Salvador Dali The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory

Salvador Dali The Disintegration of the Persistence of MemorySalvador Dali The CrucifixionMark Rothko Orange and YellowWassily Kandinsky Red OvalVincent van Gogh Two Cypresses
Inside this little world they had taken pains to put all the things, you might think they would want to escape from – hatred, fear, tyranny, and so forth. Death was intrigued. They thought they wanted to be taken out of themselves, . Now!' Death entered, his feet clicking across the stage. COWER NOW, BRIEF MORTALS, he said, FOR I AM DEATH, 'GAINST WHOM NO . . . NO . . . 'GAINST WHOM . . .
He hesitated. He hesitated, for the very first time in the eternity of his existence.and every art humans dreamt up took them further in. He was fascinated.He was here for a very particular and precise purpose. There was a soul to be claimed. There was no time for inconsequentialities. But what was time, after all?His feet did an involuntary little clicking dance across the stones. Alone, in the grey shadows, Death tapdanced.—THE NEXT NIGHT IN YOUR DRESSING ROOM THEY HANG A STAR—He pulled himself together, adjusted his scythe, and waited silently for his cue.He'd never missed one yet.He was going to get out there and slay them. 'And you can be Death itself to him