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| Alexei von Jawlensky Woman's face ca. 1911 oil on cardboard Gemeentemuseum, The Hague |
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| Alexei von Jawlensky Portrait of a woman 1912 oil on cardboard Museum of Fine Arts, Houston |
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| Alexei von Jawlensky Head of a woman 1911 oil on panel National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh |
"The room that Celia had found was in Brewery Road between Pentonville Prison and the Metropolitan Cattle Market. West Brompton knew them no more. The room was large and the few articles of furniture it contained were large. The bed, the gas cooker, the table and the solitary tallboy, all were very large indeed. Two massive upright unupholstered armchairs, similar to those killed under him by Balzac, made it just possible for them to take their meals seated. Murphy's rocking-chair trembled by the hearth, facing the window. The vast floor was covered all over by a linoleum of exquisite design, a dim geometry of blue, grey and brown that delighted Murphy because it called Braque to his mind, and Celia because it delighted Murphy. Murphy was one of the elect, who require everything to remind them of something else. The walls were distempered a vivid lemon, Murphy's lucky colour. This was so far in excess of the squeeze prescribed by Suk that he could not feel quite easy in his mind about it. The ceiling was lost in the shadows, yes, really lost in the shadows."
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| George Bellows Rock Reef, Maine 1913 oil on panel Museum of Fine Arts, Houston |
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| George Bellows The Grove, Monhegan 1913 oil on cardboard Museum of Fine Arts, Houston |
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| George Bellows Pennsylvania Station Excavation ca. 1907-08 oil on canvas Brooklyn Museum |
"Most of the time that he was out she spent sitting in the rocking-chair with her face to the light. There was not much light, the room devoured it, but she kept her face turned to what there was. The small single window condensed its changes, as half-closed eyes see the finer values of tones, so that it was never quiet in the room, but brightening and darkening in a slow ample flicker that went on all day, brightening against the darkening that was its end. A peristalsis of light, worming its way into the dark."
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| Vodkin Kuzma Petrov The Worker 1912 oil on canvas Malmö Konstmuseum, Sweden |
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| Egon Schiele Devotion 1913 gouache Leopold Museum, Vienna |
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| Egon Schiele Edith with striped dress, sitting 1915 gouache Leopold Museum, Vienna |
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| Egon Schiele Portrait of Edith (the artist's wife) 1915 oil on canvas Gemeentemuseum, The Hague |
"The sheep were a miserable-looking lot, dingy, close-cropped, undersized and misshapen. They were not cropping, they were not ruminating, they did not even seem to be taking their ease. They simply stood, in an attitude of profound dejection, their heads bowed, swaying slightly as though dazed. Murphy had never seen stranger sheep, they seemed one and all on the point of collapse. They made the exposition of Wordsworth's lovely "fields of sleep" as a compositor's error for "fields of sheep" seem no longer a jibe at that most excellent man. They had not the strength to back away from Miss Dew approaching with the lettuce."
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| George Bellows The Sand Cart 1917 oil on canvas Brooklyn Museum |
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| George Bellows The Barricade 1918 oil on canvas (World War I anti-German propaganda painting) Birmingham Museum of Art, Alabama |
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| George Bellows Nude with Fan 1920 oil on canvas North Carolina Museum of Art |
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| Julio Romero de Torres Panel 1912 oil on canvas Fundación Banco Santander, Madrid |
"Mr. Endon was a schizophrenic of the most amiable variety, at least for the purposes of such a humble and envious outsider as Murphy. The languor in which he passed his days, while deepening every now and then to the extent of some charming suspension of gesture, was never so profound as to inhibit all movement. His inner voice did not harangue him, it was unobtrusive and melodious, a gentle continuo in the whole consort of his hallucinations. The bizarrerie of his attitudes never exceeded a stress laid on their grace. In short, a psychosis so limpid and imperturbable that Murphy felt drawn to it as Narcissus to his fountain."
– quoted passages from Murphy (1938) by Samuel Beckett