Joseph Mallord William Turner Mortlake Terrace

Joseph Mallord William Turner Mortlake TerraceJoseph Mallord William Turner Rain, Steam and Speed - The Great Western RailwayGustave Courbet Marine
the bottoms of rivers, halfway down sharks, any amount of bedrooms, yes - tombs, no.
His business was the separation of the wheatgerm of the soul from the chaff of the mortal body, and that was usually concluded long before any of the rites associated with, when you got right down to it, a reverential form of garbage in its mouth and an expression of culpable idiocy.
Pictures hid the walls. Most of them were painted in shades of mud and showed depressed cattle standing on wet moorland in a fog. In fact the ornaments almost concealed the furniture, but this was no loss. Apart from two chairs groaning under the weight of accumulated antimacassars, the rest of the furniture seemed to have no use whatsoever apart from supporting ornaments. There were spindly tables everywhere. The floor was layered disposal.But this room looked like the tombs of those kings who wanted to take it all with them.Bill Door sat with his hands on his knees, looking around. First, there were the ornaments. More teapots than one might think possible. China dogs with staring eyes. Strange cake stands. Miscellaneous statues and painted plates with cheery little messages on them: A Present from Quirm, Long Life and Happiness. They covered every flat surface in a state of total democracy, so that a rather valuable antique silver candlestick was next to a bright coloured china dog with a bone