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They looked at each other, but Minnie settled the question. "Now it is Miss Rosanna's turn," she said, "and then Myron's. Ladies first. Give us a real nice story, Miss Rosanna." "About robbers," said Tommy, chewing on a grass stem. "I don't know any about robbers," said Rosanna pleasantly, "but I do know one about a cat, or a kitten rather, and it really happened.
"Shepherd, pasture thy flock at a little distance, lest thinking thou seest the cow of Myron breathe, thou shouldst wish to lead it away with thine oxen," was one of them. The value and originality of Myron's contributions to the progress of Greek sculpture were so great that he left behind him a considerable number of artists devoted to his methods. His son Lykios followed his father closely.
Gwenny never had any cookies like those. And the jell is so pretty. I put a egg in my pocket too." Myron's lip trembled, but he did not cry although Tommy giggled openly. "Of course you shall take them home to your mother! Who is Gwenny your dog?" asked Rosanna. "Gwenny is my sister!" said Myron furiously. Rosanna felt that she always said the wrong thing. "Oh, excuse me, Myron," she said meekly.
"Myron's a good man," Conor said, "known him for years." "Good man," the other guy echoed. "I like him," Oliver said. "I guess I'm conservative." "Nothing wrong with that." Conor swept his arm expansively, making room for conservatives. "The next generation's asleep," Oliver said, pointing to Emma. "Got to pull anchor, head for port. Nice talking with you." "Standing clear," Conor said.
The right should be held up, the left down, in a gesture of astonishment. In this work we see again Myron's skill in suggesting movement. We get a lively impression of an advance suddenly checked and changed to a recoil.
Pliny makes Myron the pupil of an influential Argive master, Ageladas, who belongs in the late archaic period. Whether or not such a relation actually existed, the statement is useful as a reminder of the probability that Argos and Athens were artistically in touch with one another. Beyond this, we get no direct testimony as to the circumstances of Myron's life.
It is worth remarking, as an illustration of the scantiness of our knowledge regarding the lives of Greek artists, that Myron's name is not so much as mentioned in extant literature before the third century B.C. Except for a precise, but certainly false, notice in Pliny, who represents him as flourishing in 420-416, our literary sources yield only vague indications as to his date.
Never been sorry. Sometimes, you've got to pay for quality; sometimes you get a deal." "I like auctions," Oliver said. "My name is Myron Marsh. I've been called, 'Swampy. I've been called, 'Mellow. I prefer, 'Myron. " "What! No 'Shorty? The corner of Myron's mouth twitched, but he said nothing. "O.K., Myron. I'm Oliver Prescott." "You live around here, Oliver?"
Oliver drove steadily, stopping early, and taking walks at the end of each day. His mind remained knotted in Maine. He went over and over conversations with Jennifer. She had been consistent, always herself cheerfully ambitious, social, not right for him. He tried not to think about Emma. Three mornings later he found the Jacksonville Post Office. Myron's check was there; Suzanne's was not.
But here is a point: suppose one of them is gold, and heavy at that, but not finely finished, quite amateurish and ill proportioned, in fact is he to take precedence of Myron's and Polyclitus's bronze, or Phidias's and Alcamenes's marble? or is workmanship to count most? Zeus. It should by rights. Never mind, put the gold first. Herm.
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