Paul Cezanne Jas de Bouffan the Pool painting

Paul Cezanne Jas de Bouffan the Pool paintingPaul Cezanne House of Pere Lacroix paintingPaul Cezanne Flowers in a Blue Vase painting
time, they come into range; the guns babble, and they die, and then the next seventy climb over the bodies of the dead, the guns giggle once again, and the hill of the dead grows higher. Those behind it commence, in their turn, to climb. In the dark doorways of the city there are mothers with covered heads, pushing their beloved sons into the parade, _go, be a martyr, do the needful, die_. "You see how they love me," says the disembodied voice. "No tyranny on earth can withstand the power of this slow, walking love."
"This isn't love," Gibreel, weeping, replies. "It's hate. She has driven them into your arms." The explanation sounds thin, superficial.
"They love me," the Imam's voice says, "because I am water. I am fertility and she is decay. They love me for my habit of smashing clocks. Human beings who turn away from God lose love, and certainty, and also the sense of His boundless time, that encompasses past, present and future; the timeless