Stump electronic books

And their art has no meaning, no message, no moral principle,
no soul. Years ago I discovered all the aids necessary to the
pyrotechnist. I am not a chemist for nothing. If I can paint a fair
imitation of a Claude Monet on canvas, I can also produce for you a
colourless gas which, when handled by a virtuoso, produces astonishing
illusions. In the open air, against the dark background of the horizon,
I can show you the luminous dots planewise of the Impressionists; or I
can give you the broad, sabrelike brushwork of Velasquez, or the
imperial tintings of Titian. I can paint pictures on the sky. I can
produce blazing symphonies. I will prove to you that colour is also
music. This sounds as if I were a victim to that lesion of the brain
called 'coloured-audition.' Perhaps! Not Helmholtz or Chevreul can tell
me anything new in the science of optics. I am the possessor of the
rainbow secrets--for somewhere in Iceland, a runic legend runs, there is
a region vast as night, where all the rainbows--worn out or to be
used--drift about in their vapoury limbo.


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