Sunday, June 15, 2008

Charles Chaplin paintings

Charles Chaplin paintings
Diane Romanello paintings

cried for hammers, For a hand of brass, But my soul was hot As melted glass. Then the bright, bright words, All clothed in white, Stood in the circle of the silver night And sang: "Energy is Eternal Delight. Energy is the only life." And my sinews were like bands of brass, And the glass of my soul hardened and shone With all fires, and I sought the ripeness of sacrifice Across the dew and the gold of a young day Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle and rolled back his left shirtcuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined armchair with a long sigh of satisfaction. Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to day I had become more irritable at the

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