Sublime

Till, wholly unexpected, in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind, not letting go The palm of her, the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick, Like the Prior’s niece … Saint Lucy, I would say. And so all’s saved for me, and for the church A pretty picture gained.

Make them forget there’s such a thing as flesh. Your business is to paint the souls of men — Man’s soul, and it’s a fire, smoke … no, it’s not … It’s vapour done up like a new-born babe — (In that shape when you die it leaves your mouth)

Quite a strange man, thought James, watching him go – but what a relief to discover he still contained the capacity to be taken by surprise.

have bethought me: I shall paint a piece … There’s for you! Give me six months, then go, see Something in Sant’ Ambrogio’s! Bless the nuns! They want a cast o’ my office. I shall paint God in the midst, Madonna and her babe, Ringed by a bowery, flowery angel-brood, Lilies and vestments and white faces, sweet As puff on puff of grated orris-root Whe

“I don’t praise him for taking bribes. I only say he is a nice man in his own way! But if one looks at men in all ways — are there many good ones left? Why, I am sure I shouldn’t be worth a baked onion myself . . . perhaps with you thrown in.”