Vincent van Gogh The Red Vineyard

Vincent van Gogh The Red VineyardVincent van Gogh The potato eatersVincent van Gogh The Bedroom at ArlesVincent van Gogh Couple in the Park,ArlesLeonardo da Vinci Portrait of Ginevra de Benci
twig fire burned on the slope of Holy Wood Hill. Victor had lit it because - well, because it was reassuring. Because it was the sort of thing humans did.
He found it necessary to remember he was human, and probably not crazy.
It wasn’t that he’d been talking to a dog. People often talked to dogs. The same applied to the cat. And maybe even me, being chased by this,’ it indicated the cat looming over it, ‘around the kitchen. Scrabble, scrabble, squeak, panic. Then the rabbit. It was the conversation with the mouse and the duck that might be considered odd. ‘You think we wanted to talk?’ snapped the rabbit. ‘One minute I’m just another rabbit and happy about it, next minute whazaam, I’m thinking. That’s a major drawback if you’re looking for happiness as a rabbit, let me tell you. You want grass and sex, not thoughts like "What’s it all about, when you get right down to it?" ‘ ‘Yeah, but at least you eats grass,’ Gaspode pointed out. ‘At least grass don’t talk back at you. The last thing you needs when you’re hungry is a bloody ethical conundrum on your plate.’ ‘You think you’ve got problems,’ said the cat, apparently reading his mind. ‘I’m reduched to eating fish. You put a paw on your dinner, it shoutsh "Help!", you got a major predicament.’ There was silence. They looked at Victor. So did the mouse. And the duck. The duck was looking particularly belligerent. It had probably heard about orange sauce. ‘Yeah. Take us,’ said the mouse. ‘There’s