Showing posts with label Chase Peonies painting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chase Peonies painting. Show all posts

Monday, June 9, 2008

Chase Peonies painting

Chase Peonies painting
Knight A Sunny Morning at Beaumont-Le Roger painting The quality of mercy is not strain'd,It droppeth as the gentle rain from heavenUpon the place beneath: it is twice blest;It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomesThe throned monarch better than his crown;His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,The attribute to awe and majesty,Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;But mercy is above this sceptred sway;It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,It is an attribute to God himself;And earthly power doth then show likest God'sWhen mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,Though justice be thy plea, consider this,That, in the course of justice, none of usShould see salvation: we do pray for mercy;And that same prayer doth teach us all to renderThe deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus muchTo mitigate the justice of thy plea;Which if thou follow, this strict court of VeniceMust needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.
SHYLOCK
My deeds upon my head! I crave the law,The penalty and forfeit of my bond.
PORTIA
Is he not able to discharge the money?
BASSANIO
Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice,I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er,

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Chase Peonies painting

Chase Peonies painting
Knight A Sunny Morning at Beaumont-Le Roger painting
Tissot Too Early painting
Vernet Two Soldiers On Horseback painting
He had advanced but a few steps down the narrow street, which was on an incline, unpaved, and more and more miry as it neared the bottom, when he became aware of a curious fact. The street was not deserted. Here and there he caught sight of vague and indeterminate shapes, all crawling in the direction of the light that flickered at the end of the street, like those lumbering insects which creep at night from one blade of grass to another towards a shepherd’s fire.
Nothing makes one more boldly venturesome than the consciousness of an empty pocket. Gringoire, therefore, continued his way and soon came up with the last of these weird objects dragging itself clumsily after the rest. On closer inspection he perceived that it was nothing but a miserable fragment, a stump of a man hobbling along painfully on his two hands like a mutilated grasshopper with only its front legs left. As he passed this kind of human spider it addressed him in a lamentable whine: “La buona mancia, signor! la buona mancia!”
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'11 Charity, kind sir!';
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