Juan Gris Man in the Cafe

Juan Gris Man in the CafeJuan Gris Landscape with Houses at CeretGeorge Bellows Club NightCaravaggio The Seven Acts of MercyCaravaggio The Lute Player
the other hand, he mused, it might be nice to be a tree. Trees didn't have ears, he was pretty sure of this. And they seemed to manage without the blessed state of matrimony. A male oak tree – he'd have to look this up – a male oak tree just shed its pollen on the breeze and all the business with the acorns, unless it was oak apples, no, he , my cherished,' he said.
Lady Felmet was momentarily speechless. This was by way of being a calendar event. She was a large and impressive woman, who gave people confronting her for the first time the impression that they were seeing a galleon under full sail; the effect was heightened by her unfortunate belief that red velvet rather suited was pretty sure it was acorns, took place somewhere else . . .'Yes, my precious,' he said.Yes, trees had got it all worked out. Duke Felmet glared at the forest roof. Selfish bastards.'Certainly, my dear,' he said.'What?' said the duchess.The duke hesitated, desperately trying to replay the monologue of the last five minutes. There had been something about him being half a man, and . . . infirm on purpose? And he was sure there had been a complaint about the coldness of the castle. Yes, that was probably it. Well, those wretched trees could do a decent day's work for once.'I'll have some cut down and brought in directly