No longer is the best picture going to be a toss-up between that troika of national-historical heavies: Argo, Lincoln and Zero Dark Thirty.

After our wearisome, yet zestful, mountain-climb perhaps we shall find a besceptered Truth—absolute, majestic, and immortal, reclining like a Zeus on an Olympus ruling the reality of things.

The zone decoration becomes a pattern composed of innumerable groups of architraved and arched divisions, set one within the other, so as to cover the whole surface of the wall.

We suffer equal pain from the pertinacious adhesion of unwelcome images, as from the evanescence of those which are pleasing and useful;