Natalie Ascencios's 2002 painting, A Vicious Circle, of the Algonquin Round Table. It hangs in the hotel today.
From left to right, standing: Robert Benchley, Franklin Pierce Adams, Robert Sherwood, Harpo Marx, Alexander Woolcott, Marc Connelly, Edna Ferber. Seated: Dorothy Parker, Harold Ross, George S. Kaufman, Heywood Broun. The Algonquin Cat is standing upside down at top left.
Before she has her floor swept
Or her dishes done,
Any day you’ll find her
A-sunning in the sun!
It’s long after midnight
Her key’s in the lock,
And you never see her chimney smoke
Till past ten o’clock!
She digs in her garden
With a shovel and a spoon,
She weeds her lazy lettuce
By the light of the moon.
She walks up the walk
Like a woman in a dream,
She forgets she borrowed butter
And pays you back cream!
Her lawn looks like a meadow,
And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
And the Queen Anne’s lace!
—Edna St. Vincent Millay
Paysage au Bord du Lez by Frederic Bazille
Heartsease Country
TO ISABEL SWINBURNE
The far green westward heavens are bland,
The far green Wiltshire downs are clear
As these deep meadows hard at hand:
The sight knows hardly far from near,
Nor morning joy from evening cheer.
In cottage garden-plots their bees
Find many a fervent flower to seize
And strain and drain the heart away
From ripe sweet-williams and sweet-peas
At every turn on every way.
But gladliest seems one flower to expand
Its whole sweet heart all round us here;
’Tis Heartsease Country, Pansy Land.
Nor sounds nor savours harsh and drear
Where engines yell and halt and veer
Can vex the sense of him who sees
One flower-plot midway, that for trees
Has poles, and sheds all grimed or grey
For bowers like those that take the breeze
At every turn on every way.
Content even there they smile and stand,
Sweet thought’s heart-easing flowers, nor fear,
With reek and roaring steam though fanned,
Nor shrink nor perish as they peer.
The heart’s eye holds not those more dear
That glow between the lanes and leas
Where’er the homeliest hand may please
To bid them blossom as they may
Where light approves and wind agrees
At every turn on every way.
Sister, the word of winds and seas
Endures not as the word of these
Your wayside flowers whose breath would say
How hearts that love may find heart’s ease
At every turn on every way.
—Charles Algernon Swinburne
Picking Flowers by Auguste Renoir
The Flower's Name
Here's the garden she walked across,
Arm in my arm, such a short while since:
Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss
Hinders the hinges and makes them wince!
She must have reached this shrub ere she turned,
As back with that murmur the wicket swung;
For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned,
To feed and forget it the leaves among.
Down this side of the gravel-walk
She went while her robe's edge brushed the box:
And here she paused in her gracious talk
To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox.
Roses, ranged in valiant row,
I will never think that she passed you by!
She loves you, noble roses, I know;
But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie!
This flower she stopped at, finger on lip,
Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim;
Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip,
Its soft meandering Spanish name:
What a name! Was it love or praise?
Speech half-asleep or song half-awake?
I must learn Spanish, one of these days,
Only for that slow sweet name's sake.
Roses, if I live and do well,
I may bring her, one of these days,
To fix you fast with as fine a spell,
Fit you each with his Spanish phrase;
But do not detain me now; for she lingers
There, like sunshine over the ground,
And ever I see her soft white fingers
Searching after the bud she found.
Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not,
Stay as you are and be loved forever!
Bud, if I kiss you 't is that you blow not,
Mind, the shut pink mouth opens never!
For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle,
Twinkling the audacious leaves between,
Till round they turn and down they nestle—
Is not the dear mark still to be seen?
Where I find her not, beauties vanish;
Whither I follow her, beauties flee;
Is there no method to tell her in Spanish
June 's twice June since she breathed it with me?
Come, bud, show me the least of her traces,
Treasure my lady's lightest footfall!
—Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces—
Roses, you are not so fair after all!
It would appear the young Mr. Sugden is quite a hit with the ladies. (Part 1.2)
Andy still on it with Robert until Daz alerts them Katie is in the pub. But neither get there because Jack (with Victoria) come upon them demanding answers NOW! The confrontation in the pub between Katie and Sadie leads to a drink thrown and a slap! It gets worse as Tom fires Katie on the spot! Again, Robert denies any misdeeds now to his family. Betty, Ethan and Edna commenting on Sadie and Robert 😂. Back at home, Robert goes on the defense (‘But why the hell does no one ever believe a word that I say?’) but it doesn’t stick around needing to talk to Katie…
Rarity, Edna Mood, Barbie, Velvette, Clawdeen, Satin and Chenille
My most favorite fashionista icons with sass (Idk if Barbie is sassy), having a fashion brunch
Barbie: And so I tried to warn Raquel that 12 inch heels, PLUS very long nails could be dangerous. Not only will her nails got chipped so easily, but she can’t even get in her car or try walking without tripping
Clawdeen: Ouch. Ghoul should not have done that
Velvette: *puts her coffee down* Ugh. This is why I don’t use acrylic nails and those ridiculously high inch heels. I mean, what was she trying to do? Show off? I always paint my nails no matter how small or long they are, and they still look fabulous *shows off her nails*
All: Oooh
Rarity: Absolutely gorgeous, darling. What a work of art
Velvette: *chuckles* Thank you, darling
In the distance, Vox, Clawd, Ken, Mr. Incredible, Cooper and Prince D, and Flash Sentry were having their own coffee day
Vox: I’m glad Vel has a new group of friends to bond over fashion with *sips on his coffee*
17 aprile … ricordiamo …
#semprevivineiricordi #nomidaricordare #personaggiimportanti #perfettamentechic
2022: Catherine Spaak, attrice, cantante e conduttrice televisiva belga naturalizzata italiana. Figlia dell’attrice Claudie Clèves e dello sceneggiatore Charles, e sorella dell’attrice e fotografa Agnès. Si è sposata con l’attore Fabrizio Capucci, da cui ha avuto una figlia Sabrina, con Johnny Dorelli, da cui avrà un figlio Gabriele, con l’architetto Daniel Rey e infine con Vladimiro Tuselli.…
Prunieurs en Fleurs/Plum Trees in Bloom by Clause Monet
The West Wind
It’s a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills,
And April’s in the west wind, and daffodils.
It’s a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine,
Apple orchards blossom there, and the air’s like wine.
There is cool green grass there, where men may lie at rest,
And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the nest.
‘Will ye not come home, brother? ye have been long away,
It’s April, and blossom time, and white is the may;
And bright is the sun, brother, and warm is the rain,—
Will ye not come home, brother, home to us again?
‘The young corn is green, brother, where the rabbits run,
It’s blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and sun.
It’s song to a man’s soul, brother, fire to a man’s brain,
To hear the wild bees and see the merry spring again.
‘Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the green wheat,
So will ye not come home, brother, and rest your tired feet?
I’ve a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for aching eyes,’
Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries.
It’s the white road westwards is the road I must tread
To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for heart and head,
To the violets and the warm hearts and the thrushes’ song,
In the fine land, the west land, the land where I belong.
-John Masefield
De Roze Perzikboom/Blossoming Pear Tree by Vincent van Gogh
Home Thoughts, From Abroad
O, to be in England
Now that April 's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!
And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—
That 's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
—Robert Browning
Song of a Second April
April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.
There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
In orchards near and far away
The grey woodpecker taps and bores;
And men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.
The larger streams run still and deep,
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun,
Pensively,—only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.