When a role is right for him, he’s peerless. Newman is most comfortable in a role when it isn’t scaled heroically; even when he plays a bastard, he’s not a big bastard — only a callow, selfish one, like Hud. He can play what he’s not — a dumb lout. But you don’t believe it when he plays someone perverse or vicious, and the older he gets and the better you know him, the less you believe it. His likableness is infectious; nobody should ever be asked not to like Paul Newman. —critic Pauline Kael, 1977
(Source: mattybing1025, via thelittlefreakazoidthatcould)
The Valpinçon Bather (1806), Oil on canvas, Louvre, Paris | artwork by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres.
(via cavetocanvas)
Alas I Cannot Swim (Live In London) // Laura Marling
(Source: amarling)
Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals
And their faint cracklings o’er our silence creep
Like whispers of the household gods that keep
A gentle empire o’er fraternal souls.
And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fix’d, as in poetic sleep.
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That aye at fall of night our care condoles.
This is your birth-day Tom, and I rejoice
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly.
May such eves of gently whisp’ring noise
May we together pass, and calmly try
What are this world’s true joys, - ere the great voice,
From its fair face, shall bid your spirits fly.
John Keats (1795 - 1821)
“To My Brothers”
Written september 1816, published 1817
