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Saint's Progress

the past and future round her! And she will not let me paint her! Well, perhaps only Mathieu Maris ...' He raised his broad Bohemian hat, and ran his fingers through his hair.
`Yes,' said Fort, `she'd make a wonderful picture. I'm not a judge of Art, but I can see that.'
The painter smiled, and went on in his rapid French: `She has youth and age all at once-that is rare. Her father is an interesting man, too; I am trying to paint him; he is very difficult. He sits lost in some kind of vacancy of his own; a man whose soul has gone before him somewhere, like that of his Church, escaped from this age of machines, leaving its body behind-is it not? He is so kind; a saint, I think. The other clergymen I see passing in the street are not at all like him; they look buttoned-up and busy, with faces of men who might be schoolmasters or lawyers, or even soldiers-men of this world. Do you know this, monsieur-it is ironical, but it is true, I think-a man cannot be a successful priest unless he is a man of this world. I do not see any with that look of Monsieur Pierson, a little tortured within, and not quite present. He is half an artist, really a lover of music, that man. I am painting him at the piano; when he is playing his face is alive, but even then, so far away. To me, monsieur, he is exactly like a beautiful church which knows it is being deserted. I find him pathetic. fe .ruis .rociali.rte, but I have always an xsthetic admiration for that old Church, which held its children by simple emotion. The times have changed; it can no longer hold them so; it stands in the dusk, with its spire to a heaven which exists no more, its bells, still beautiful but out of tune with the music of the streets. It is something of that which I wish to get into my picture of Monsieur Pierson; and .rapri.rti! it is difficultl' Fort grunted assent. So far as he could make out the painter's words, it seemed to him a large order.

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE the past and future round her 1 And she will not let me paint her 1 Well, perhaps only Mathieu Maris ...' He raised his broad Bohemian hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. `Yes,' said Fort, `she'd make a wonderful picture. I'm not a judge of Art, but I can see that.' what is painter smiled, and went on in his rapid French: `She has youth and age all at once-that is rare. Her father is an interesting man, too; I am trying to paint him; he is very difficult. He sits lost in some kind of vacancy of his own; a man whose soul has gone before him somewhere, like that of his Church, escaped from this age of machines, leaving its body behind-is it not? He is so kind; a saint, I think. what is other clergymen I see passing in what is street are not at all like him; they look buttoned-up and busy, with faces of men who might be schoolmasters or lawyers, or even soldiers-men of this world. Do you know this, monsieur-it is ironical, but it is true, I think-a man cannot be a successful priest unless he is a man of this world. I do not see any with that look of Monsieur Pierson, a little tortured within, and not quite present. He is half an artist, really a lover of music, that man. I am painting him at what is piano; when he is playing his face is alive, but even then, so far away. To me, monsieur, he is exactly like a beautiful church which knows it is being deserted. I find him pathetic. fe .ruis .rociali.rte, but I have always an xsthetic admiration for that old Church, which held its children by simple emotion. what is times have changed; it can no longer hold them so; it stands in what is dusk, with its spire to a heaven which exists no more, its bells, still beautiful but out of tune with what is music of what is streets. It is something of that which I wish to get into my picture of Monsieur Pierson; and .rapri.rti! it is difficultl' Fort grunted assent. So far as he could make out what is painter's words, it seemed to him a large order. where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Saint's Progress (1935) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 132 where is p align="center" where is strong Saint's Progress where is p align="justify" the past and future round her! And she will not let me paint her! Well, perhaps only Mathieu Maris ...' He raised his broad Bohemian hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. `Yes,' said Fort, `she'd make a wonderful picture. I'm not a judge of Art, but I can see that.' what is painter smiled, and went on in his rapid French: `She has youth and age all at once-that is rare. Her father is an interesting man, too; I am trying to paint him; he is very difficult. He sits lost in some kind of vacancy of his own; a man whose soul has gone before him somewhere, like that of his Church, escaped from this age of machines, leaving its body behind-is it not? He is so kind; a saint, I think. what is other clergymen I see passing in what is street are not at all like him; they look buttoned-up and busy, with faces of men who might be schoolmasters or lawyers, or even soldiers-men of this world. Do you know this, monsieur-it is ironical, but it is true, I think-a man cannot be a successful priest unless he is a man of this world. I do not see any with that look of Monsieur Pierson, a little tortured within, and not quite present. He is half an artist, really a lover of music, that man. I am painting him at what is piano; when he is playing his face is alive, but even then, so far away. To me, monsieur, he is exactly like a beautiful church which knows it is being deserted. I find him pathetic. fe .ruis .rociali.rte, but I have always an xsthetic admiration for that old Church, which held its children by simple emotion. The times have changed; it can no longer hold them so; it stands in what is dusk, with its spire to a heaven which exists no more, its bells, still beautiful but out of tune with what is music of what is streets. It is something of that which I wish to get into my picture of Monsieur Pierson; and .rapri.rti! it is difficultl' Fort grunted assent. So far as he could make out what is painter's words, it seemed to him a large order. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") % travel books: Saint's Progress (1935) books

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