Rivera The Flower Seller, 1942 painting

Rivera The Flower Seller, 1942 painting
Bouguereau Evening Mood painting
Bouguereau The Wave painting
Cabanel The Birth of Venus painting
from Mrs. Manson Mingott, his soul had been more deeply tried.
He had found the old lady depressed and querulous.
``You know she's deserted me?'' she began at once; and without waiting for his reply: ``Oh, don't ask me why! She gave so many reasons that I've forgotten them all. My private belief is that she couldn't face the boredom. At any rate that's what Augusta and my daughters-in-law think. And I don't know that I altogether blame her. Olenski's a finished scoundrel; but life with him must have been a good deal gayer than it is in Fifth Avenue. Not that the family would admit that: they think Fifth Avenue is Heaven with the rue de la Paix thrown in. And poor Ellen, of course, has no idea of going back to her husband. She held out as firmly as ever against that. So she's to settle down in Paris with that fool Medora. . . . Well, Paris is Paris; and you can keep a carriage there on next to nothing. But she was as gay as a bird, and I shall miss her.'' Two tears, the parched tears of the old, rolled down her puffy cheeks and vanished in the abysses of her bosom.

Rivera The Flower Seller, (Vendedora De Alcatraces) 1942 painting

Rivera The Flower Seller, (Vendedora De Alcatraces) 1942 painting
Rivera The Flower Seller, 1942 painting
Rivera The Flower Seller painting
Rivera The Flower Vendor, 1949 painting
When school broke up at noon, Tom flew to Becky Thatcher, and whispered in her ear:
"Put on your bonnet and let on you're going home; and when you get to the corner, give the rest of 'em the slip, and turn down through the lane and come back. I'll go the other way and come it over 'em the same way."
So the one went off with one group of scholars, and the other with another. In a little while the two met at the bottom of the lane, and when they reached the school they had it all to themselves. Then they sat together, with a slate before them, and Tom gave Becky the pencil and held her hand in his, guiding it, and so created another surprising house. When the interest in art began to wane, the two fell to talking. Tom was swimming in bliss. He said:
"Do you love rats?"
"No! I hate them!"
"Well, I do, too -- live ones. But I mean dead ones, to swing round your head with a string."
"No, I don't care for rats much, anyway. What I like is chewing-gum."