Ukraine land of Cossacks, 1720 map by Johann Baptist Homann.
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Pink silk robe volante, 1720-1735.
Palais Galliera.
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▪︎ Assembly of the Gods.
Artist: William Kent (1685-1748)
Date: 1719-1720
Medium: Oil on plaster
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CAFFÈ FLORIAN (1720), Piazza San Marco, VENEZIA, Italy 🇮🇹
“On November 11th, in Venice, we celebrate San Martino, an ancient feast. In the past, it was customary to eat the seasonal products, such as chestnuts and wine, and then became a moment of exquisite sweetness dedicated to children that are used to receiving the San Martino biscuit, a typical crunchy shortcrust pastry covered in icing, chocolates and sweets and representing the Saint on horseback.”
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An Unknown Lady in an Italian Dress, Rosalba Carriera, 1710-20
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anthony green being anthony green
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Here, we have two very dear friends. They’ve known each other for a long time, but because life is unfair, they’ve never been able to meet in person. Through what you might call a miracle, they’re finally face-to-face.
For once, Sburb has actually done something unambiguously good. I can’t imagine what they’re feeling right now. How do these emotionally repressed teenagers deal with positive emotions?
Dance ‘em out, of course!
We're not usually privy to verbal conversations in this comic, but I doubt they’re just standing there silently. Whatever they're talking about isn't for our ears - it’s a private moment between friends.
Really, they’re probably just shooting the shit. When was the last time they talked - not typed, talked - to someone they like?
Girl same.
Rose, you’ve graduated to SS tier.
I doubt the thing is gone for good - this one seems to be alive - but at least I know we have a true Cal-hater in the cast.
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ELLE No.1720 - 25 December 1978 - Anna Andersen - Photographed by Eric Boman
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Funeral, 1720 by Alessandro Magnasco (1667-1749)
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@ 1720 for Mareux | Los Angeles, Ca
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‘I now can feel none of those agonies which render death the king of terrors, and thus, thus happy in your sight, - your touch - your tender pity, I can but be translated from one heaven to another, and yet, forgive me heaven if it be a sin, I could wish, methinks, to know no other paradise than you, to be permitted to hover round you, to form your dreams, to sit upon your lip all day, to mingle with your breath, and glide in unfelt air into your bosom.’
Eliza Haywood, Love in Excess; or, The Fatal Enquiry
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