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Page 174

Saint's Progress

a rather beautiful dark spire in the night-time when you cannot see how it is attached to the earth. He does not know, he never will know, Life.'
Noel looked round at him. `What do you mean by Life, monsieur? I'm always reading about Life, and people talk of seeing Life! What is it-where is it? I never see anything that you could call Life.'
The painter smiled.
`To "see life"!' he said. `Ah! that is different. To enjoy yourself! Well, it is my experience that when people are "seeing life" as they call it, they are not enjoying themselves. You know when one is very thirsty one drinks and drinks, but the thirst remains all the same. There are places where one can see life as it is called, but the only persons you will see enjoying themselves at such places are a few humdrums like myself, who go there for a talk over a cup of coffee. Perhaps at your age, though, it is different.'
Noel clasped her hands, and her eyes seemed to shine in the gloom. `I want music and dancing and light, and beautiful things and faces; but I never get them.'
`No, there does not exist in this town, or in any other, a place which will give you that. Fox-trots and ragtime and paint and powder and glare and half-drunken young men, and women with red lips-you can get them in plenty. But rhythm and beauty and charm--never. In Brussels when I was younger I saw much "life" as they call it, but not one lovely thing unspoiled; it was all as ashes in the mouth. Ah! you may smile, but I know what I am talking of. Happiness never comes when you are looking for it, mademoiselle; beauty is in Nature and in real art, never in these false silly make-believes. There is a place just here where we Belgians go; would you like to see how true my words are?'
`Oh, yes!'
`Tres bien! Let us go in?'

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE a rather beautiful dark spire in what is night-time when you cannot see how it is attached to what is earth. He does not know, he never will know, Life.' Noel looked round at him. `What do you mean by Life, monsieur? I'm always reading about Life, and people talk of seeing Life! What is it-where is it? I never see anything that you could call Life.' what is painter smiled. `To "see life"!' he said. `Ah! that is different. To enjoy yourself! Well, it is my experience that when people are "seeing life" as they call it, they are not enjoying themselves. You know when one is very thirsty one drinks and drinks, but what is thirst remains all what is same. There are places where one can see life as it is called, but what is only persons you will see enjoying themselves at such places are a few humdrums like myself, who go there for a talk over a cup of coffee. Perhaps at your age, though, it is different.' Noel clasped her hands, and her eyes seemed to shine in what is gloom. `I want music and dancing and light, and beautiful things and faces; but I never get them.' `No, there does not exist in this town, or in any other, a place which will give you that. Fox-trots and ragtime and paint and powder and glare and half-drunken young men, and women with red lips-you can get them in plenty. But rhythm and beauty and charm--never. In Brussels when I was younger I saw much "life" as they call it, but not one lovely thing unspoiled; it was all as ashes in what is mouth. Ah! you may smile, but I know what I am talking of. Happiness never comes when you are looking for it, mademoiselle; beauty is in Nature and in real art, never in these false silly make-believes. There is a place just here where we Belgians go; would you like to see how true my words are?' `Oh, yes!' `Tres bien! Let us go in?' 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 174 where is p align="center" where is strong Saint's Progress where is p align="justify" a rather beautiful dark spire in what is night-time when you cannot see how it is attached to what is earth. He does not know, he never will know, Life.' Noel looked round at him. `What do you mean by Life, monsieur? I'm always reading about Life, and people talk of seeing Life! What is it-where is it? I never see anything that you could call Life.' what is painter smiled. `To "see life"!' he said. `Ah! that is different. To enjoy yourself! Well, it is my experience that when people are "seeing life" as they call it, they are not enjoying themselves. You know when one is very thirsty one drinks and drinks, but what is thirst remains all what is same. There are places where one can see life as it is called, but what is only persons you will see enjoying themselves at such places are a few humdrums like myself, who go there for a talk over a cup of coffee. Perhaps at your age, though, it is different.' Noel clasped her hands, and her eyes seemed to shine in what is gloom. `I want music and dancing and light, and beautiful things and faces; but I never get them.' `No, there does not exist in this town, or in any other, a place which will give you that. Fox-trots and ragtime and paint and powder and glare and half-drunken young men, and women with red lips-you can get them in plenty. But rhythm and beauty and charm--never. In Brussels when I was younger I saw much "life" as they call it, but not one lovely thing unspoiled; it was all as ashes in what is mouth. Ah! you may smile, but I know what I am talking of. Happiness never comes when you are looking for it, mademoiselle; beauty is in Nature and in real art, never in these false silly make-believes. There is a place just here where we Belgians go; would you like to see how true my words are?' `Oh, yes!' `Tres bien! Let us go in?' where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") % travel books: Saint's Progress (1935) books

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