Utterly dilapidated

Statue, picture, book, music, are preserved intact with reverential awe. Not but what some of them have suffered too by time, get utterly dilapidated, are in risk of perishing, have become mere fragments, or offer tempting ground for ambitious genius. The ‘ Aphrodite ’ of Melos is still a riddle: the torso of the Vatican is a very sphinx in stone, a mass of marble ever propounding enigmas, ever rejecting solutions. It is a block as it stands: head, arms, legs, and action would make it a statue. The ‘Cenacolo’ of Milan has long been a mere ghost of a fresco, faint as the last gleam of a rainbow. There are still whole choruses of Aischylus to restore; and Shakespeare is certainly not responsible for every scene in his so-called works. Literature and Art are full of works, either injured by time, or left incomplete by their authors, or such as modern research could easily purge of their anachronisms, inconsistencies, and general defects.

It is in one art only that modern research dares this outrage. Great works of architecture are not exactly on the same footing with great works of sculpture, of painting, of music, of poetry. They differ from all; and I will presently consider these differences. But great works of architecture are, like all great works of art, matchless, priceless, and sacred.

Divine Comedy

They are absolutely beyond renewal. It is easier to copy Titian’s ‘ Entombment ’ than the portal of Chartres or Notre Dame — as they once stood, and stand no more. Each great work of architecture is also unique: completely distinct from every work that ever was or ever will be. Giotto’s Campanile, the Duke’s Palace at Venice, stand alone—must we say stood alone? — like Hamlet or Lear, ‘remote, sublime, and inaccessible.’ A man who wanted to ‘ continue ’ Giotto’s Campanile, or add a new story, and enlarge the Palace at Venice, is the kind of man who would ‘continue’ the Iliad or dramatise the Divine Comedy for the Lyceum stage.

In all ways the great building is worthy of a deeper reverence, is consecrated with a profounder halo of social and historical mystery than any picture or any statue can be. Of the five great arts, that of building is the only one which adds to its charm of beauty the solemnity of the genius loci. It is the one art which is immovably fixed to place; the rest are migratory or independent of space. Poetry and music, not being arts of form, are not confined to any spot. Statues and paintings, though they can only be seen in some spot, may be carried round the world and set up in museums and galleries. But the building belongs for ever to the place where it is set up private tours istanbul. It is incorporated with the surroundings, the climate, the people, the site, where it first rose. No museum can ever hold it; it is not to be catalogued, mounted, framed, or classed like a coin or a mummy in a glass case. It stands for ever facing the same eternal hills, the same ever-flowing river, rising into the same azure or lowering sky into which it rose at first in joy or pride.

Utterly dilapidated

Statue, picture, book, music, are preserved intact with reverential awe. Not but what some of them have suffered too by time, get utterly dilapidated, are in risk of perishing, have become mere fragments, or offer tempting ground for ambitious genius. The ‘ Aphrodite ’ of Melos is still a riddle: the torso of the Vatican is a very sphinx in stone, a mass of marble ever propounding enigmas, ever rejecting solutions. It is a block as it stands: head, arms, legs, and action would make it a statue. The ‘Cenacolo’ of Milan has long been a mere ghost of a fresco, faint as the last gleam of a rainbow. There are still whole choruses of Aischylus to restore; and Shakespeare is certainly not responsible for every scene in his so-called works. Literature and Art are full of works, either injured by time, or left incomplete by their authors, or such as modern research could easily purge of their anachronisms, inconsistencies, and general defects.

It is in one art only that modern research dares this outrage. Great works of architecture are not exactly on the same footing with great works of sculpture, of painting, of music, of poetry. They differ from all; and I will presently consider these differences. But great works of architecture are, like all great works of art, matchless, priceless, and sacred.

Divine Comedy

They are absolutely beyond renewal. It is easier to copy Titian’s ‘ Entombment ’ than the portal of Chartres or Notre Dame — as they once stood, and stand no more. Each great work of architecture is also unique: completely distinct from every work that ever was or ever will be. Giotto’s Campanile, the Duke’s Palace at Venice, stand alone—must we say stood alone? — like Hamlet or Lear, ‘remote, sublime, and inaccessible.’ A man who wanted to ‘ continue ’ Giotto’s Campanile, or add a new story, and enlarge the Palace at Venice, is the kind of man who would ‘continue’ the Iliad or dramatise the Divine Comedy for the Lyceum stage.

In all ways the great building is worthy of a deeper reverence, is consecrated with a profounder halo of social and historical mystery than any picture or any statue can be. Of the five great arts, that of building is the only one which adds to its charm of beauty the solemnity of the genius loci. It is the one art which is immovably fixed to place; the rest are migratory or independent of space. Poetry and music, not being arts of form, are not confined to any spot. Statues and paintings, though they can only be seen in some spot, may be carried round the world and set up in museums and galleries. But the building belongs for ever to the place where it is set up private tours istanbul. It is incorporated with the surroundings, the climate, the people, the site, where it first rose. No museum can ever hold it; it is not to be catalogued, mounted, framed, or classed like a coin or a mummy in a glass case. It stands for ever facing the same eternal hills, the same ever-flowing river, rising into the same azure or lowering sky into which it rose at first in joy or pride.

Utterly dilapidated

Statue, picture, book, music, are preserved intact with reverential awe. Not but what some of them have suffered too by time, get utterly dilapidated, are in risk of perishing, have become mere fragments, or offer tempting ground for ambitious genius. The ‘ Aphrodite ’ of Melos is still a riddle: the torso of the Vatican is a very sphinx in stone, a mass of marble ever propounding enigmas, ever rejecting solutions. It is a block as it stands: head, arms, legs, and action would make it a statue. The ‘Cenacolo’ of Milan has long been a mere ghost of a fresco, faint as the last gleam of a rainbow. There are still whole choruses of Aischylus to restore; and Shakespeare is certainly not responsible for every scene in his so-called works. Literature and Art are full of works, either injured by time, or left incomplete by their authors, or such as modern research could easily purge of their anachronisms, inconsistencies, and general defects.

It is in one art only that modern research dares this outrage. Great works of architecture are not exactly on the same footing with great works of sculpture, of painting, of music, of poetry. They differ from all; and I will presently consider these differences. But great works of architecture are, like all great works of art, matchless, priceless, and sacred.

Divine Comedy

They are absolutely beyond renewal. It is easier to copy Titian’s ‘ Entombment ’ than the portal of Chartres or Notre Dame — as they once stood, and stand no more. Each great work of architecture is also unique: completely distinct from every work that ever was or ever will be. Giotto’s Campanile, the Duke’s Palace at Venice, stand alone—must we say stood alone? — like Hamlet or Lear, ‘remote, sublime, and inaccessible.’ A man who wanted to ‘ continue ’ Giotto’s Campanile, or add a new story, and enlarge the Palace at Venice, is the kind of man who would ‘continue’ the Iliad or dramatise the Divine Comedy for the Lyceum stage.

In all ways the great building is worthy of a deeper reverence, is consecrated with a profounder halo of social and historical mystery than any picture or any statue can be. Of the five great arts, that of building is the only one which adds to its charm of beauty the solemnity of the genius loci. It is the one art which is immovably fixed to place; the rest are migratory or independent of space. Poetry and music, not being arts of form, are not confined to any spot. Statues and paintings, though they can only be seen in some spot, may be carried round the world and set up in museums and galleries. But the building belongs for ever to the place where it is set up private tours istanbul. It is incorporated with the surroundings, the climate, the people, the site, where it first rose. No museum can ever hold it; it is not to be catalogued, mounted, framed, or classed like a coin or a mummy in a glass case. It stands for ever facing the same eternal hills, the same ever-flowing river, rising into the same azure or lowering sky into which it rose at first in joy or pride.

Utterly dilapidated

Statue, picture, book, music, are preserved intact with reverential awe. Not but what some of them have suffered too by time, get utterly dilapidated, are in risk of perishing, have become mere fragments, or offer tempting ground for ambitious genius. The ‘ Aphrodite ’ of Melos is still a riddle: the torso of the Vatican is a very sphinx in stone, a mass of marble ever propounding enigmas, ever rejecting solutions. It is a block as it stands: head, arms, legs, and action would make it a statue. The ‘Cenacolo’ of Milan has long been a mere ghost of a fresco, faint as the last gleam of a rainbow. There are still whole choruses of Aischylus to restore; and Shakespeare is certainly not responsible for every scene in his so-called works. Literature and Art are full of works, either injured by time, or left incomplete by their authors, or such as modern research could easily purge of their anachronisms, inconsistencies, and general defects.

It is in one art only that modern research dares this outrage. Great works of architecture are not exactly on the same footing with great works of sculpture, of painting, of music, of poetry. They differ from all; and I will presently consider these differences. But great works of architecture are, like all great works of art, matchless, priceless, and sacred.

Divine Comedy

They are absolutely beyond renewal. It is easier to copy Titian’s ‘ Entombment ’ than the portal of Chartres or Notre Dame — as they once stood, and stand no more. Each great work of architecture is also unique: completely distinct from every work that ever was or ever will be. Giotto’s Campanile, the Duke’s Palace at Venice, stand alone—must we say stood alone? — like Hamlet or Lear, ‘remote, sublime, and inaccessible.’ A man who wanted to ‘ continue ’ Giotto’s Campanile, or add a new story, and enlarge the Palace at Venice, is the kind of man who would ‘continue’ the Iliad or dramatise the Divine Comedy for the Lyceum stage.

In all ways the great building is worthy of a deeper reverence, is consecrated with a profounder halo of social and historical mystery than any picture or any statue can be. Of the five great arts, that of building is the only one which adds to its charm of beauty the solemnity of the genius loci. It is the one art which is immovably fixed to place; the rest are migratory or independent of space. Poetry and music, not being arts of form, are not confined to any spot. Statues and paintings, though they can only be seen in some spot, may be carried round the world and set up in museums and galleries. But the building belongs for ever to the place where it is set up private tours istanbul. It is incorporated with the surroundings, the climate, the people, the site, where it first rose. No museum can ever hold it; it is not to be catalogued, mounted, framed, or classed like a coin or a mummy in a glass case. It stands for ever facing the same eternal hills, the same ever-flowing river, rising into the same azure or lowering sky into which it rose at first in joy or pride.

Utterly dilapidated

Statue, picture, book, music, are preserved intact with reverential awe. Not but what some of them have suffered too by time, get utterly dilapidated, are in risk of perishing, have become mere fragments, or offer tempting ground for ambitious genius. The ‘ Aphrodite ’ of Melos is still a riddle: the torso of the Vatican is a very sphinx in stone, a mass of marble ever propounding enigmas, ever rejecting solutions. It is a block as it stands: head, arms, legs, and action would make it a statue. The ‘Cenacolo’ of Milan has long been a mere ghost of a fresco, faint as the last gleam of a rainbow. There are still whole choruses of Aischylus to restore; and Shakespeare is certainly not responsible for every scene in his so-called works. Literature and Art are full of works, either injured by time, or left incomplete by their authors, or such as modern research could easily purge of their anachronisms, inconsistencies, and general defects.

It is in one art only that modern research dares this outrage. Great works of architecture are not exactly on the same footing with great works of sculpture, of painting, of music, of poetry. They differ from all; and I will presently consider these differences. But great works of architecture are, like all great works of art, matchless, priceless, and sacred.

Divine Comedy

They are absolutely beyond renewal. It is easier to copy Titian’s ‘ Entombment ’ than the portal of Chartres or Notre Dame — as they once stood, and stand no more. Each great work of architecture is also unique: completely distinct from every work that ever was or ever will be. Giotto’s Campanile, the Duke’s Palace at Venice, stand alone—must we say stood alone? — like Hamlet or Lear, ‘remote, sublime, and inaccessible.’ A man who wanted to ‘ continue ’ Giotto’s Campanile, or add a new story, and enlarge the Palace at Venice, is the kind of man who would ‘continue’ the Iliad or dramatise the Divine Comedy for the Lyceum stage.

In all ways the great building is worthy of a deeper reverence, is consecrated with a profounder halo of social and historical mystery than any picture or any statue can be. Of the five great arts, that of building is the only one which adds to its charm of beauty the solemnity of the genius loci. It is the one art which is immovably fixed to place; the rest are migratory or independent of space. Poetry and music, not being arts of form, are not confined to any spot. Statues and paintings, though they can only be seen in some spot, may be carried round the world and set up in museums and galleries. But the building belongs for ever to the place where it is set up private tours istanbul. It is incorporated with the surroundings, the climate, the people, the site, where it first rose. No museum can ever hold it; it is not to be catalogued, mounted, framed, or classed like a coin or a mummy in a glass case. It stands for ever facing the same eternal hills, the same ever-flowing river, rising into the same azure or lowering sky into which it rose at first in joy or pride.

Utterly dilapidated

Statue, picture, book, music, are preserved intact with reverential awe. Not but what some of them have suffered too by time, get utterly dilapidated, are in risk of perishing, have become mere fragments, or offer tempting ground for ambitious genius. The ‘ Aphrodite ’ of Melos is still a riddle: the torso of the Vatican is a very sphinx in stone, a mass of marble ever propounding enigmas, ever rejecting solutions. It is a block as it stands: head, arms, legs, and action would make it a statue. The ‘Cenacolo’ of Milan has long been a mere ghost of a fresco, faint as the last gleam of a rainbow. There are still whole choruses of Aischylus to restore; and Shakespeare is certainly not responsible for every scene in his so-called works. Literature and Art are full of works, either injured by time, or left incomplete by their authors, or such as modern research could easily purge of their anachronisms, inconsistencies, and general defects.

It is in one art only that modern research dares this outrage. Great works of architecture are not exactly on the same footing with great works of sculpture, of painting, of music, of poetry. They differ from all; and I will presently consider these differences. But great works of architecture are, like all great works of art, matchless, priceless, and sacred.

Divine Comedy

They are absolutely beyond renewal. It is easier to copy Titian’s ‘ Entombment ’ than the portal of Chartres or Notre Dame — as they once stood, and stand no more. Each great work of architecture is also unique: completely distinct from every work that ever was or ever will be. Giotto’s Campanile, the Duke’s Palace at Venice, stand alone—must we say stood alone? — like Hamlet or Lear, ‘remote, sublime, and inaccessible.’ A man who wanted to ‘ continue ’ Giotto’s Campanile, or add a new story, and enlarge the Palace at Venice, is the kind of man who would ‘continue’ the Iliad or dramatise the Divine Comedy for the Lyceum stage.

In all ways the great building is worthy of a deeper reverence, is consecrated with a profounder halo of social and historical mystery than any picture or any statue can be. Of the five great arts, that of building is the only one which adds to its charm of beauty the solemnity of the genius loci. It is the one art which is immovably fixed to place; the rest are migratory or independent of space. Poetry and music, not being arts of form, are not confined to any spot. Statues and paintings, though they can only be seen in some spot, may be carried round the world and set up in museums and galleries. But the building belongs for ever to the place where it is set up private tours istanbul. It is incorporated with the surroundings, the climate, the people, the site, where it first rose. No museum can ever hold it; it is not to be catalogued, mounted, framed, or classed like a coin or a mummy in a glass case. It stands for ever facing the same eternal hills, the same ever-flowing river, rising into the same azure or lowering sky into which it rose at first in joy or pride.

Utterly dilapidated

Statue, picture, book, music, are preserved intact with reverential awe. Not but what some of them have suffered too by time, get utterly dilapidated, are in risk of perishing, have become mere fragments, or offer tempting ground for ambitious genius. The ‘ Aphrodite ’ of Melos is still a riddle: the torso of the Vatican is a very sphinx in stone, a mass of marble ever propounding enigmas, ever rejecting solutions. It is a block as it stands: head, arms, legs, and action would make it a statue. The ‘Cenacolo’ of Milan has long been a mere ghost of a fresco, faint as the last gleam of a rainbow. There are still whole choruses of Aischylus to restore; and Shakespeare is certainly not responsible for every scene in his so-called works. Literature and Art are full of works, either injured by time, or left incomplete by their authors, or such as modern research could easily purge of their anachronisms, inconsistencies, and general defects.

It is in one art only that modern research dares this outrage. Great works of architecture are not exactly on the same footing with great works of sculpture, of painting, of music, of poetry. They differ from all; and I will presently consider these differences. But great works of architecture are, like all great works of art, matchless, priceless, and sacred.

Divine Comedy

They are absolutely beyond renewal. It is easier to copy Titian’s ‘ Entombment ’ than the portal of Chartres or Notre Dame — as they once stood, and stand no more. Each great work of architecture is also unique: completely distinct from every work that ever was or ever will be. Giotto’s Campanile, the Duke’s Palace at Venice, stand alone—must we say stood alone? — like Hamlet or Lear, ‘remote, sublime, and inaccessible.’ A man who wanted to ‘ continue ’ Giotto’s Campanile, or add a new story, and enlarge the Palace at Venice, is the kind of man who would ‘continue’ the Iliad or dramatise the Divine Comedy for the Lyceum stage.

In all ways the great building is worthy of a deeper reverence, is consecrated with a profounder halo of social and historical mystery than any picture or any statue can be. Of the five great arts, that of building is the only one which adds to its charm of beauty the solemnity of the genius loci. It is the one art which is immovably fixed to place; the rest are migratory or independent of space. Poetry and music, not being arts of form, are not confined to any spot. Statues and paintings, though they can only be seen in some spot, may be carried round the world and set up in museums and galleries. But the building belongs for ever to the place where it is set up private tours istanbul. It is incorporated with the surroundings, the climate, the people, the site, where it first rose. No museum can ever hold it; it is not to be catalogued, mounted, framed, or classed like a coin or a mummy in a glass case. It stands for ever facing the same eternal hills, the same ever-flowing river, rising into the same azure or lowering sky into which it rose at first in joy or pride.

Utterly dilapidated

Statue, picture, book, music, are preserved intact with reverential awe. Not but what some of them have suffered too by time, get utterly dilapidated, are in risk of perishing, have become mere fragments, or offer tempting ground for ambitious genius. The ‘ Aphrodite ’ of Melos is still a riddle: the torso of the Vatican is a very sphinx in stone, a mass of marble ever propounding enigmas, ever rejecting solutions. It is a block as it stands: head, arms, legs, and action would make it a statue. The ‘Cenacolo’ of Milan has long been a mere ghost of a fresco, faint as the last gleam of a rainbow. There are still whole choruses of Aischylus to restore; and Shakespeare is certainly not responsible for every scene in his so-called works. Literature and Art are full of works, either injured by time, or left incomplete by their authors, or such as modern research could easily purge of their anachronisms, inconsistencies, and general defects.

It is in one art only that modern research dares this outrage. Great works of architecture are not exactly on the same footing with great works of sculpture, of painting, of music, of poetry. They differ from all; and I will presently consider these differences. But great works of architecture are, like all great works of art, matchless, priceless, and sacred.

Divine Comedy

They are absolutely beyond renewal. It is easier to copy Titian’s ‘ Entombment ’ than the portal of Chartres or Notre Dame — as they once stood, and stand no more. Each great work of architecture is also unique: completely distinct from every work that ever was or ever will be. Giotto’s Campanile, the Duke’s Palace at Venice, stand alone—must we say stood alone? — like Hamlet or Lear, ‘remote, sublime, and inaccessible.’ A man who wanted to ‘ continue ’ Giotto’s Campanile, or add a new story, and enlarge the Palace at Venice, is the kind of man who would ‘continue’ the Iliad or dramatise the Divine Comedy for the Lyceum stage.

In all ways the great building is worthy of a deeper reverence, is consecrated with a profounder halo of social and historical mystery than any picture or any statue can be. Of the five great arts, that of building is the only one which adds to its charm of beauty the solemnity of the genius loci. It is the one art which is immovably fixed to place; the rest are migratory or independent of space. Poetry and music, not being arts of form, are not confined to any spot. Statues and paintings, though they can only be seen in some spot, may be carried round the world and set up in museums and galleries. But the building belongs for ever to the place where it is set up private tours istanbul. It is incorporated with the surroundings, the climate, the people, the site, where it first rose. No museum can ever hold it; it is not to be catalogued, mounted, framed, or classed like a coin or a mummy in a glass case. It stands for ever facing the same eternal hills, the same ever-flowing river, rising into the same azure or lowering sky into which it rose at first in joy or pride.