermione ran back up the stairs.

"In your mum's letter? But I didn't see –"
　　　"That fits!" gasped Hermione. "If he was a Death Eater he had access to Voldemort, and if he became disenchanted, then he would have wanted to bring Voldemort down!" 　　　She released Harry, leaned over the banister, and screamed, "Ron! RON! Get up here, quick!"
　　　Harry shook his head, pointing at Regulus's sign. She read it, then clutched Harry's arm so tightly that he winced.

"Sirius's brother?" she whispered.

　　　"He was a Death Eater," said Harry. "Sirius told me about him, he joined up when he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave – so they killed him."

Leonardo da Vinci Lady With An Ermine painting

Leonardo da Vinci Lady With An Ermine paintingEdward Hopper Chop Suey paintingCaravaggio Adoration of the Shepherds painting
wands raised, and heard both of them shout, "Protego!", a cry that was echoed on all sides –

　　　"Ron! Ron!" Hermione called, half sobbing as she and Harry were buffered by terrified guests: Harry seized her hand to make sure they weren't separated as a streak of light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister he did not know –

　　　And then Ron was there. He caught hold of Hermione's free arm, and Harry felt her turn on the spot; sight and sound were extinguished as darkness pressed in upon him; all he could feel was Hermione's hand as he was squeezed through space and time, away from the Burrow, away from the descending Death Eaters, away, perhaps, from Voldemort himself. . . .

"Where are we?" said Ron's voice.
　　　Harry opened his eyes. For a ; They still seemed to be surrounded by

Edmund Blair Leighton Off painting

Edmund Blair Leighton Off paintingFrancois Boucher The Marquise de Pompadour paintingFrancois Boucher Nude on a Sofa painting
soft golden evening light,

it was already dark in here; Harry flicked his wand at the oil lamps as he entered and they illuminated the shabby but cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side by side onto the sofa. Once they had done so, Scrimgeour spoke.　"We're not going anywhere," said Harry, while Hermione nodded vigorously. "You can speak to us together, or not at all." 　　　Scrimgeour gave Harry a cold, appraising look. Harry had the impression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worthwhile opening hostilities this early.

　　　"I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you two" -- he pointed at Harry and Hermione -- "can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald."

　　

Vincent van Gogh Le Moulin a Poivre painting

Vincent van Gogh Le Moulin a Poivre paintingVincent van Gogh Landscape with Olive Trees paintingVincent van Gogh The Yellow House painting
Adventurer Matthias Jeschke intends to drive from Paris to New York. Of course, since the Atlantic presents a serious obstacle to wheeled transportation, Jeschke has plotted a route inspired by early human migration -- across the Bering Strait. If he and his team succeed, they will be the first expedition to drive the trans-continental route.
Modern Obstacle: Global WarmingIn a sense, Jeschke follows great expeditions of generations past. But this journey faces a modern irony: in a warming world, the frozen bridge bewteen continents may well be melted. So Jeschke's expedition has adopted an ulterior motive. These three jeeps are eco-ambassadors, intending to round the world "without a trace", highlighting a message of alternative fuels and carbon neutrality.
Three jeeps on an eco-tour? How will they accomplish that? And will rescue floats and "swimming tires" (picture over the fold) prevent disaster on thin ice and help the team make it through where no man has driven before?

John Singer Sargent paintings

John Singer Sargent paintings
Jean-Leon Gerome paintings
of people say they are thankful for their health. If so, then get back in touch with the simple human fact of being able to sense what is out there: use your vision, touch, taste and smell to experience the world, and be thankful you can.
6. Use visual remindersTwo big obstacles to being grateful are simply forgetting and failing to be mindful. So leave a note of some kind reminding you to be grateful. It could be a post-it, an object in another person to nudge you occasionally.
7. Swear an oath to be more gratefulPromise on whatever you hold holy that you'll be more grateful. Sounds crazy? There's a study to show it works.
8. Think grateful thoughtsCalled 'automatic thoughts' or self-talk in cognitive therapy, these are the habitual things we say to ourselves all day long. What if you said to yourself: "My life is a gift" all day long? Too cheesy? OK,
Lorenzo Lotto paintings
surprise".
9. Acting grateful is being gratefulSay thank you, become more grateful. It's that simple.
10. Be grateful to your enemies?It'll take a big creative leap to be thankful to the people who you most despise. But big creative leaps are just the kind of things likely to set off a change in yourself. Give it a try.

Joseph Mallord William Turner The Grand Canal Venice painting

Joseph Mallord William Turner The Grand Canal Venice paintingJohn Singer Sargent El Jaleo paintingRembrandt Susanna and the Elders painting
You have given these people a profound spiritual experience, no question. Don't think we modern types lack a spiritual dimension."
"The people have left me," Ayesha said.
"The people are confused," Saeed replied. "Point is, if you actually take them to the sea and then nothing happens, my God, they really could turn against you. So here's the deal. I gave a tinkle to Mishal's papa and he agreed to underwrite half the cost. We propose to fly you and Mishal, and let's say ten -- twelve! -- of the villagers, to Mecca, within forty-eight hours, personally. Reservations are available. We leave it to you to select the individuals best suited to the trip. Then, truly, you will have performed a miracle for some instead of for none. And in my view the pilgrimage itself has been a miracle, in a way. So you will have done very much."
He held his breath.
"I must think," Ayesha said.
"Think, think," Saeed encouraged her happily. "Ask your archangel. If he agrees, it must be right."

Vincent van Gogh Self Portrait painting

Vincent van Gogh Self Portrait paintingVincent van Gogh Sunflowers paintingVincent van Gogh The Starry Night painting
How hot it is: steamy, close, intolerable. This is no Proper London: not this improper city. Airstrip One, Mahagonny, Alphaville. He wanders through a confusion of languages. Babel: a contraction of the Assyrian "babilu". "The gate of God." Babylondon.
Where's this?
-- Yes. -- He meanders, one night, behind the cathedrals of the Industrial Revolution, the railway termini of north London. Anonymous King's Cross, the bat-like menace of the St Pancras tower, the red-and-black gas-holders inflating and deflating like giant iron lungs. Where once in battle Queen Boudicca fell, Gibreel Farishta wrestles with himself.
The Goodsway: -- but O what succulent goods lounge in doorways and under tungsten lamps, what delicacies are on offer in that way! -- Swinging handbags

Thomas Kinkade La Jolla Cove painting

Thomas Kinkade La Jolla Cove paintingThomas Kinkade elegant evening paintingThomas Kinkade Cobblestone Evening painting
wolf howls and the obscene bird of night chatters." Take _that_, kids. -- And in a separate but proximate g!ass display--case of the younger, happier Chamcha's fancy there fluttered a captive from a piece of hit-parade Butterfly, which shared _l"amour_ with the _oiseau rebelle_.
Love, a zone in which nobody desirous of compiling a human (as opposed to robotic, Skinnerian-android) body of experience could afford to shut down operations, did you down, no question about it, and very probably did you in as well. It even warned you in advance. "Love is an infant of Bohemia," sings Carmen, herself the very Idea of the Beloved, its perfect pattern, eternal and divine, "and if you love me, look out for you." You couldn't ask for fairer. For his own part, Saladin in his time had loved widely, and was now (he had come to believe) suffering Love's revenges upon the foolish lover. Of the things of the mind, he had most loved the protean, inexhaustible culture of the Englishspeaking peoples; had said, when courting Pamela, that _Othello

Jean Beraud A Game of Billiards painting

Jean Beraud A Game of Billiards paintingPaul Cezanne Young Man with a Skull paintingPaul Cezanne The Railway Cutting painting
archangel, and then informed one and all that Gibreel had exonerated Ayesha." Salman spread his arms in worldly resignation. "And this time, mister, the lady didn't complain about the convenience of the verses."
o o o
Salman the Persian left the next morning with a northbound camel-train. When he left Baal at The Curtain, he embraced the poet, kissed him on both cheeks and said: "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's better to keep out of the daylight. I hope it lasts." Baa! replied: " there is something there to love." Salman's face went blank. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and left.
"Ayesha" came to Baal's room for reassurance. "He won't spill out the secret when he's drunk?" she asked, caressing Baal's hair. "He gets through a lot of wine."
Baal said: "Nothing is ever going to be the same again." Salman's visit had

Irene Sheri Mediterranean Sunset painting

Irene Sheri Mediterranean Sunset paintingIrene Sheri Dreaming of Tomorrow paintingFrederick Carl Frieseke Through the Vines painting
blamed; Chamcha's antics were sufficient to have distracted the keenest eyes. It should also, in fairness, be stated that Saladin failed to notice the change himself. borrowed pantaloons (delicacy forbids the publication of explicit details), -- something else, let us leave it at that, got a little smaller, too. Be that as it may: it transpired that the optimism of the report in the imported movie magazine had been ill founded, because within days of its publication the local papers carried news of Billy Battuta's arrest, in
What happened? This: during Chamcha's brief but violent outburst against Gibreel, the horns on his head (which, one may as well point out, had grown several inches while he languished in the attic of the Shaandaar B and B) definitely, unmistakably, -- by about three-quarters of an inch, -- _diminished_.
In the interest of the strictest accuracy, one should add that, lower down his transformed body, -- inside

Grand Canal scene painting

Grand Canal scene paintingCarl Fredrik Aagard Villa at Lake Como paintingCarl Fredrik Aagard Lodge on Lake Como painting
nobody laughed at the clown, because where Ayesha was concerned the villagers were willing to believe anything. They had grown convinced that the snow-haired girl was the true successor to old Bibiji, because had the butterflies not reappeared in the year of her birth, and did they not follow her around like a cloak? Ayesha was the vindication of the longsoured hope engendered by the butterflies' return, and the evidence that great things were still possible in this even for the weakest and poorest in the land.
"The angel has taken her away," marvelled the Sarpanch's wife Khadija, and Osman burst into tears. "But no, it is a wonderful thing," old Khadija uncomprehendingly explained. The villagers teased the Sarpanch: "How you got to be village headman with such a tactless spouse, beats us."
"You chose me," he dourly replied.

George Stubbs Horse Attacked by a Lion painting

George Stubbs Horse Attacked by a Lion paintingUnknown Artist Wave Rider paintingJohannes Vermeer Young Woman with a Water Jug painting
He was a small person with wire coathanger shoulders and an enormous capacity for nervous agitation, evidenced by his pale, sunken--eyed face; his thinning hair -- still entirely black and curly -- which had been ruffled so often by his frenzied hands that it no longer took the slightest notice of brushes or combs, but stuck out every which way and gave its owner the perpetual air of having just woken up, late, and in a hurry; and his endearingly high, shy and self-deprecating, but also hiccoughy and over--excited, giggle; all of which had helped turn his name, Jamshed, into this Jumpy that everybody, even first-time acquaintances, now automatically used; everybody, that is, except Pamela Chamcha. Saladin's wife, he thought, sucking away feverishly. -- Or widow? -- Or, God help me, wife, after all. He found himself resenting Chamcha. A return from a watery grave: so operatic an event, in this day and age, seemed almost indecent, an act of bad faith.
He had rushed over to Pamela's place the moment he heard the news,