Famous Literature 2 (revised)

The Souls of Black Folk (W.E.B. Du Bois)

a literary work published in 1920, the text incorporates autobiographical information as well as essays, spirituals, and poems that were all written by the author himself. An overarching theme of this work is the unifying character of labor, and its contrast with traditional conflict between historical identities. Usually this is cast in terms of conflict between white and black workers, but with some variation. For example: Our great ethical question today is, therefore, how may we justly distribute the world's goods to satisfy the necessary wants of the mass of men. What hinders the answer to this question? Dislikes, jealousies, hatreds, -- undoubtedly like the race hatred in East St. Louis; the jealousy of English and German; the dislike of the Jew and the Gentile. But these are, after all, surface disturbances, sprung from ancient habit more than from present reason. They persist and are encouraged because of deeper, mightier currents. If the white workingmen of East St. Louis felt sure that Negro workers would not and could not take the bread and cake from their mouths, their race hatred would never have been translated into murder. If the black workingmen of the South could earn a decent living under decent circumstances at home, they would not be compelled to underbid their white fellows. Thus the shadow of hunger, in a world which never needs to be hungry, drives us to war and murder and hate. But why does hunger shadow so vast a mass of men? Manifestly because in the great organizing of men for work a few of the participants come out with more wealth than they can possibly use, while a vast number emerge with less than can decently support life. In earlier economic stages...[2] Several of its essays are personal in nature, with obvious emotional rhetoric. The style maintains a religious tone and his spirituality is a common thread in many of the individual essays. Described in varying tones of black and brown, a Christ-like figure of racial hope is prevalent, signifying the coming moment of racial confrontation and eventual salvation. This figure is one which Du Bois characterizes as the bearer of eternal freedom from discrimination, poverty, and from the color line itself.[3] The stories within Darkwater also revolve around discontent with the way that democracy was viewed and handled among people of different ethnic, racial, and social groups.[4] The chapter structure of Darkwater follows a consistent pattern of a narrative section and a poetic section, both within one chapter. The narrative sections are frequently autobiographical or are otherwise works of speculative fiction. In this text Du Bois compiles previously written works from The Atlantic, the Independent, The Crisis, and The Journal of Race Development. In his chapter called "The Damnation of Women," Du Bois seeks to elevate women by acknowledging their labor in the home, the workplace and the black church. The chapter has been described as one of the first proto-feminist analyses by a male intellectual.[5] In the chapter, Du Bois gives the black mother even more glorification for her role as child bearer. He calls for women to seek a life of economic independence, and argues that women have a right to control their own bodies and reproductive choices. Yet in his description of women he often describes their physical traits first such as his description of journalist Mary Shadd Cary whom Du Bois described as a "ravishing dream-born beauty."

The Art of Poetry (Horace)

a poem written in c. 19 BC, in which the author advises poets on the art of writing poetry and drama. The Ars Poetica has "exercised a great influence in later ages on European literature, notably on French drama" and has inspired poets and authors since it was written. To the author, this poem was the last of his epistles, but almost at once his contemporaries began referring to it as The Art of Poetry, and by "poetry" they meant any field of literary composition. The author addresses it to his friend Lucius Calpurnius Piso, famous for his battles in Thrace, and to his two sons. Apparently, the older son yearns for a career as a dramatist or an epic poet. While not a formal treatise or an abstract discussion, like the similarly named composition of Aristotle, the 476 lines of this unsystematic letter in verse influenced Joachim du Bellay in writing the manifesto of the Pleiad, and a century later inspired Nicolas Boileau's L'Art poétique(1674) and Alexander Pope's An Essay on Criticism (1711). Some of Horace's suggestions, like the classical five-act division of the drama, are no longer important, but today's writers still can learn much from the rest of the poem. The double purpose of literature, a mingling of "the useful with the sweet," has been quoted through the centuries in every literary movement. One would be amused rather than impressed, begins Horace, by the painting of a creature with a horse's body and a man's head, with limbs from every sort of animal, adorned with feathers from a variety of birds. However, poets combine just such outlandish elements, adding "purple patches" where they are entirely out of place in order to give color and brilliance to pompous openings in portions of their writing. Therefore, he begins The Art of Poetry with a plea for simplicity and unity. Addressing Piso and his sons directly, Horace confesses that most poets are misled by what looks like truth. When striving for brevity, the poet becomes unintelligible. Attempts to write smoothly result in the loss of vigor and spirit. Aiming at grandeur, the poet becomes bombastic. Only when he or she is guided by art can a writer avoid some errors without committing worse ones. The remedy, therefore, is to select subjects equal to one's ability and to use appropriate language. Old words, properly used, seem new; new words, borrowed from the Greeks, may also have a place. People are admired for making over nature when they build harbors or drain marshes. Usage, then, should maintain or change the material and rules of speech. Homer, according to Horace, shows the writer how to handle the deeds of kings and the sad tales of war. No one is sure who invented the elegiac couplet, but Archilochus devises the iambus, used in tragic and comic drama; and since it was born of rage, it is designed to record action. According to tradition, the Muses gave the lyric for singing about victories, lovers, and joyful banquets. All these meters have their specific uses, and the poets would do well to employ them only in their appropriate places, though sometimes a writer of comedy may borrow from other forms of poetic art or an author of tragedies set aside sesquipedalian words in favor of shorter ones to touch the audience's hearts. Horace continues by defining feeling as the true test of literary worth, for beauty of writing is not enough. Unless a writer feels, he or she cannot make the audience feel. One style of writing goes with a gloomy face; another sort goes with an angry one or a playful...

When Malindy Sings (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)

One of the most popular of the author's dialect poems, which builds upon the natural ability of the race in song and is acknowledged to be the author's tribute to his mother's spontaneous outbursts of singing as she worked in the kitchen. The message of the poem is one of praise for simplicity of spirit and the love of God, but the reader is jolted into a humorous view of the situation as he comes to stanza six. The author's ability to check excessive sentiment is well demonstrated in this poem. G'way an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy— Put dat music book away; What's de use to keep on tryin'? Ef you practise twell you're gray, You cain't sta't no notes a-flyin' Lak de ones dat rants and rings F'om de kitchen to de big woods When Malindy sings. You ain't got de nachel o'gans Fu' to make de soun' come right, You ain't got de tu'ns an' twistin's Fu' to make it sweet an' light. Tell you one thing now, Miss Lucy, An' I 'm tellin' you fu' true, When hit comes to raal right singin', 'T ain't no easy thing to do. Easy 'nough fu' folks to hollah, Lookin' at de lines an' dots, When dey ain't no one kin sence it, An' de chune comes in, in spots; But fu' real malojous music, Dat jes' strikes yo' hea't and clings, Jes' you stan' an' listen wif me When Malindy sings. Ain't you nevah hyeahd Malindy? Blessed soul, tek up de cross! Look hyeah, ain't you jokin', honey? Well, you don't know whut you los'. Y' ought to hyeah dat gal a-wa'blin', Robins, la'ks, an' all dem things, Heish dey moufs an' hides dey face. When Malindy sings. Fiddlin' man jes' stop his fiddlin', Lay his fiddle on de she'f; Mockin'-bird quit tryin' to whistle, 'Cause he jes' so shamed hisse'f. Folks a-playin' on de banjo Draps dey fingahs on de strings-- Bless yo' soul--fu'gits to move 'em, When Malindy sings. She jes' spreads huh mouf and hollahs, "Come to Jesus," twell you hyeah Sinnahs' tremblin' steps and voices, Timid-lak a-drawin' neah; Den she tu'ns to "Rock of Ages," Simply to de cross she clings, An' you fin' yo' teahs a-drappin' When Malindy sings. Who dat says dat humble praises Wif de Master nevah counts? Heish yo' mouf, I hyeah dat music, Ez hit rises up an' mounts— Floatin' by de hills an' valleys, Way above dis buryin' sod, Ez hit makes its way in glory To de very gates of God! Oh, hit's sweetah dan de music Of an edicated band; An' hit's dearah dan de battle's Song o' triumph in de lan'. It seems holier dan evenin' When de solemn chu'ch bell rings, Ez I sit an' ca'mly listen While Malindy sings. Towsah, stop dat ba'kin', hyeah me! Mandy, mek dat chile keep still; Don't you hyeah de echoes callin' F'om de valley to de hill? Let me listen, I can hyeah it, Th'oo de bresh of angel's wings, Sof' an' sweet, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," Ez Malindy sings.

The Communist Manifesto (KARL MARX and Friedrich Engels)

1848 political pamphlet Capitalism, Workers, and Class Struggle. The most significant ideas from The Communist Manifesto are the author's class analysis of society and critique of capitalist democracy. Indeed, for a work with Communist in the title, there is little written about what a communist society would look like or do. was primarily intended as a statement of the European Communist movement's beliefs. It was explicitly commissioned by the Communist League for this precise purpose at two conferences held in London in November and December 1847. The Communist Manifesto is divided into a preamble and four sections, the last of these a short conclusion. The introduction begins by proclaiming: "A spectre is haunting Europe—the spectre of communism. All the powers of old Europe have entered into a holy alliance to exorcise this spectre". Pointing out that parties everywhere—including those in government and those in the opposition—have flung the "branding reproach of communism" at each other, the authors infer from this that the powers-that-be acknowledge communism to be a power in itself. Subsequently, the introduction exhorts Communists to openly publish their views and aims, to "meet this nursery tale of the spectre of communism with a manifesto of the party itself". The first section of the Manifesto, "Bourgeois and Proletarians", elucidates the materialist conception of history, that "the history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles". Societies have always taken the form of an oppressed majority exploited under the yoke of an oppressive minority. In capitalism, the industrial working class, or proletariat, engage in class struggle against the owners of the means of production, the bourgeoisie. As before, this struggle will end in a revolution that restructures society, or the "common ruin of the contending classes". The bourgeoisie, through the "constant revolutionising of production [and] uninterrupted disturbance of all social conditions" have emerged as the supreme class in society, displacing all the old powers of feudalism. The bourgeoisie constantly exploits the proletariat for its labour power, creating profit for themselves and accumulating capital. However, in doing so the bourgeoisie serves as "its own grave-diggers"; the proletariat inevitably will become conscious of their own potential and rise to power through revolution, overthrowing the bourgeoisie. "Proletarians and Communists", the second section, starts by stating the relationship of conscious communists to the rest of the working class. The communists' party will not oppose other working-class parties, but unlike them, it will express the general will and defend the common interests of the world's proletariat as a whole, independent of all nationalities. The section goes on to defend communism from various objections, including claims that it advocates communal prostitution or disincentivises people from working. The section ends by outlining a set of short-term demands—among them a progressive income tax; abolition of inheritances and private property; abolition of child labour; free public education; nationalisation of the means of transport and communication; centralisation of credit via a national bank; expansion of publicly owned etc.—the implementation of which would result in the precursor to a stateless and classless society. The third section, "Socialist and Communist Literature", distinguishes communism from other socialist doctrines prevalent at the time—these being broadly categorised as Reactionary Socialism; Conservative or Bourgeois Socialism; and Critical-Utopian Socialism and Communism. While the degree of reproach toward rival perspectives varies, all are dismissed for advocating reformismand failing to recognise the pre-eminent revolutionary role of the working class. "Position of the Communists in Relation to the Various Opposition Parties", the concluding section of the Manifesto, briefly discusses the communist position on struggles in specific countries in the mid-nineteenth century such as France, Switzerland, Poland and Germany, this last being "on the eve of a bourgeois revolution" and predicts that a world revolution will soon follow. It ends by declaring an alliance with the democratic socialists, boldly supporting other communist revolutions and calling for united international proletarian action—"Working Men of All Countries, Unite!".

The Island of Dr. Moreau (H. G. Wells)

1896 science fiction novel The text of the novel is the narration of Edward Prendick, a shipwrecked man rescued by a passing boat who is left on the island home of Doctor Moreau, a mad scientist who creates human-like hybrid beings from animals via vivisection. The novel deals with a number of philosophical themes, including pain and cruelty, moral responsibility, human identity, and human interference with nature.[2] Wells described it as "an exercise in youthful blasphemy." [THE TERM] is the account of Edward Prendick, an Englishman with a scientific education who survives a shipwreck in the southern Pacific Ocean. A passing ship takes him aboard, and a man named Montgomery revives him. Prendick also meets a grotesque bestial native named M'ling, who appears to be Montgomery's manservant. The ship is transporting a number of animals which belong to Montgomery. As they approach the island, Montgomery's destination, the captain demands Prendick leave the ship with Montgomery. Montgomery explains that he will not be able to host Prendick on the island. Despite this, the captain leaves Prendick in a dinghy and sails away. Seeing that the captain has abandoned Prendick, Montgomery takes pity and rescues him. As ships rarely pass the island, Prendick will be housed in an outer room of an enclosed compound. The island belongs to Dr. Moreau. Prendick remembers that he has heard of Moreau, formerly an eminent physiologist in London whose gruesome experiments in vivisectionhad been publicly exposed, and who fled England as a result of his exposure. The next day, Moreau begins working on a puma. Prendick gathers that Moreau is performing a painful experiment on the animal, and its anguished cries drive Prendick out into the jungle. While he wanders, he comes upon a group of people who seem human but have an unmistakable resemblance to swine. As he walks back to the enclosure, he suddenly realises he is being followed by a figure in the jungle. He panics and flees, and the figure gives chase. As his pursuer bears down on him, Prendick manages to stun him with a stone and observes the pursuer is a monstrous hybrid of animal and man. When Prendrick returns to the enclosure and questions Montgomery, Montgomery refuses to be open with him. After failing to get an explanation, Prendick finally gives in and takes a sleeping draught. Prendick awakes the next morning with the previous night's activities fresh in his mind. Seeing that the door to Moreau's operating room has been left unlocked, he walks in to find a humanoid form lying in bandages on the table before he is ejected by a shocked and angry Moreau. He believes that Moreau has been vivisecting humans and that he is the next test subject. He flees into the jungle where he meets an Ape-Man who takes him to a colony of similarly half-human/half-animal creatures. Their leader is a large grey unspecified creature named the Sayer of the Law who has him recite a strange litany called the Law that involves prohibitions against bestial behavior and praise for Moreau. Suddenly, Dr. Moreau bursts into the colony looking for Prendick, but Prendick escapes to the jungle. He makes for the ocean, where he plans to drown himself rather than allow Moreau to experiment on him. Moreau explains that the creatures called the Beast Folk were not formerly men, but rather animals. Prendick returns to the enclosure, where Moreau explains that he has been on the island for eleven years and has been striving to make a complete transformation of an animal to a human. He explains that while he is getting closer to perfection, his subjects have a habit of reverting to their animal form and behaviour. Moreau regards the pain he inflicts as insignificant and an unavoidable side effect in the name of his scientific experiments. One day, Prendick and Montgomery encounter a half-eaten rabbit. Since eating flesh and tasting blood are strong prohibitions, Dr. Moreau calls an assembly of the Beast Folk and identifies the Leopard-Man (the same one that chased Prendick the first time he wandered into the jungle) as the transgressor. Knowing that he will be sent back to Dr. Moreau's compound for more painful sessions of vivisection, the Leopard-Man flees. Eventually, the group corners him in some undergrowth, but Prendick takes pity and shoots him to spare him from further suffering. Prendick also believes that although the Leopard-Man was seen breaking several laws, such as drinking water bent down like an animal, chasing men (Prendick), and running on all fours, the Leopard-Man was not solely responsible for the deaths of the rabbits. It was also the Hyena-Swine, the next most dangerous Beast Man on the island. Dr. Moreau is furious that Prendick killed the Leopard-Man but can do nothing about the situation. As time passes, Prendick becomes inured to the grotesqueness of the Beast Folk. However one day, the half-finished puma woman rips free of her restraints and escapes from the lab. Dr. Moreau pursues her, but the two end up fighting each other, leading to their mutual deaths. Montgomery breaks down and decides to share his alcohol with the Beast Folk. Prendick resolves to leave the island, but later hears a commotion outside in which Montgomery, his servant M'ling, and the Sayer of the Law die after a scuffle with the Beast Folk. At the same time, the compound burns down because Prendick has knocked over a lamp. With no chance of saving any of the provisions stored in the enclosure, Prendick realizes that during the night Montgomery has also destroyed the only boats on the island. Prendick lives with the Beast Folk on the island for months after the deaths of Moreau and Montgomery. As the time goes by, the Beast Folk increasingly revert to their original animal instincts, beginning to hunt the island's rabbits, returning to walking on all fours, and leaving their shared living areas for the wild. They cease to follow Prendick's instructions. Eventually the Hyena-Swine kills Prendick's faithful companion, the Dog-Man created from a St. Bernard, and helped by the Sloth Creature he shoots the Hyena-Swine in self-defence. Prendick's efforts to build a raft have been unsuccessful, but luckily for him, a lifeboat that carries two corpses drifts onto the beach (perhaps the captain of the ship that picked Prendick up and a sailor).[7] Prendick uses the boat to leave the island and is picked up three days later. When he tells his story he is thought to be mad, so he feigns amnesia. Upon his return to England, Prendick is no longer comfortable in the presence of humans, all of whom seem to him to be about to revert to an animal state. He leaves London and lives in near-solitude in the countryside, devoting himself to chemistry as well as astronomy in the studies of which he finds some peace.

The Scarlet Letter (Nathaniel Hawthorne)

In June 1638, in Puritan Boston, Massachusetts, a crowd gathers to witness the punishment of Hester Prynne, a young woman who has given birth to a baby of unknown parentage. She is required to wear a scarlet "A" on her dress when she is in front of the townspeople to shame her. The letter "A" stands for adulteress, although this is never said explicitly in the novel. Her sentence required her to stand on the scaffold for three hours, exposed to public humiliation, and to wear the scarlet "A" for the rest of her life. As Hester approaches the scaffold, many of the women in the crowd are angered by her beauty and quiet dignity. When demanded and cajoled to name the father of her child, Hester refuses. As Hester looks out over the crowd, she notices a small, misshapen man and recognizes him as her long-lost husband, who has been presumed lost at sea. When the husband sees Hester's shame, he asks a man in the crowd about her and is told the story of his wife's adultery. He angrily exclaims that the child's father, the partner in the adulterous act, should also be punished and vows to find the man. He chooses a new name, Roger Chillingworth, to aid him in his plan. The Reverend John Wilson and the minister of Hester's church, Arthur Dimmesdale, question the woman, but she refuses to name her lover. After she returns to her prison cell, the jailer brings in Roger Chillingworth, a physician, to calm Hester and her child with his roots and herbs. He and Hester have an open conversation regarding their marriage and the fact that they were both in the wrong. Her lover, however, is another matter and he demands to know who it is; Hester refuses to divulge such information. He accepts this, stating that he will find out anyway, and forces her to hide that he is her husband. If she ever reveals him, he warns her, he will destroy the child's father. Hester agrees to Chillingworth's terms although she suspects she will regret it. Following her release from prison, Hester settles in a cottage at the edge of town and earns a meager living with her needlework, which is of extraordinary quality. She lives a quiet, somber life with her daughter, Pearl, and performs acts of charity for the poor. She is troubled by her daughter's unusual fascination with Hester's scarlet "A". The shunning of Hester also extends to Pearl, who has no playmates or friends except her mother. As she grows older, Pearl becomes capricious and unruly. Her conduct starts rumors, and, not surprisingly, the church members suggest Pearl be taken away from Hester. Hester, hearing rumors that she may lose Pearl, goes to speak to Governor Bellingham. With him are ministers Wilson and Dimmesdale. Hester appeals to Dimmesdale in desperation, and the minister persuades the governor to let Pearl remain in Hester's care. Because Dimmesdale's health has begun to fail, the townspeople are happy to have Chillingworth, a newly arrived physician, take up lodgings with their beloved minister. Being in such close contact with Dimmesdale, Chillingworth begins to suspect that the minister's illness is the result of some unconfessed guilt. He applies psychological pressure to the minister because he suspects Dimmesdale is Pearl's father. One evening, pulling the sleeping Dimmesdale's vestment aside, Chillingworth sees a symbol that represents his shame on the minister's pale chest. Tormented by his guilty conscience, Dimmesdale goes to the square where Hester was punished years earlier. Climbing the scaffold, he admits his guilt but cannot find the courage to do so publicly. Hester, shocked by Dimmesdale's deterioration, decides to obtain a release from her vow of silence to her husband. Several days later, Hester meets Dimmesdale in the forest and tells him of her husband and his desire for revenge. She convinces Dimmesdale to leave Boston in secret on a ship to Europe where they can start life anew. Renewed by this plan, the minister seems to gain new energy. On Election Day, Dimmesdale gives what is called one of his most inspired sermons. But as the procession leaves the church, Dimmesdale climbs upon the scaffold and confesses his sin, dying in Hester's arms. Later, most witnesses swear that they saw a stigma in the form of a scarlet "A" upon his chest, although some deny this statement. Chillingworth, losing his will for revenge, dies shortly thereafter and leaves Pearl a substantial inheritance. After several years, Hester returns to her cottage and resumes wearing the scarlet letter. When she dies, she is buried near the grave of Dimmesdale, and they share a simple slate tombstone engraved with an escutcheondescribed as: "On a field, sable, the letter A, gules" ("A red letter A written on a black background").

Acquainted with the Night (ROBERT FROST)

The work takes the reader into the dark side of the human psyche. On the surface, it is a short, uninspiring journey on foot through the streets of a city at night. Delve a little deeper however and this poem reveals much more, in typical [THE AUTHOR] fashion. I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.

The Prince (Niccolò Machiavelli)

a 16th-century political treatise by an Italian diplomat and political theorist/[THE AUTHOR]. From his correspondence, a version appears to have been distributed in 1513, using a Latin title, De Principatibus. The author composed [THE TERM] as a practical guide for ruling (though some scholars argue that the book was intended as a satire and essentially a guide on how not to rule). This goal is evident from the very beginning, the dedication of the book to Lorenzo de' Medici, the ruler of Florence. [THE TERM] is not particularly theoretical or abstract; its prose is simple and its logic straightforward. These traits underscore Machiavelli's desire to provide practical, easily understandable advice. The first two chapters describe the book's scope. [THE TERM] is concerned with autocratic regimes, not with republican regimes. The first chapter defines the various types of principalities and princes; in doing so, it constructs an outline for the rest of the book. Chapter III comprehensively describes how to maintain composite principalities—that is, principalities that are newly created or annexed from another power, so that the prince is not familiar to the people he rules. Chapter III also introduces the book's main concerns—power politics, warcraft, and popular goodwill—in an encapsulated form. Chapters IV through XIV constitute the heart of the book. Machiavelli offers practical advice on a variety of matters, including the advantages and disadvantages that attend various routes to power, how to acquire and hold new states, how to deal with internal insurrection, how to make alliances, and how to maintain a strong military. Implicit in these chapters are Machiavelli's views regarding free will, human nature, and ethics, but these ideas do not manifest themselves explicitly as topics of discussion until later. Chapters XV to XXIII focus on the qualities of the prince himself. Broadly speaking, this discussion is guided by Machiavelli's underlying view that lofty ideals translate into bad government. This premise is especially true with respect to personal virtue. Certain virtues may be admired for their own sake, but for a prince to act in accordance with virtue is often detrimental to the state. Similarly, certain vices may be frowned upon, but vicious actions are sometimes indispensable to the good of the state. Machiavelli combines this line of reasoning with another: the theme that obtaining the goodwill of the populace is the best way to maintain power. Thus, the appearanceof virtue may be more important than true virtue, which may be seen as a liability. The final sections of The Prince link the book to a specific historical context: Italy's disunity. Machiavelli sets down his account and explanation of the failure of past Italian rulers and concludes with an impassioned plea to the future rulers of the nation. Machiavelli asserts the belief that only Lorenzo de' Medici, to whom the book is dedicated, can restore Italy's honor and pride.

Volpone (BEN JONSON)

a comedy play first produced in 1605-1606, drawing on elements of city comedy and beast fable. A merciless satire of greed and lust, it remains Jonson's most-performed play, and it is ranked among the finest Jacobean era comedies. Volpone (The Fox) is a Venetian gentleman who pretends to be on his deathbed after a long illness in order to dupe Voltore (The Vulture), Corbaccio (The Raven) and Corvino (The Crow), three men who aspire to inherit his fortune. In their turns, each man arrives to Volpone's house bearing a luxurious gift, intent upon having his name inscribed to the will of Volpone, as his heir. Mosca (The Fly), Volpone's parasite servant, encourages each man, Voltore, Corbaccio, and Corvino, to believe that he has been named heir to Volpone's fortune; in the course of which, Mosca persuades Corbaccio to disinherit his own son in favour of Volpone. To Volpone, Mosca mentions that Corvino has a beautiful wife, Celia. Disguised as Scoto the Mountebank, Volpone goes to see Celia. Corvino drives away "Scoto" (Volpone), who then becomes insistent that he must possess Celia as his own. Mosca deceives Corvino into believing that the moribund Volpone will be cured of his illness if he lies in bed beside a young woman. Believing that Volpone has been rendered impotent by his illness, Corvino offers his wife in order that, when he is revived, Volpone will recognise Corvino as his sole heir. Just before Corvino and Celia are due to arrive at Volpone's house, Corbaccio's son Bonario arrives to catch his father in the act of disinheriting him. Mosca guides Bonario to a sideroom, and Volpone and Celia are left alone. Upon failing to seduce Celia with fantastic promises of luxury and wealth, Volpone attempts to rape her. Bonario comes forward to rescue Celia. In the ensuing trial at court, the truth of the matter is well-buried by Voltore, using his prowess as a lawyer to convince the Avocatori, with false evidence given by Mosca, Volpone and the other dupes. There are episodes involving the English travellers Sir and Lady Politic Would-Be and Peregrine. Sir Politic constantly talks of plots and his outlandish business plans, while Lady Would-Be annoys Volpone with her ceaseless talking. Mosca co-ordinates a mix-up between them which leaves Peregrine, a more sophisticated traveller, feeling offended. He humiliates Sir Politick by telling him he is to be arrested for sedition and making him hide inside a giant tortoise shell. Volpone insists on disguising himself and having it announced that he has died and willed his wealth to Mosca, which enrages the would-be heirs Voltore, Corbaccio and Corvino, and everyone returns to court to dispute the will of Volpone, who becomes entangled in the circumstances of the plots that he and Mosca devised. Despite Volpone's pleas, Mosca refuses to relinquish his new role as a rich man. Volpone reveals himself and his deceits in order to topple the rich Mosca. In the event, Voltore, Corbaccio, Corvino, Mosca and Volpone himself finally are punished.

Bless Me, Ultima (Rudolfo Anaya)

a coming-of-age novel centering on Antonio Márez y Luna and his mentorship under his curandera and protector, Ultima. It has become the most widely read and critically acclaimed novel in the Chicano literary canon since its first publication in 1972. Set in the small town of Guadalupe, New Mexico just after World War II,[16] Antonio Márez y Luna (Tony) tells his story from the memories of his adult self, who reflects on his growing up. The novel opens as the protagonist, Antonio, approaches the age of seven when his family decides to house Ultima, an elderly curandera.[24] Ultima, known as "La Grande" in the Márez household, embodies the wisdom of her ancestors and carries the powers to heal, to confront evil, knowledge of how to use the power of nature and the ability to understand the relationship between the living and the spirits. Tony's parents both hold conflicting views about Tony's destiny and battle over his future path. In the first chapter Anaya establishes the roots of this struggle through Tony's dream—a flashback to the day of his birth. In his dream, Tony views the differences between his parents' familial backgrounds. His father's side, the Márez (descendents of the sea), are the restless vaqueros who roam the llanos and seek adventure. The Lunas, his mother's side, are the people of the moon, religious farmers whose destiny is to homestead and work the land. Each side of the family wants control of the newborn's future. His mother's dream is for him to become a Roman Catholic priest, his father's dream is to embark on a new adventure and move west to California with his sons to recapture the openness of the Llano he has foregone in moving to the town. As the two families argue over Antonio's destiny, Ultima, serving as the midwife, declares, "Only I will know his destiny."[25] Following an immediate bond with Ultima, Antonio learns of the many herbs and barks, which she uses in her ceremonies.Tony's progress in learning about life is grounded in Ultima, who is highly respected by his parents. However, one night Antonio witnesses the death of a man back from the war, which makes him question his religion and identity, and sparks his journey towards manhood. Antonio begins school in the fall, where he is portrayed as an excelling student, which greatly pleases his mother. Tony's First Communion experience leaves him disillusioned as he did not receive the spiritual knowledge he had expected. He begins to question the value of the Catholic Church, concentrated on the Virgin Mary and a Father God, and on ritual, as unable to answer his moral and metaphysical dilemmas. At the same time, realizing that the Church represents the female values of his mother, Tony cannot bring himself to accept the lawlessness, violence and unthinking sensuality which his father and older brothers symbolize. Instead through his relationship with Ultima, he discovers a oneness with nature.[26] Through his discovery that "All is One" he is able to resolve the major existential conflict in his life.One day, while socializing with his friends they tell him the story of the Golden Carp. Antonio also continues to be an example for the children, who praise his religious savant as they dress him as a priest while preparing for first communion. Antonio's admiration for Ultima strengthens as he continues to question his faith, hoping to understand once he takes communion for the first time.[27] When Antonio's Uncle Lucas falls ill, presumably due to a curse by Tenorio's three evil daughters, Antonio must come to grips with the opposition between good and evil. Ultima, in her role as protector, uses her knowledge of healing and magic to neutralize the evil witchcraft and, despite lacking priestly recognition, emerges as the only one who can cure him from death. In another traumatic death, Antonio witnesses the murder of Narciso, known as the town drunk, by Tenorio, a malicious saloon-keeper and barber in El Puerto. As a result, Antonio becomes ill and enters a dream-like state. Tenorio blames Ultima for the death of one of his daughters, claiming that his daughter passed because Ultima cursed her. Tenorio plots his revenge on Ultima throughout the duration of the novel. The determined Tenorio emerges in the final scenes as he chases Antonio back to the Màrez house, where Tenorio shoots Ultima's owl. Following the death of the owl, Ultima quickly follows and is accompanied by Antonio at her bedside as she dies. Before her death, she instructs Antonio to collect her medicines and herbs before destroying them by the river.[28] At the conclusion of the novel, Antonio reflects on the tension that he feels as he is pulled between his father's free, open landscape of the llano, and his mother's circumscribed river valley of the town. In addition, he reflects on the pull between Catholicism and the continuation of Ultima's spiritual legacy and concludes that he does not need to choose one over the other, but can bring both together to form a new identity and a new religion that is made up of both. Antonio says to his father: Take the llano and the river valley, the moon and the sea, God and the golden carp—and make something new... Papa, can a new religion be made?

Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

a dystopian novel, first published in 1953. It is regarded as one of his best works. The novel presents a future American society where books are outlawed and "firemen" burn any that are found. Guy Montag is a fireman who burns books in a futuristic American city. In Montag's world, firemen start fires rather than putting them out. The people in this society do not read books, enjoy nature, spend time by themselves, think independently, or have meaningful conversations. Instead, they drive very fast, watch excessive amounts of television on wall-size sets, and listen to the radio on "Seashell Radio" sets attached to their ears. Montag encounters a gentle seventeen-year-old girl named Clarisse McClellan, who opens his eyes to the emptiness of his life with her innocently penetrating questions and her unusual love of people and nature. Over the next few days, Montag experiences a series of disturbing events. First, his wife, Mildred, attempts suicide by swallowing a bottle of sleeping pills. Then, when he responds to an alarm that an old woman has a stash of hidden literature, the woman shocks him by choosing to be burned alive along with her books. A few days later, he hears that Clarisse has been killed by a speeding car. Montag's dissatisfaction with his life increases, and he begins to search for a solution in a stash of books that he has stolen from his own fires and hidden inside an air-conditioning vent. When Montag fails to show up for work, his fire chief, Beatty, pays a visit to his house. Beatty explains that it's normal for a fireman to go through a phase of wondering what books have to offer, and he delivers a dizzying monologue explaining how books came to be banned in the first place. According to Beatty, special-interest groups and other "minorities" objected to books that offended them. Soon, books all began to look the same, as writers tried to avoid offending anybody. This was not enough, however, and society as a whole decided to simply burn books rather than permit conflicting opinions. Beatty tells Montag to take twenty-four hours or so to see if his stolen books contain anything worthwhile and then turn them in for incineration. Montag begins a long and frenzied night of reading. Overwhelmed by the task of reading, Montag looks to his wife for help and support, but she prefers television to her husband's company and cannot understand why he would want to take the terrible risk of reading books. He remembers that he once met a retired English professor named Faber sitting in a park, and he decides that this man might be able to help him understand what he reads. He visits Faber, who tells him that the value of books lies in the detailed awareness of life that they contain. Faber says that Montag needs not only books but also the leisure to read them and the freedom to act upon their ideas. Faber agrees to help Montag with his reading, and they concoct a risky scheme to overthrow the status quo. Faber will contact a printer and begin reproducing books, and Montag will plant books in the homes of firemen to discredit the profession and to destroy the machinery of censorship. Faber gives him a two-way radio earpiece (the "green bullet") so that he can hear what Montag hears and talk to him secretly. Montag goes home, and soon two of his wife's friends arrive to watch television. The women discuss their families and the war that is about to be declared in an extremely frivolous manner. Their superficiality angers him, and he takes out a book of poetry and reads "Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold. Faber buzzes in his ear for him to be quiet, and Mildred tries to explain that the poetry reading is a standard way for firemen to demonstrate the uselessness of literature. The women are extremely disturbed by the poem and leave to file a complaint against Montag. Montag goes to the fire station and hands over one of his books to Beatty. Beatty confuses Montag by barraging him with contradictory quotations from great books. Beatty exploits these contradictions to show that literature is morbid and dangerously complex, and that it deserves incineration. Suddenly, the alarm sounds, and they rush off to answer the call, only to find that the alarm is at Montag's own house. Mildred gets into a cab with her suitcase, and Montag realizes that his own wife has betrayed him. Beatty forces Montag to burn the house himself; when he is done, Beatty places him under arrest. When Beatty continues to berate Montag, Montag turns the flamethrower on his superior and proceeds to burn him to ashes. Montag knocks the other firemen unconscious and runs. The Mechanical Hound, a monstrous machine that Beatty has set to attack Montag, pounces and injects Montag's leg with a large dose of anesthetic. Montag manages to destroy it with his flamethrower; then he walks off the numbness in his leg and escapes with some books that were hidden in his backyard. He hides these in another fireman's house and calls in an alarm from a pay phone. Montag goes to Faber's house, where he learns that a new Hound has been put on his trail, along with several helicopters and a television crew. Faber tells Montag that he is leaving for St. Louis to see a retired printer who may be able to help them. Montag gives Faber some money and tells him how to remove Montag's scent from his house so the Hound will not enter it. Montag then takes some of Faber's old clothes and runs off toward the river. The whole city watches as the chase unfolds on TV, but Montag manages to escape in the river and change into Faber's clothes to disguise his scent. He drifts downstream into the country and follows a set of abandoned railroad tracks until he finds a group of renegade intellectuals ("the Book People"), led by a man named Granger, who welcome him. They are a part of a nationwide network of book lovers who have memorized many great works of literature and philosophy. They hope that they may be of some help to mankind in the aftermath of the war that has just been declared. Montag's role is to memorize the Book of Ecclesiastes. Enemy jets appear in the sky and completely obliterate the city with bombs. Montag and his new friends move on to search for survivors and rebuild civilization.

Black Boy (Richard Wright)

a memoir by a black American author that details his upbringing. Wright describes his youth in the South: Mississippi, Arkansas and Tennessee, and his eventual move to Chicago, where he establishes his writing career and becomes involved with the Communist Party. Required to remain quiet while his grandmother lies ill in bed, four-year-old the author becomes bored and begins playing with fire near the curtains, leading to his accidentally burning down the family home in Natchez, Mississippi. In fear, the author hides under the burning house. His father, Nathan, retrieves him from his hiding place. Then, his mother, Ella, beats him so severely that he loses consciousness and falls ill. Nathan abandons the family to live with another woman while Richard and his brother, Alan, are still very young. Without Nathan's financial support, the Wrights fall into poverty and perpetual hunger. Richard closely associates his family's hardship—and particularly their hunger—with his father and therefore grows bitter toward him. For the next few years, Ella struggles to raise her children in Memphis, Tennessee. Her long hours of work leave her little time to supervise Richard and his brother. Not surprisingly, Richard gets into all sorts of trouble, spying on people in outhouses and becoming a regular at the local saloon—and an alcoholic—by the age of six. Ella's worsening health prevents her from raising two children by herself and often leaves her unable to work. During these times, Richard does whatever odd jobs a child can do to bring in some money for the family. School is hardly an option for him. At one point, the family's troubles are so severe that Ella must place her children in an orphanage for a few weeks. Life improves when Ella moves to Elaine, Arkansas, to live with her sister, Maggie, and her sister's husband, Hoskins. Hoskins runs a successful saloon, so there is always plenty of food to eat, a condition that Richard greatly appreciates but to which he cannot accustom himself. Soon, however, white jealousy of Hoskins's business success reaches a peak, as local white men kill Hoskins and threaten the rest of his family. Ella and Maggie flee with the two boys to West Helena, Arkansas. There, the two sisters' combined wages make life easier than it had been in Memphis. After only a short time, however, Maggie flees to Detroit with her lover, Professor Matthews, leaving Ella the sole support of the family. Hard economic times return. Times become even harder when a paralytic stroke severely incapacitates Ella. Richard's grandmother brings Ella, Richard, and Alan to her home in Jackson, Mississippi. Ella's numerous siblings convene in Jackson to decide how to care for their ailing sister and her two boys. The aunts and uncles decide that Alan, Richard's brother, will live with Maggie in Detroit. Ella will remain at home in Jackson. Richard, given the freedom to choose which aunt or uncle to live with, decides to take up residence with Uncle Clark, as Clark lives in Greenwood, Mississippi, not far from Jackson. Soon after he arrives at Clark's house, Richard learns from a neighbor that a young boy had died years ago in the same bedroom Richard now occupies. Too terrified to sleep, Richard successfully pleads to be returned to his grandmother's home. Back at Granny's, Richard once again faces the familiar problem of hunger. He also faces a new problem: Granny's incredibly strict religious regimen. Granny, a Seventh-Day Adventist, sees her strong-willed, dreamy, and bookish grandson as terribly sinful, and she struggles mightily to reform him. Another of Richard's aunts, Addie, soon joins the struggle against Richard's defiance. Richard's obsession with reading and his lack of interest in religion make his home life an endless conflict. Granny forces him to attend the religious school where Aunt Addie teaches. One day in class, Aunt Addie beats Richard for eating walnuts, though it was actually the student sitting in front of Richard who had been eating the nuts, not Richard. When Addie tries to beat Richard again after school that day, he fends her off with a knife. Similar scenes recur with frustrating frequency over the following months and years. One time, Richard dodges one of Granny's backhand slaps, causing her to lose her balance and injure herself in a fall off the porch. Addie tries to beat Richard for this incident, but he again fends her off with a knife. Later, another of Richard's uncles, Tom, comes to live with the family. One morning, Tom asks Richard what time it is and thinks Richard responds in a sassy manner. He tries to beat Richard for his supposed insolence, but the boy fends him off with razor blades. Meanwhile, Richard picks his way through school. He delights in his studies—particularly reading and writing—despite a home climate hostile to such pursuits. To the bafflement and scorn of everyone, he writes and publishes in a local black newspaper a story titled "The Voodoo of Hell's Half-Acre." He graduates from the ninth grade as valedictorian, giving his own speech despite the insistence of his principal, friends, and family that he give a school-sanctioned speech to appease the white audience. As Richard enters the adult working world in Jackson, he suffers many frightening, often violent encounters with racism. In the most demoralizing of these encounters, two white Southerners, Pease and Reynolds, run Richard off his job at an optical shop, claiming that such skilled work is not meant for blacks. Richard is upset because the white Northerner who runs the company, Mr. Crane, has hired Richard specifically for the purpose of teaching a black man the optical trade, but then does little to actually help defend Richard against his racist employees. As his despair grows, Richard resolves to leave for the North as soon as possible. He becomes willing to steal in order to raise the cash necessary for the trip. After swindling his boss at a movie theater, selling stolen fruit preserves, and pawning a stolen gun, Richard moves to Memphis, where the atmosphere is safer and where he can make his final preparations to move to Chicago. In Memphis, Richard has the seeming good fortune of finding a kind, generous landlady, Mrs. Moss, who determines that he must marry her daughter, Bess. Richard does not take to Bess, so his living situation is awkward until Mrs. Moss comes to terms with the fact that her daughter will never be Richard's wife. Richard takes a job at another optical shop, where Olin, a seemingly benevolent white coworker, plays mind games with Richard and Harrison, another young black worker, in an attempt to get them to kill each other. These strategies culminate in a grotesque boxing match between Richard and Harrison. Another white coworker in the optical shop, Falk, is genuinely benevolent and lets Richard use his library card to check out books that otherwise would be unavailable to him. Richard begins reading obsessively and grows more determined to write. His mother, brother, and Maggie soon join him in Memphis. They all decide that Richard and Maggie will go to Chicago immediately and that the other two will follow in a few months. In Chicago, Richard continues to struggle with racism, segregation, poverty, and with his own need to cut corners and lie to protect himself and get ahead. He suppresses his own morals, forcing himself to work at a corrupt insurance agency that takes advantage of poor blacks. He also works in a café and for a couple of well-meaning Jewish storeowners, the Hoffmans, in a whites-only neighborhood. Irresponsibly, Richard soon quits to try to get a job in the post office. As the Great Depression forces him and millions of others out of work, Richard begins to find Communism appealing, especially its emphasis on protecting the oppressed. He becomes a Communist Party member because he thinks that he can help the Party cause with his writing, finding the language that can promote the Party's cause to common people. Meanwhile, Richard works various jobs through federal relief programs. When he begins writing for leftist publications, he takes positions with federal theater companies and with the Federal Writers' Project. To his mounting dismay, he finds that, like any other group, the Communist Party is beset with human fears and foibles that constantly frustrate its own ends. Richard's desire to write biographical sketches of Communists and his tendency to criticize Party pronouncements earn him distrust, along with the titles "intellectual" and "Trotskyite." After a great deal of political strife and slander that culminates in his being physically assaulted during a May Day parade, Richard leaves the Party. Unfazed by the failure of his high hopes, he remains determined to make writing his link to the world.

Tess of the d'Urbervilles (Thomas Hardy)

a novel It initially appeared in a censored and serialized version, published by the British illustrated newspaper The Graphic in 1891,[1]then in book form in three volumes in 1891, and as a single volume in 1892. Though now considered a major nineteenth-century English novel and possibly Hardy's fictional masterpiece,[2] Tess of the d'Urbervillesreceived mixed reviews when it first appeared, in part because it challenged the sexual morals of late Victorian England. The poor peddler John Durbeyfield is stunned to learn that he is the descendent of an ancient noble family, the d'Urbervilles. Meanwhile, Tess, his eldest daughter, joins the other village girls in the May Day dance, where Tess briefly exchanges glances with a young man. Mr. Durbeyfield and his wife decide to send Tess to the d'Urberville mansion, where they hope Mrs. d'Urberville will make Tess's fortune. In reality, Mrs. d'Urberville is no relation to Tess at all: her husband, the merchant Simon Stokes, simply changed his name to d'Urberville after he retired. But Tess does not know this fact, and when the lascivious Alec d'Urberville, Mrs. d'Urberville's son, procures Tess a job tending fowls on the d'Urberville estate, Tess has no choice but to accept, since she blames herself for an accident involving the family's horse, its only means of income. Tess spends several months at this job, resisting Alec's attempts to seduce her. Finally, Alec takes advantage of her in the woods one night after a fair. Tess knows she does not love Alec. She returns home to her family to give birth to Alec's child, whom she christens Sorrow. Sorrow dies soon after he is born, and Tess spends a miserable year at home before deciding to seek work elsewhere. She finally accepts a job as a milkmaid at the Talbothays Dairy. At Talbothays, Tess enjoys a period of contentment and happiness. She befriends three of her fellow milkmaids—Izz, Retty, and Marian—and meets a man named Angel Clare, who turns out to be the man from the May Day dance at the beginning of the novel. Tess and Angel slowly fall in love. They grow closer throughout Tess's time at Talbothays, and she eventually accepts his proposal of marriage. Still, she is troubled by pangs of conscience and feels she should tell Angel about her past. She writes him a confessional note and slips it under his door, but it slides under the carpet and Angel never sees it. After their wedding, Angel and Tess both confess indiscretions: Angel tells Tess about an affair he had with an older woman in London, and Tess tells Angel about her history with Alec. Tess forgives Angel, but Angel cannot forgive Tess. He gives her some money and boards a ship bound for Brazil, where he thinks he might establish a farm. He tells Tess he will try to accept her past but warns her not to try to join him until he comes for her. Tess struggles. She has a difficult time finding work and is forced to take a job at an unpleasant and unprosperous farm. She tries to visit Angel's family but overhears his brothers discussing Angel's poor marriage, so she leaves. She hears a wandering preacher speak and is stunned to discover that he is Alec d'Urberville, who has been converted to Christianity by Angel's father, the Reverend Clare. Alec and Tess are each shaken by their encounter, and Alec appallingly begs Tess never to tempt him again. Soon after, however, he again begs Tess to marry him, having turned his back on his -religious ways. Tess learns from her sister Liza-Lu that her mother is near death, and Tess is forced to return home to take care of her. Her mother recovers, but her father unexpectedly dies soon after. When the family is evicted from their home, Alec offers help. But Tess refuses to accept, knowing he only wants to obligate her to him again. At last, Angel decides to forgive his wife. He leaves Brazil, desperate to find her. Instead, he finds her mother, who tells him Tess has gone to a village called Sandbourne. There, he finds Tess in an expensive boardinghouse called The Herons, where he tells her he has forgiven her and begs her to take him back. Tess tells him he has come too late. She was unable to resist and went back to Alec d'Urberville. Angel leaves in a daze, and, heartbroken to the point of madness, Tess goes upstairs and stabs her lover to death. When the landlady finds Alec's body, she raises an alarm, but Tess has already fled to find Angel. Angel agrees to help Tess, though he cannot quite believe that she has actually murdered Alec. They hide out in an empty mansion for a few days, then travel farther. When they come to Stonehenge, Tess goes to sleep, but when morning breaks shortly thereafter, a search party discovers them. Tess is arrested and sent to jail. Angel and Liza-Lu watch as a black flag is raised over the prison, signaling Tess's execution.

Common Sense (Thomas Paine)

a pamphlet written in 1775-76 advocating independence from Great Britain to people in the Thirteen Colonies. Writing in clear and persuasive prose, Paine marshaled moral and political arguments to encourage common people in the Colonies to fight for egalitarian government. The author's brilliant arguments were straightforward. He argued for two main points: (1) independence from England and (2) the creation of a democratic republic. I. Of the Origin and Design of Government in General, With Concise Remarks on the English Constitution In his first section, he related common Enlightenment theories of the state of nature, in order to establish a foundation for republican government. He began this section by making a distinction between society and government, arguing that government is a "necessary evil." He illustrated the power of society to create and maintain happiness in man through the example of a few isolated people that find it easier to live together rather than apart, creating society. As society continues to grow, a government becomes necessary to prevent the natural evil he saw in man. In order to promote civil society through laws and account for the impossibility of all people meeting centrally to make laws, representation and therefore elections become necessary. As this model was clearly intended to mirror the situation of the colonists at the time of publication, Paine went on to consider the Constitution of the United Kingdom. Paine found two tyrannies in the English constitution; monarchical and aristocratic tyranny, in the king and peers, who rule by heredity and contribute nothing to the people. Paine criticized the English constitution by examining the relationship between the king, the peers, and the commons. II. Of Monarchy and Hereditary Succession In the second section Paine considers monarchy first from a biblical perspective, then from a historical perspective. He begins by arguing that all men are equal at creation and, therefore, the distinction between kings and subjects is a false one. Paine then examines some of the problems that kings and monarchies have caused in the past and concludes: In England a king hath little more to do than to make war and give away places; which in plain terms, is to impoverish the nation and set it together by the ears. A pretty business indeed for a man to be allowed eight hundred thousand sterling a year for, and worshipped into the bargain! Of more worth is one honest man to society and in the sight of God, than all the crowned ruffians that ever lived. — Thomas Paine[20] In this section, Paine also attacks one type of "mixed state" - the constitutional monarchypromoted by John Locke in which the powers of government are separated between a Parliament or Congress that makes the laws, and a monarch who executes them. The constitutional monarchy, according to Locke, would limit the powers of the king sufficiently to ensure that the realm would remain lawful rather than easily becoming tyrannical. According to Paine, however, such limits are insufficient. In the mixed state, power will tend to concentrate into the hands of the monarch, permitting him eventually to transcend any limitations placed upon him. Paine questions why the supporters of the mixed state, since they concede that the power of the monarch is dangerous, wish to include a monarch in their scheme of government in the first place. III. Thoughts on the Present State of American Affairs Constitution of the United States as proposed by Thomas Paine in Common Sense In the third section Paine examines the hostilities between England and the American colonies and argues that the best course of action is independence. Paine proposes a Continental Charter (or Charter of the United Colonies) that would be an American Magna Carta. Paine writes that a Continental Charter "should come from some intermediate body between the Congress and the people" and outlines a Continental Conference that could draft a Continental Charter.[21] Each colony would hold elections for five representatives. These five would be accompanied by two members of the assembly of colonies, for a total of seven representatives from each colony in the Continental Conference. The Continental Conference would then meet and draft a Continental Charter that would secure "freedom and property to all men, and... the free exercise of religion".[21] The Continental Charter would also outline a new national government, which Paine thought would take the form of a Congress. Paine suggested that a congress may be created in the following way: each colony should be divided in districts; each district would "send a proper number of delegates to Congress".[21] Paine thought that each colony should send at least 30 delegates to Congress, and that the total number of delegates in Congress should be at least 390. The Congress would meet annually, and elect a president. Each colony would be put into a lottery; the president would be elected, by the whole congress, from the delegation of the colony that was selected in the lottery. After a colony was selected, it would be removed from subsequent lotteries until all of the colonies had been selected, at which point the lottery would start anew. Electing a president or passing a law would require three-fifths of the congress. IV. On the Present Ability of America, With Some Miscellaneous Reflections The fourth section of the pamphlet includes Paine's optimistic view of America's military potential at the time of the revolution. For example, he spends pages describing how colonial shipyards, by using the large amounts of lumber available in the country, could quickly create a navy that could rival the Royal Navy.

The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)

an adventure novel completed in 1844. It is one of the author's more popular works, along with The Three Musketeers. Like many of his novels, it was expanded from plot outlines suggested by his collaborating ghostwriter Auguste Maquet. At the age of nineteen, Edmond Dantès seems to have the perfect life. He is about to become the captain of a ship, he is engaged to a beautiful and kind young woman, Mercédès, and he is well liked by almost everyone who knows him. This perfect life, however, stirs up dangerous jealousy among some of Dantès's so-called friends. Danglars, the treasurer of Dantès's ship, envies Dantès's early career success; Fernand Mondego is in love with Dantès's fiancée and so covets his amorous success; his neighbor Caderousse is simply envious that Dantès is so much luckier in life than he is. Together, these three men draft a letter accusing Dantès of treason. There is some truth to their accusations: as a favor to his recently deceased captain, Dantès is carrying a letter from Napoleon to a group of Bonapartist sympathizers in Paris. Though Dantès himself has no political leanings, the undertaking is enough to implicate him for treason. On the day of his wedding, Dantès is arrested for his alleged crimes. The deputy public prosecutor, Villefort, sees through the plot to frame Dantès and is prepared to set him free. At the last moment, though, Dantès jeopardizes his freedom by revealing the name of the man to whom he is supposed to deliver Napoleon's letter. The man, Noirtier, is Villefort's father. Terrified that any public knowledge of his father's treasonous activities will thwart his own ambitions, Villefort decides to send Dantès to prison for life. Despite the entreaties of Monsieur Morrel, Dantès's kind and honest boss, Dantès is sent to the infamous Château d'If, where the most dangerous political prisoners are kept. While in prison, Dantès meets Abbé Faria, an Italian priest and intellectual, who has been jailed for his political views. Faria teaches Dantès history, science, philosophy, and languages, turning him into a well-educated man. Faria also bequeaths to Dantès a large treasure hidden on the island of Monte Cristo, and he tells him how to find it should he ever escape. When Faria dies, Dantès hides himself in the abbé's shroud, thinking that he will be buried and then dig his way out. Instead, Dantès is thrown into the sea, and is able to cut himself loose and swim to freedom. Dantès travels to Monte Cristo and finds Faria's enormous treasure. He considers his fortune a gift from God, given to him for the sole purpose of rewarding those who have tried to help him and, more important, punishing those who have hurt him. Disguising himself as an Italian priest who answers to the name of Abbé Busoni, he travels back to Marseilles and visits Caderousse, who is now struggling to make a living as an innkeeper. From Caderousse he learns the details of the plot to frame him. In addition, Dantès learns that his father has died of grief in his absence and that Mercédès has married Fernand Mondego. Most frustrating, he learns that both Danglars and Mondego have become rich and powerful and are living happily in Paris. As a reward for this information, and for Caderousse's apparent regret over the part he played in Dantès's downfall, Dantès gives Caderousse a valuable diamond. Before leaving Marseilles, Dantès anonymously saves Morrel from financial ruin. Ten years later, Dantès emerges in Rome, calling himself the Count of Monte Cristo. He seems to be all knowing and unstoppable. In Rome Dantès ingratiates himself to Albert de Morcerf, son of Fernand Mondego and Mercédès, by saving him from bandits. In return for the favor, Albert introduces Dantès to Parisian society. None of his old cohorts recognize the mysterious count as Edmond Dantès, though Mercédès does. Dantès is thus able to insinuate himself effortlessly into the lives of Danglars, Mondego, and Villefort. Armed with damning knowledge about each of them that he has gathered over the past decade, Dantès sets an elaborate scheme of revenge into motion. Mondego, now known as the Count de Morcerf, is the first to be punished. Dantès exposes Morcerf's darkest secret: Morcerf made his fortune by betraying his former patron, the Greek vizier Ali Pacha, and he then sold Ali Pacha's wife and daughter into slavery. Ali Pacha's daughter, Haydée, who has lived with Dantès ever since he bought her freedom seven years earlier, testifies against Morcerf in front of the senate, irreversibly ruining his good name. Ashamed by Morcerf's treachery, Albert and Mercédès flee, leaving their tainted fortune behind. Morcerf commits suicide. Villefort's punishment comes slowly and in several stages. Dantès first takes advantage of Madame de Villefort's murderous intent, subtly tutoring her in the uses of poison. As Madame de Villefort wreaks her havoc, killing off each member of the household in turn, Dantès plants the seeds for yet another public exposé. In court, it is revealed that Villefort is guilty of attempted infanticide, as he tried to bury his illegitimate baby while it was still alive. Believing that everyone he loves is dead and knowing that he will soon have to answer severe criminal charges, Villefort goes insane. For his revenge on Danglars, Dantès simply plays upon his enemy's greed. He opens various false credit accounts with Danglars that cost him vast amounts of money. He also manipulates Danglars's unfaithful and dishonest wife, costing Danglars more money, and helps Danglars's daughter, Eugénie, run away with her female companion. Finally, when Danglars is nearly broke and about to flee without paying any of his creditors, Dantès has the Italian bandit Luigi Vampa kidnap him and relieve him of his remaining money. Dantès spares Danglars's life, but leaves him penniless. Meanwhile, as these acts of vengeance play out, Dantès also tries to complete one more act of goodness. Dantès wishes to help the brave and honorable Maximilian Morrel, the son of the kind shipowner, so he hatches an elaborate plot to save Maximilian's fiancée, Valentine Villefort, from her murderous stepmother, to ensure that the couple will be truly happy forever. Dantès gives Valentine a pill that makes her appear dead and then carries her off to the island of Monte Cristo. For a month Dantès allows Maximilian to believe that Valentine is dead, which causes Maximilian to long for death himself. Dantès then reveals that Valentine is alive. Having known the depths of despair, Maximilian is now able to experience the heights of ecstasy. Dantès too ultimately finds happiness, when he allows himself to fall in love with the adoring and beautiful Haydée.

A Plea for Captain John Brown (Henry David Thoreau)

an essay that is based on a speech the author first delivered to an audience at Concord, Massachusetts on October 30, 1859, two weeks after John Brown's raid on Harpers Ferry, and repeated several times before Brown's execution on December 2, 1859. The author's essay espoused John Brown and his fight for abolition. In opposition with popular opinion of the time - the author vehemently refuted the claims of newspapersand his fellow countrymen who characterized Brown as foolish and insane - he painted a portrait of a peerless man whose embrace of a cause was unparalleled. Brown's commitment to justice and adherence to the United States Constitution forced him to fight state-sponsored injustice, one he was only affected by in spirit. A unique man, he proclaimed in admiration, Brown was highly moral and humane. Independent, "under the auspices of John Brown and nobody else", and direct of speech, Brown instilled fear, which he attributed to a lack of cause, into large groups of men who supported slavery. Incomparable to man, Thoreau likens Brown's execution - he states that he regards Brown as dead before his actual death - to Christ's crucifixion at the hands of Pontius Pilate, with whom he compares the American government. Thoreau vents at the scores of Americans who have voiced their displeasure and scorn for John Brown. The same people, Thoreau says, can't relate to Brown because of their concrete stances and "dead" existences; they are truly not living, only a handful of men have lived. Thoreau also criticizes contemporary Christians, who say their prayers and then go to sleep aware of injustice but doing nothing to change it. Similarly, Thoreau states those who believe Brown threw his life away and died as a fool, are themselves fools. Brown gave his life for justice, not for material gains, and was completely sane, perhaps more so than any other human being. Rebutting the arguments based on the small number of rebels, Thoreau responds "when were the good and the brave ever in a majority?" Thoreau also points out the irony of The Liberator, an abolitionist newspaper, labeling Brown's actions as misguided.

Civil Disobedience (Henry David Thoreau)

an essay that was first published in 1849. In it, the author argues that individuals should not permit governments to overrule or atrophy their consciences, and that they have a duty to avoid allowing such acquiescence to enable the government to make them the agents of injustice. He was motivated in part by his disgust with slavery and the Mexican-American War (1846-1848). The author asserts that because governments are typically more harmful than helpful, they therefore cannot be justified. Democracy is no cure for this, as majorities simply by virtue of being majorities do not also gain the virtues of wisdom and justice. The judgment of an individual's conscience is not necessarily inferior to the decisions of a political body or majority, and so "[i]t is not desirable to cultivate a respect for the law, so much as for the right. The only obligation which I have a right to assume is to do at any time what I think right.... Law never made men a whit more just; and, by means of their respect for it, even the well-disposed are daily made the agents of injustice."[6] He adds, "I cannot for an instant recognize as my government [that] which is the slave's government also."[7] The government, according to the author, is not just a little corrupt or unjust in the course of doing its otherwise-important work, but in fact the government is primarily an agent of corruption and injustice. Because of this, it is "not too soon for honest men to rebel and revolutionize".[8] Political philosophers have counseled caution about revolution because the upheaval of revolution typically causes a lot of expense and suffering. Thoreau contends that such a cost/benefit analysis is inappropriate when the government is actively facilitating an injustice as extreme as slavery. Such a fundamental immorality justifies any difficulty or expense to bring it to an end. "This people must cease to hold slaves, and to make war on Mexico, though it cost them their existence as a people."[9] Thoreau tells his audience that they cannot blame this problem solely on pro-slavery Southern politicians, but must put the blame on those in, for instance, Massachusetts, "who are more interested in commerce and agriculture than they are in humanity, and are not prepared to do justice to the slave and to Mexico, cost what it may... There are thousands who are in opinion opposed to slavery and to the war, who yet in effect do nothing to put an end to them."[10] (See also: Thoreau's Slavery in Massachusetts which also advances this argument.) He exhorts people not to just wait passively for an opportunity to vote for justice, because voting for justice is as ineffective as wishingfor justice; what you need to do is to actually be just. This is not to say that you have an obligation to devote your life to fighting for justice, but you do have an obligation not to commit injustice and not to give injustice your practical support. Paying taxes is one way in which otherwise well-meaning people collaborate in injustice. People who proclaim that the war in Mexico is wrong and that it is wrong to enforce slavery contradict themselves if they fund both things by paying taxes. Thoreau points out that the same people who applaud soldiers for refusing to fight an unjust war are not themselves willing to refuse to fund the government that started the war. In a constitutional republic like the United States, people often think that the proper response to an unjust law is to try to use the political process to change the law, but to obey and respect the law until it is changed. But if the law is itself clearly unjust, and the lawmaking process is not designed to quickly obliterate such unjust laws, then Thoreau says the law deserves no respect and it should be broken. In the case of the United States, the Constitution itself enshrines the institution of slavery, and therefore falls under this condemnation. Abolitionists, in Thoreau's opinion, should completely withdraw their support of the government and stop paying taxes, even if this means courting imprisonment, or even violence. Under a government which imprisons any unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison.... where the State places those who are not with her, but against her,—the only house in a slave State in which a free man can abide with honor.... Cast your whole vote, not a strip of paper merely, but your whole influence. A minority is powerless while it conforms to the majority; it is not even a minority then; but it is irresistible when it clogs by its whole weight. If the alternative is to keep all just men in prison, or give up war and slavery, the State will not hesitate which to choose. If a thousand men were not to pay their tax bills this year, that would not be a violent and bloody measure, as it would be to pay them, and enable the State to commit violence and shed innocent blood. This is, in fact, the definition of a peaceable revolution, if any such is possible. [...] But even suppose blood should flow. Is there not a sort of blood shed when the conscience is wounded? Through this wound a man's real manhood and immortality flow out, and he bleeds to an everlasting death. I see this blood flowing now.[11] Because the government will retaliate, Thoreau says he prefers living simply because he therefore has less to lose. "I can afford to refuse allegiance to Massachusetts.... It costs me less in every sense to incur the penalty of disobedience to the State than it would to obey. I should feel as if I were worth less in that case."[12] He was briefly imprisoned for refusing to pay the poll tax, but even in jail felt freer than the people outside. He considered it an interesting experience and came out of it with a new perspective on his relationship to the government and its citizens. (He was released the next day when "someone interfered, and paid that tax".)[13] Thoreau said he was willing to pay the highway tax, which went to pay for something of benefit to his neighbors, but that he was opposed to taxes that went to support the government itself—even if he could not tell if his particular contribution would eventually be spent on an unjust project or a beneficial one. "I simply wish to refuse allegiance to the State, to withdraw and stand aloof from it effectually."[14] Because government is man-made, not an element of nature or an act of God, Thoreau hoped that its makers could be reasoned with. As governments go, he felt, the U.S. government, with all its faults, was not the worst and even had some admirable qualities. But he felt we could and should insist on better. "The progress from an absolute to a limited monarchy, from a limited monarchy to a democracy, is a progress toward a true respect for the individual.... Is a democracy, such as we know it, the last improvement possible in government? Is it not possible to take a step further towards recognizing and organizing the rights of man? There will never be a really free and enlightened State until the State comes to recognize the individual as a higher and independent power, from which all its own power and authority are derived, and treats him accordingly."[15] An aphorism often erroneously attributed to Thomas Jefferson,[16] "That government is best which governs least...", was actually found in Thoreau's Civil Disobedience.Thoreau was apparently paraphrasing the motto of The United States Magazine and Democratic Review: "The best government is that which governs least"[17] which might also be inspired from the 17th verse of the Tao Te Ching by Laozi: "The best rulers are scarcely known by their subjects."[18] Thoreau expanded it significantly: I heartily accept the motto,—"That government is best which governs least;" and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which I also believe,—"That government is best which governs not at all;" and when men are prepared for it, that will be the kind of government which they will have. Government is at best but an expedient; but most governments are usually, and all governments are sometimes, inexpedient.

The Road Not Taken (ROBERT FROST)

human beings are confronted with and defined by the choices they make. The main idea of the poem is that the speaker is confronted with this fork in the road and must make a choice as to which road to take. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

On Miracles [SECTION TITLE] (David Hume)

is the title of Section X of the author's An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding (1748). The author starts by telling the reader that he believes that he has "discovered an argument [...] which, if just, will, with the wise and learned, be an everlasting check to all kinds of superstitious delusion".[3] The author first explains the principle of evidence: the only way that we can judge between two empirical claims is by weighing the evidence. The degree to which we believe one claim over another is proportional to the degree by which the evidence for one outweighs the evidence for the other. The weight of evidence is a function of such factors as the reliability, manner, and number of witnesses. Now, a miracle is defined as: "a transgression of a law of nature by a particular volition of the Deity, or by the interposition of some invisible agent."[4] Laws of nature, however, are established by "a firm and unalterable experience";[5] they rest upon the exceptionless testimony of countless people in different places and times. Nothing is esteemed a miracle, if it ever happen in the common course of nature. It is no miracle that a man, seemingly in good health, should die on a sudden: because such a kind of death, though more unusual than any other, has yet been frequently observed to happen. But it is a miracle, that a dead man should come to life; because that has never been observed in any age or country.[6] As the evidence for a miracle is always limited, as miracles are single events, occurring at particular times and places, the evidence for the miracle will always be outweighed by the evidence against - the evidence for the law of which the miracle is supposed to be a transgression. There are, however, two ways in which this argument might be neutralised. First, if the number of witnesses of the miracle be greater than the number of witnesses of the operation of the law, and secondly, if a witness be 100% reliable (for then no amount of contrary testimony will be enough to outweigh that person's account). Hume therefore lays out, in the second part of section X, a number of reasons that we have for never holding this condition to have been met. He first claims that no miracle has in fact had enough witnesses of sufficient honesty, intelligence, and education. He goes on to list the ways in which human beings lack complete reliability: People are very prone to accept the unusual and incredible, which excite agreeable passions of surprise and wonder. Those with strong religious beliefs are often prepared to give evidence that they know is false, "with the best intentions in the world, for the sake of promoting so holy a cause".[7] People are often too credulous when faced with such witnesses, whose apparent honesty and eloquence (together with the psychological effects of the marvellous described earlier) may overcome normal scepticism. Miracle stories tend to have their origins in "ignorant and barbarous nations"[8] - either elsewhere in the world or in a civilised nation's past. The history of every culture displays a pattern of development from a wealth of supernatural events - "[p]rodigies, omens, oracles, judgements"[6] - which steadily decreases over time, as the culture grows in knowledge and understanding of the world. Hume ends with an argument that is relevant to what has gone before, but which introduces a new theme: the argument from miracles. He points out that many different religions have their own miracle stories. Given that there is no reason to accept some of them but not others (aside from a prejudice in favour of one religion), then we must hold all religions to have been proved true - but given the fact that religions contradict each other, this cannot be the case.

Washington Square (Henry James)

A short novel a structurally simple tragicomedy that recounts the conflict between a dull but sweet daughter and her brilliant, unemotional father. The plot of the novel is based upon a true story told to James by his close friend, British actress Fanny Kemble. The bitterest irony in the story is that Dr. Sloper, a brilliant and successful physician, is exactly right about Morris Townsend, and yet he is cruel to his defenceless and loving daughter. If the doctor had been incorrect in his appraisal of the worthless Townsend, he would be only a stock villain. As it is, the doctor's head functions perfectly but his heart has grown cold after the death of his beautiful and gifted wife. Catherine gradually grows throughout the story, ultimately gaining the ability to judge her situation accurately. As James puts it: "From her point of view the great facts of her career were that Morris Townsend had trifled with her affection, and that her father had broken its spring. Nothing could ever alter these facts; they were always there, like her name, her age, her plain face. Nothing could ever undo the wrong or cure the pain that Morris had inflicted on her, and nothing could ever make her feel towards her father as she felt in her younger years." Catherine will never be brilliant, but she learns to be clear-sighted.

Dust of Snow (ROBERT FROST)

The message given by the author is a positive change can take place through negativity also. The little things can bring big changes in life. A simple act of kindness done can inspire others with enthusiasm and may bring a huge change in their lives. Apr 9, 2016 The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued.

Upon Julia's Clothes (ROBERT HERRICK)

Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes. Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!

On The Nature of the Gods (Cicero)

a philosophical dialogue by a Roman orator, written in 45 BC. It is laid out in three books, each of which discusses the theology of different Roman and Greek philosophers. The dialogue uses a discussion of Epicurean, Stoic, and skeptical theories to examine fundamental questions of theology. The dialogue is on the whole narrated by the author himself, though he does not play an active part in the discussion. Gaius Velleius represents the Epicurean school, Quintus Lucilius Balbus argues for the Stoics, and Gaius Cotta speaks for Cicero's own Academic skepticism. The first book of the dialogue contains the author's introduction, Velleius' case for the Epicurean theology and Cotta's criticism of Epicureanism. Book II focuses on Balbus' explanation and defense of Stoic theology. Book III lays out Cotta's criticism of Balbus' claims. The author's conclusions are ambivalent and muted, "a strategy of civilized openness";[6] he does, however, conclude that Balbus' claims, in his mind, more nearly approximate the truth (3.95). Book 1Edit In Book 1 Cicero visits the house of Cotta the Pontifex Maximus, where he finds Cotta with Velleius - a Senator and Epicurean, and Balbus supporter of the Stoics. Cotta himself is an Academic, and he informs Cicero that they were discoursing on the nature of the gods. Velleius had been stating the sentiments of Epicurus upon the subject.[7]Velleius is requested to go on with his arguments after recapitulating what he had already said.[7] The discourse of Velleius consists of three parts: a general attack on Platonist and Stoic cosmology; a historical review of the earlier philosophers; and an exposition of Epicurean theology.[8] Velleius raises the difficulty of supposing the creation of the universe to have taken place at a particular period of time, and questions the possible motive of a God in undertaking the work.[5] The historical section (10-15), is full of inaccuracies and mis-statements, of which it is likely that Cicero himself was ignorant, since he has Cotta later praise this account.[4]The purpose however is for Velleius to show that the Epicurean idea of God as a perfectly happy, eternal being, possessed of reason, and in human form, is the only tenable one, and the other differing opinions is regarded as proof of their worthlessness.[4] In the remainder of the book, Cotta attacks the positions of Velleius with regard to the form of the gods, and their exemption from creation and providence.[9] Book 2Edit In Book 2, Balbus gives the Stoics' position on the subject of the gods.[9] He alludes to the magnificence of the world, and the prevalence of belief, and refers to the frequent appearance of the gods themselves in history.[9] After referring to the practice of divination, Balbus proceeds to the "four causes" of Cleanthes as to how the idea of the gods is implanted in the minds of people: (1) a pre-knowledge of future events; (2) the great advantages we enjoy from nature; (3) the terror with which the mind is affected by thunder, tempests, and the like; (4) and the order and regularity in the universe. Balbus further contends that the world, or universe itself, and its parts, are possessed of reason and wisdom.[10] He finally discusses the creation of the world, the providence of the gods, and denies "that a world, so beautifully adorned, could be formed by chance, or by a fortuitous concourse of atoms."[10] The problem of how to account for the presence of misery and disaster in a world providentially governed is only hurriedly touched upon at the end of the book.[11] Book 3Edit In book 3 Cotta refutes the doctrines of Balbus.[12] A large portion of this book, probably more than one third, has been lost.[11] Cotta represents the appearances of gods as idle tales.[13] There follows a gap in the text, following which Cotta attacks the four causes of Cleanthes.[13] Cotta refutes the Stoic ideas on reason attributed to the universe and its parts.[14] Ten chapters (16-25) are devoted to a disproportionately lengthy discussion of mythology, with examples multiplied to an inordinate extent.[15] There follows another major gap in the text, at the end of which Cotta is seen attacking the doctrine of providential care for humans.[14][15] Cicero states "The conversation ended here, and we parted. Velleius judged that the arguments of Cotta were the truest, but those of Balbus seemed to me to have the greater probability."

On Liberty (John Stuart Mill)

a philosophical work that was originally intended as a short essay. The work, published in 1859, applies the author's ethical system of utilitarianism to society and the state. He attempts to establish standards for the relationship between authority and liberty. The author articulated this principle in On Liberty, where he argued that, "The only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others." The author's mission in writing On Liberty can perhaps be best understood by looking at how he discussed his work in his Autobiography. He wrote that he believed On Liberty to be about "the importance, to man and society, of a large variety in types of character, and of giving full freedom to human nature to expand itself in innumerable and conflicting directions." This celebration of individuality and disdain for conformity runs throughout On Liberty. Mill rejects attempts, either through legal coercion or social pressure, to coerce people's opinions and behavior. He argues that the only time coercion is acceptable is when a person's behavior harms other people--otherwise, society should treat diversity with respect. Mill justifies the value of liberty through a Utilitarian approach. His essay tries to show the positive effects of liberty on all people and on society as a whole. In particular, Mill links liberty to the ability to progress and to avoid social stagnation. Liberty of opinion is valuable for two main reasons. First, the unpopular opinion may be right. Second, if the opinion is wrong, refuting it will allow people to better understand their own opinions. Liberty of action is desirable for parallel reasons. The nonconformist may be correct, or she may have a way of life that best suits her needs, if not anybody else's. Additionally, these nonconformists challenge social complacency, and keep society from stagnating. Mill's argument proceeds in five chapters. In his first chapter, Mill provides a brief overview of the meaning of liberty. He also introduces his basic argument in favor of respecting liberty, to the degree it does not harm anybody else. His next two chapters detail why liberty of opinion and liberty of action are so valuable. His fourth chapter discusses the appropriate level of authority that society should have over the individual. His fifth chapter looks at particular examples and applications of the theory, to clarify the meaning of his claims. Mill's essay has been criticized for being overly vague about the limits of liberty, for placing too much of an emphasis on the individual, and for not making a useful distinction between actions that only harm oneself, and actions that harm others. That said, the essay does provide an impassioned defense of nonconformity as a positive good for society, and an equally impassioned reminder that no one can be completely sure that his or her way of life is the best or the only way to live.

Rocking Horse Winner (D. H. Lawrence)

a short story that was first published in July 1926. The story describes a young middle-class Englishwoman who "had no luck". Though outwardly successful, she is haunted by a sense of failure; her husband is a ne'er-do-well and her work as a commercial artist does not earn as much as she would like. The family's lifestyle exceeds its income and unspoken anxiety about money permeates the household. Her children, a son Paul and his two sisters, sense this anxiety; moreover, the kids even claim they can hear the house whispering "There must be more money." Paul tells his Uncle Oscar Cresswell about betting on horse races with Bassett, the gardener. He has been placing bets using his pocket money and has won and saved three hundred and twenty pounds. Sometimes he says he is "sure" of a winner for an upcoming race, and the horses he names do in fact win, sometimes at remarkable odds. Uncle Oscar and Bassett both place large bets on the horses Paul names. After further winning, Paul and Oscar arrange to give the mother a gift of five thousand pounds, but the gift only lets her spend more. Disappointed, Paul tries harder than ever to be "lucky". As the Derby approaches, Paul is determined to learn the winner. Concerned about his health, his mother rushes home from a party and discovers his secret. He has been spending hours riding his rocking horse, sometimes all night long, until he "gets there", into a clairvoyant state where he can be sure of the winner's name. Paul remains ill through the day of the Derby. Informed by Cresswell, Bassett has placed Paul's bet on Malabar, at fourteen to one. When he is informed by Bassett that he now has 80,000 pounds, Paul says to his mother: "I never told you, mother, that if I can ride my horse, and get there, then I'm absolutely sure - oh absolutely! Mother, did I ever tell you? I am lucky!" "No, you never did," said his mother. But the boy died in the night. And even as he lay dead, his mother heard her brother's voice saying to her, "My God, Hester, you're eighty-odd thousand to the good, and a poor devil of a son to the bad. But, poor devil, poor devil, he's best gone out of a life where he rides his rocking-horse to find a winner."

Love [III] (GEORGE HERBERT)

lament the fact that earthly love tends to attract more attention than the much more deserving holy love Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, If I lacked any thing. A guest, I answered, worthy to be here: Love said, You shall be he. I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I? Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame? My dear, then I will serve. You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat.

His Prayer to Ben Jonson (ROBERT HERRICK)

The utilization of the word "prayer" in his affection ode to the legendary British writer is thematically appropriate. The poem essentially transforms Jonson from mere mortal to godlike status. When I a verse shall make, Know I have pray'd thee, For old religion's sake, Saint Ben to aid me. Make the way smooth for me, When I, thy Herrick, Honouring thee, on my knee Offer my lyric. Candles I'll give to thee, And a new altar, And thou, Saint Ben, shalt be Writ in my psalter.

The Age of Innocence (Edith Wharton)

a 1920 novel It was the author's twelfth novel, and was initially serialized in 1920 in four parts, in the magazine Pictorial Review. Later that year, it was released as a book by D. Appleton & Company. [THE TERM] focuses on the wealthiest and the most powerful in New York society in the 1870s, but we can't help but feel, well, sorry for them. The characters live in constant fear of being excluded or shunned or, worse, pitied. It is a January evening in 1870s New York City and the fashionable are attending the opera. As young Newland Archer, lawyer and man about town, gazes up at his soon-to-be fiancé, May Welland, in the Mingott-family opera box, he is disconcerted by the arrival of May's cousin, the Countess Ellen Olenska, who has left her profligate but wealthy Polish husband. To discourage gossip, Newland decides to announce his and May's engagement at the Beaufort's ball that night. All of old New York is at the ball, gossiping about the Countess. Later, when the family plans a dinner to introduce her to society, no one accepts. Without delay, the Mingott family enlist the help of ancient social sages, Henry and Louisa van der Luyden, to shore up support by inviting old New York to a dinner it cannot refuse. In this way they introduce the exotic Countess, and she finds New York society charmingly narrow and provincial compared to Paris. The next day Newland visits the Countess' small house in a Bohemian section of town. He finds her drawing room exotic and her friendship with shady financier Julius Beaufort unsettling. But he senses her loneliness and, despite some misgivings, sends her yellow roses. The Mingotts enlist Newland's boss, Mr. Letterblair, to ask Newland to dissuade the Countess from seeking a divorce. When Newland speaks with Ellen — a passionate and exotic woman, unlike his quiet, innocent May — he finds himself falling in love with her, despite his engagement. Worried by temptation, Newland flees to Florida where May's family is vacationing and asks May to move the wedding date up. Startled, May tells him that if there is "someone else," he may have his freedom. Touched by her selflessness, Newland returns to New York. As he confesses his love to Ellen, a telegram arrives from May, saying that they can be married in a month. Newland knows his duty. Book II of The Age of Innocence begins with May marrying Newland as New York society watches. By August, a year later, Newland and May have settled into a fashionable if boring life in New York, living in a wealthy part of town and spending summers with the rest of the rich in Newport. Ellen has moved to Washington D.C.; she returns to stay with her grandmother briefly, but later leaves to visit Boston. Still under her spell, Newland lies to his wife and follows Ellen there. Ellen promises to stay in America only if they do not hurt May with a clandestine affair. She returns to Washington. Meanwhile, Julius Beaufort's shady financial dealings catch up with him, and his wife, Regina, appeals to Ellen's grandmother for help. Mrs. Mingott suffers a stroke and sends for Ellen to nurse her; during the two-hour carriage ride with Ellen from the train station, Newland suggests they have an affair. Ellen refuses, knowing that will hurt May. He abruptly leaves the carriage and walks home. Seeing May in the library, he realizes he will dutifully stay married to her forever. Undaunted, the next day Newland meets Ellen at the Metropolitan Museum, where she finally agrees to a future one-time affair. Elated but guilty, Newland decides to confess all to May, but she interrupts to tell him that Ellen is leaving for Europe and the Archers will give a farewell dinner for her. Shocked, Newland intends to later follow Ellen. At the dinner, however, he suddenly realizes that the entire family, including May, thinks that he and Ellen are already having an affair; giving Ellen the funds to live in Europe is the family's way of dealing with the situation. That night as he and May retire, she announces that she thought she was pregnant and told Ellen earlier, before she was really sure. But now she is sure, sealing Newland's fate forever. The years pass. Newland is 57 and he and May have two grown children: Dallas and Mary. May has recently died of pneumonia, nursing a third child to health. Newland accompanies Dallas to Paris on a business trip, where Dallas tells Newland the Countess Ellen Olenska has invited them to dine. Newland has not seen her in 26 years. Dallas confides to his father May's deathbed confession that Newland sacrificed the one thing he loved because of duty and honor. That evening outside the Countess' apartment, Newland encourages Dallas to go up without him. In Newland's memory, their love stays forever young, perfect and unchanging over time.

To the Lighthouse (Virginia Woolf)

a 1927 novel The novel centers on the Ramsay family and their visits to the Isle of Skye in Scotland between 1910 and 1920. Part I: The Window The novel is set in the Ramsays' summer home in the Hebrides, on the Isle of Skye. The section begins with Mrs Ramsay assuring her son James that they should be able to visit the lighthouse on the next day. This prediction is denied by Mr Ramsay, who voices his certainty that the weather will not be clear, an opinion that forces a certain tension between Mr and Mrs Ramsay, and also between Mr Ramsay and James. This particular incident is referred to on various occasions throughout the section, especially in the context of Mr and Mrs Ramsay's relationship. The Ramsays and their eight children have been joined at the house by a number of friends and colleagues. One of them, Lily Briscoe, begins the novel as a young, uncertain painter attempting a portrait of Mrs. Ramsay and James. Briscoe finds herself plagued by doubts throughout the novel, doubts largely fed by the claims of Charles Tansley, another guest, who asserts that women can neither paint nor write. Tansley himself is an admirer of Mr Ramsay, a philosophy professor, and his academic treatises. The section closes with a large dinner party. When Augustus Carmichael, a visiting poet, asks for a second serving of soup, Mr Ramsay nearly snaps at him. Mrs Ramsay is herself out of sorts when Paul Rayley and Minta Doyle, two acquaintances whom she has brought together in engagement, arrive late to dinner, as Minta has lost her grandmother's brooch on the beach. Part II: Time Passes The second section gives a sense of time passing, absence, and death. Ten years pass, during which the First World War begins and ends. Mrs Ramsay dies, as do two of her children - Prue dies from complications of childbirth, and Andrew is killed in the war. Mr Ramsay is left adrift without his wife to praise and comfort him during his bouts of fear and anguish regarding the longevity of his philosophical work. This section is told from an omniscient point of view and occasionally from Mrs. McNab's point of view. Mrs. McNab worked in the Ramsay's house since the beginning, and thus provides a clear view of how things have changed in the time the summer house has been unoccupied. Part III: The Lighthouse In the final section, "The Lighthouse," some of the remaining Ramsays and other guests return to their summer home ten years after the events of Part I. Mr Ramsay finally plans on taking the long-delayed trip to the lighthouse with daughter Cam(illa) and son James (the remaining Ramsay children are virtually unmentioned in the final section). The trip almost does not happen, as the children are not ready, but they eventually set off. As they travel, the children are silent in protest at their father for forcing them to come along. However, James keeps the sailing boat steady and rather than receiving the harsh words he has come to expect from his father, he hears praise, providing a rare moment of empathy between father and son; Cam's attitude towards her father changes also, from resentment to eventual admiration. They are accompanied by the sailor Macalister and his son, who catches fish during the trip. The son cuts a piece of flesh from a fish he has caught to use for bait, throwing the injured fish back into the sea. While they set sail for the lighthouse, Lily attempts to finally complete the painting she has held in her mind since the start of the novel. She reconsiders her memory of Mrs and Mr Ramsay, balancing the multitude of impressions from ten years ago in an effort to reach towards an objective truth about Mrs Ramsay and life itself. Upon finishing the painting (just as the sailing party reaches the lighthouse) and seeing that it satisfies her, she realises that the execution of her vision is more important to her than the idea of leaving some sort of legacy in her work.

The Illustrated Man (Ray Bradbury)

a 1951 collection of eighteen science fiction short stories. A recurring theme throughout the eighteen stories is the conflict between the cold mechanics of technology and the psychology of people. "The Veldt" Parents in a futuristic society worry about their children's mental health when their new virtual reality nursery, which can produce any environment the children imagine, continually projects an African veldt, populated by lions feasting on carcasses. A child psychologist suggests that the automated house is not good for the children's development, nor the parents', and insists they disable the automation and take a vacation to become more self-sufficient. The children are not pleased with this decision, but later coolly agree to it. The children trap their parents in the nursery, where they become prey to the lions. They later have lunch on the veldt with the child psychologist, who sees the lions feasting, but does not recognize what has happened."Kaleidoscope"The crew of a space ship drift helplessly through space after their craft malfunctions. The story describes the final thoughts and conversations of the crew members as they face their death. The narrator bitterly reflects on his life and feels he has accomplished nothing worthwhile. His final thought is a wish that his life would at least be worth something to someone else. As he falls through Earth's atmosphere and is incinerated, he appears as a shooting star to a child in Illinois."The Other Foot"Mars has been colonized solely by black people. When they learn that a rocket is coming from Earth with white travelers, they institute a Jim Crow system of racial segregation in retaliation for how the whites once treated them. When the rocket lands, the travelers tell them that the entire Earth has been destroyed, including all of the horrific mementos of racism (such as trees used for lynching blacks). The blacks take pity on the white travelers and accept them into their new society."The Highway"A husband and wife living by a highway in rural Mexico live their simple, regimented lives while the highway fills with refugees of a nuclear war. They give assistance to some young travelers, who tell them that the nuclear war means the end of the world. After the travelers leave, the husband wonders what they meant by "the world", before returning to his work as normal."The Man"Space explorers find a planet where the population is in a state of bliss. Upon investigation, they discover that an enigmatic visitor came to them, whom the spacemen come to believe is Jesus. One decides to spend his life rejoicing in the man's glory. Another uses the spaceship to try to catch up to the mysterious traveler, but at each planet he finds that "He" has just left after spreading his word. Other members of the crew remain on the planet to learn from the contented citizens, and are rewarded by the discovery that "He" is still on the planet."The Long Rain"A group of astronauts is stranded on Venus, where it rains continually and heavily. The travelers make their way across the Venusian landscape to find a "sun dome", a shelter with a large artificial light source. The first sun dome they find has been destroyed by the native Venusians. Searching for another sun dome, the characters, one by one, are driven to madness and suicide by the unrelenting rhythm of the rain. At the end of the story, only one sane astronaut remains to find a functional sun dome."The Rocket Man" Astronauts are few in number, so they work whenever they wish and receive high pay. One such "Rocket Man" goes into space for three months at a time, returning to Earth only for three consecutive days to visit his wife and son, Doug. The story is told from the perspective of Doug, who also wants to become a Rocket Man. Doug learns of his father's constant battle, yearning for the stars while at home and yearning for home while in space. The father has attempted to quit several times, because his long absences have nearly destroyed his relationship with his wife. Before leaving for his final three-month mission, the father makes Doug promise he will never follow in his father's footsteps. The father takes off into space, vowing that the next trip will be the last, but dies when his rocket falls into the Sun. His wife and son avoid the Sun out of grief and become nocturnal."The Fire Balloons"A group of priests travels to Mars to act as missionaries to the Martians. They discover that the natives are entities of pure energy. Since they lack corporeal form, they are unable to commit sin, and thus do not need redemption."The Last Night of the World"A married couple awaken to the knowledge that the world is going to end that very evening. Nonetheless, they go through their normal routines, knowing and accepting the fact that there is no tomorrow."The Exiles" Numerous works of literature are banned and burned on Earth. The deceased authors of these books live in a kind of afterlife on Mars. Though dead, they are still vulnerable in the sense that when all of an author's works are destroyed, the author vanishes permanently. The authors learn that people are coming from Earth, and they stage their retribution. Their efforts are foiled when the astronauts burn the last remaining books, annihilating the entire colony. "No Particular Night or Morning"Two friends in a spaceship, Clemens and Hitchcock, discuss the emptiness and cold of space. The slightly eccentric Hitchcock embraces solipsism, and repeatedly insists that nothing in space is real and there is no night or morning. He refuses to believe anything about reality without sufficient evidence and soon becomes skeptical of everything he cannot directly experience. He says that he doesn't believe in stars, because they are too far away. Clemens learns that Hitchcock has left the ship. Hitchcock continues to mumble to himself as he dies of exposure to the void of space. "The Fox and the Forest"A couple living in a war-ravaged future society on the brink of collapse uses time travel to escape to 1938 Mexico. They and others before them have used the technology to enjoy life before chemical, nuclear, and biological warfare ruined everything. Unfortunately, the authorities have also traveled back in time to return the exiles to the future."The Visitor"Mars is used as isolation for people with deadly illnesses. One day, the planet is visited by a young man of 18 who has the ability to perform telepathy. The exiles on the planet are thrilled with his ability and a violent fight breaks out over who will get to spend the most time with their visitor and enjoy the illusionary paradises he can transmit. In the struggle, the young man is killed and the escape he provided is lost forever."The Concrete Mixer"A reluctant Martian soldier is forced to join the army as they prepare to invade Earth. When they arrive, they are welcomed by a world at peace, full of people who are curious rather than aggressive. The protagonist meets a movie director, and it becomes clear that the people of Earth have planned to exploit the Martians for financial gain. He tries to escape to Mars, but is run over by a car and killed."Marionettes, Inc."An unhappily married man buys a realistic robot to act as a surrogate so that he doesn't have to deal with his wife (who trapped him into marriage by getting pregnant and threatening to turn him in for rape if he leaves her). When a friend decides to purchase his own robot, he discovers that his wife already has replaced herself with one. The robot of the protagonist falls in love with the man's wife, and locks the real man in the crate in which the robot was delivered.[2]"The City"A rocket expedition from Earth lands on an uncharted planet and finds a seemingly empty city. As the humans begin to explore, they realize that the city is not as empty as it seems. The city was waiting for the arrival of humans, designed by a long dead civilization to take revenge upon humanity; the civilization was destroyed by human biological weapons before recorded history. Once the city captures and kills the human astronauts, the humans' corpses are used as automatons to take a final act of revenge — a biological attack on the Earth."Zero Hour"Children across the country are deeply involved in an exciting game they call "Invasion". Their parents think of it as harmless fun until the invasion actually occurs."The Rocket" Fiorello Bodoni, a poor junkyard owner, has saved $3,000 to fulfill his dream to send one member of his family into outer space. The family cannot choose who will go, fearing those left behind will resent the one chosen. Bodoni instead uses the money to build a replica rocket containing a virtual reality theater that simulates a voyage through space.

Easter Wings (GEORGE HERBERT)

celebration of Christ's resurrection, which ispresented as the means by which humankind overcomes sin and attains freedom. The poem consists of two ten-line stanzas of varying line lengths, which in their printed form on the page resemble the wings of a bird. Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store, Though foolishly he lost the same, Decaying more and more, Till he became Most poore: With thee O let me rise As larks, harmoniously, And sing this day thy victories: Then shall the fall further the flight in me. My tender age in sorrow did beginne And still with sicknesses and shame. Thou didst so punish sinne, That I became Most thinne. With thee Let me combine, And feel thy victorie: For, if I imp my wing on thine, Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

Delight in Disorder (ROBERT HERRICK)

suggests that he enjoyed that which went against the grain in the finer details of individual life. He expresses the beauty he sees in disorder in the small things in life such as lawn and dress. It is likely that he noticed the beauty in anything out of order because it was rare for him to see. It sharply contrasted the entire makeup of the society in which he lived, and so it was beautiful to him. He considered anything wayward or out of place to be a form of art. This poem explains his feelings about the order and disorder of the things around him. A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribands to flow confusedly; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility: Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.

Virtue (GEORGE HERBERT)

uses images of things that are "sweet" and full of life, and couples them with the dark side of life: inevitable death. Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky; The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye; Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie; My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.

Nothing Gold Can Stay (ROBERT FROST)

In this poem, the author explains that nothing, especially that which is perfect and beautiful, can last forever. He gives several examples of this: The first green of spring is her hardest hue to hold. Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

Terrence, This is Stupid Stuff (A. E. HOUSMAN)

The poem starts out with a jolly (and maybe slightly drunk) guy complaining to a poet named Terence about his poems. He makes fun of how serious and sad his poems are, and says they give him "the belly-ache." He'd much prefer, he tells Terence, to hear something he could "dance to." In the next section, the poet Terence talks back. He tells this guy that if he wants to dance, he'd be better off drinking beer than reading poems. Terence is teasing the complainer, saying that he'd better stick to booze if it "hurts to think." He reminds him, though, that even if the world looks better when you're drunk, the feeling never lasts. He backs this up by telling his own story about getting drunk and then sobering up again. So, he suggests, if beer only helps for a while then poetry will be more useful in hard times (and, he reminds this guy, there will always be hard times). To drive the point home, Terence finishes by telling the fable of King Mithridates, who gradually developed an immunity to poison. The idea is that swallowing a little bit of sadness in poetry, a little bit at a time, can make you stronger and more resistant to the pain of life. So poetry really is good for something. Take that, drunk dude! 'TERENCE, this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough; There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear, To see the rate you drink your beer. But oh, good Lord, the verse you make, It gives a chap the belly-ache. The cow, the old cow, she is dead; It sleeps well, the horned head: We poor lads, 'tis our turn now To hear such tunes as killed the cow. Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme Your friends to death before their time Moping melancholy mad: Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.' Why, if 'tis dancing you would be, There's brisker pipes than poetry. Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink For fellows whom it hurts to think: Look into the pewter pot To see the world as the world's not. And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past: The mischief is that 'twill not last. Oh I have been to Ludlow fair And left my necktie God knows where, And carried half way home, or near, Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer: Then the world seemed none so bad, And I myself a sterling lad; And down in lovely muck I've lain, Happy till I woke again. Then I saw the morning sky: Heigho, the tale was all a lie; The world, it was the old world yet, I was I, my things were wet, And nothing now remained to do But begin the game anew. Therefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill, And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure, I'd face it as a wise man would, And train for ill and not for good. 'Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale Is not so brisk a brew as ale: Out of a stem that scored the hand I wrung it in a weary land. But take it: if the smack is sour, The better for the embittered hour; It should do good to heart and head When your soul is in my soul's stead; And I will friend you, if I may, In the dark and cloudy day. There was a king reigned in the East: There, when kings will sit to feast, They get their fill before they think With poisoned meat and poisoned drink. He gathered all that springs to birth From the many-venomed earth; First a little, thence to more, He sampled all her killing store; And easy, smiling, seasoned sound, Sate the king when healths went round. They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat; They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up: They shook, they stared as white's their shirt: Them it was their poison hurt. —I tell the tale that I heard told. Mithridates, he died old.

The Gift Outright (ROBERT FROST)

a patriotic poem. ... In the beginning, this short poem makes a reference to the history of colonization. America was already in existence much before the people who constituted the modern American nation went there and settled down finally. The land was ours before we were the land's. She was our land more than a hundred years Before we were her people. She was ours In Massachusetts, in Virginia, But we were England's, still colonials, Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed. Something we were withholding made us weak Until we found out that it was ourselves We were withholding from our land of living, And forthwith found salvation in surrender. Such as we were we gave ourselves outright (The deed of gift was many deeds of war) To the land vaguely realizing westward, But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced, Such as she was, such as she would become.

Night (Elie Wiesel)

a work that is about the author's experience with his father in the Nazi German concentration camps at Auschwitz and Buchenwald in 1944-1945, at the height of the Holocaust toward the end of the Second World War. [THE TERM] is narrated by Eliezer, a Jewish teenager who, when the memoir begins, lives in his hometown of Sighet, in Hungarian Transylvania. Eliezer studies the Torah (the first five books of the Old Testament) and the Cabbala (a doctrine of Jewish mysticism). His instruction is cut short, however, when his teacher, Moishe the Beadle, is deported. In a few months, Moishe returns, telling a horrifying tale: the Gestapo (the German secret police force) took charge of his train, led everyone into the woods, and systematically butchered them. Nobody believes Moishe, who is taken for a lunatic. In the spring of 1944, the Nazis occupy Hungary. Not long afterward, a series of increasingly repressive measures are passed, and the Jews of Eliezer's town are forced into small ghettos within Sighet. Soon they are herded onto cattle cars, and a nightmarish journey ensues. After days and nights crammed into the car, exhausted and near starvation, the passengers arrive at Birkenau, the gateway to Auschwitz. Upon his arrival in Birkenau, Eliezer and his father are separated from his mother and sisters, whom they never see again. In the first of many "selections" that Eliezer describes in the memoir, the Jews are evaluated to determine whether they should be killed immediately or put to work. Eliezer and his father seem to pass the evaluation, but before they are brought to the prisoners' barracks, they stumble upon the open-pit furnaces where the Nazis are burning babies by the truckload. The Jewish arrivals are stripped, shaved, disinfected, and treated with almost unimaginable cruelty. Eventually, their captors march them from Birkenau to the main camp, Auschwitz. They eventually arrive in Buna, a work camp, where Eliezer is put to work in an electrical-fittings factory. Under slave-labor conditions, severely malnourished and decimated by the frequent "selections," the Jews take solace in caring for each other, in religion, and in Zionism, a movement favoring the establishment of a Jewish state in Palestine, considered the holy land. In the camp, the Jews are subject to beatings and repeated humiliations. A vicious foreman forces Eliezer to give him his gold tooth, which is pried out of his mouth with a rusty spoon. The prisoners are forced to watch the hanging of fellow prisoners in the camp courtyard. On one occasion, the Gestapo even hang a small child who had been associated with some rebels within Buna. Because of the horrific conditions in the camps and the ever-present danger of death, many of the prisoners themselves begin to slide into cruelty, concerned only with personal survival. Sons begin to abandon and abuse their fathers. Eliezer himself begins to lose his humanity and his faith, both in God and in the people around him. After months in the camp, Eliezer undergoes an operation for a foot injury. While he is in the infirmary, however, the Nazis decide to evacuate the camp because the Russians are advancing and are on the verge of liberating Buna. In the middle of a snowstorm, the prisoners begin a death march: they are forced to run for more than fifty miles to the Gleiwitz concentration camp. Many die of exposure to the harsh weather and exhaustion. At Gleiwitz, the prisoners are herded into cattle cars once again. They begin another deadly journey: one hundred Jews board the car, but only twelve remain alive when the train reaches the concentration camp Buchenwald. Throughout the ordeal, Eliezer and his father help each other to survive by means of mutual support and concern. In Buchenwald, however, Eliezer's father dies of dysentery and physical abuse. Eliezer survives, an empty shell of a man until April 11, 1945, the day that the American army liberates the camp.

Up From Slavery (Booker T. Washington)

the 1901 autobiography of the American educator/[THE AUTHOR]. The book describes his personal experience of having to work to rise up from the position of a slave child during the Civil War, to the difficulties and obstacles he overcame to get an education at the new Hampton Institute, to his work establishing vocational schools—most notably the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama—to help black people and other disadvantaged minorities learn useful, marketable skills and work to pull themselves, as a race, up by the bootstraps. chronicles more than forty years of the author's life: from slave to schoolmaster to the face of southern race relations. In this text, Washington climbs the social ladder through hard, manual labor, a decent education, and relationships with great people. Throughout the text, he stresses the importance of education for the black population as a reasonable tactic to ease race relations in the South (particularly in the context of Reconstruction).

The first two chapters of Walden (Henry David Thoreau)

The author begins by matter-of-factly outlining his two-year project at Walden Pond, near Concord, Massachusetts (on land owned by his spiritual mentor Ralph Waldo Emerson, although Thoreau does not mention this detail). He says he lived there for two years and two months, and then moved back to "civilized society"—thus acknowledging right away, and quite honestly, that this was not a permanent lifestyle choice, but only an experiment in living. He describes the reactions of people to news of his project, noting their concern for his well-being out in the wilderness, their worry about his health in the winter, their shock that anyone would willingly forsake human companionship, and occasionally their envy. Thoreau moves quickly to the moral of his experiment: to illustrate the benefits of a simplified lifestyle. He tells us he is recounting the rudimentary existence he led there so that others might see the virtue of it. He argues that excess possessions not only require excess labor to purchase them, but also oppress us spiritually with worry and constraint. As people suppose they need to own things, this need forces them to devote all their time to labor, and the result is the loss of inner freedom. Thoreau asserts that, in their own way, farmers are chained to their farms just as much as prisoners are chained in jails. Working more than is necessary for subsistence shackles people. Faced with a choice between increasing one's means to acquire alleged necessities and decreasing one's needs, He believes minimizing one's needs is preferable by far. He identifies only four necessities: food, shelter, clothing, and fuel. Since nature itself does much to provide these, a person willing to accept the basic gifts of nature can live off the land with minimal toil. Any attempt at luxury is likely to prove more a hindrance than a help to an individual's improvement. The author describes the construction of his small house as an application of his faith in simplicity and self-reliance. Starting with nothing, he must even borrow the axe he needs to fell trees, an axe that he later returns (eager never to appear indebted to anyone) sharper than when he got it. He receives gifts of some supplies, purchasing others, and sets to work slowly but steadily through the spring months. Thoreau is ready to move in on July 4, 1845, the day of his own independence from social norms and conventions. Throughout the construction process and the agricultural endeavors that follow, Thoreau keeps meticulous books that he shares with us, accounting for all his debits and credits literally down to the last penny. He explains that in farming, after an investment of roughly fifteen dollars, he is able to turn a profit of almost nine dollars. He describes the diet of beans, corn, peas, and potatoes that sustains him, giving us the market value for all these foodstuffs as well. Overall, Thoreau's review of his own accounts reveals approximately sixty-two dollars of expenses during his first eight months at Walden, offset by a gain of almost thirty-seven dollars. Thus, at a total cost of just over twenty-five dollars, Thoreau acquires a home and the freedom to do as he pleases—a handsome bargain, in his opinion. Thoreau recalls the several places where he nearly settled before selecting Walden Pond, all of them estates on a rather large scale. He quotes the Roman philosopher Cato's warning that it is best to consider buying a farm very carefully before signing the papers. He had been interested in the nearby Hollowell farm, despite the many improvements that needed to be made there, but, before a deed could be drawn, the owner's wife unexpectedly decided she wanted to keep the farm. Consequently, Thoreau gave up his claim on the property. Even though he had been prepared to farm a large tract, Thoreau realizes that this outcome may have been for the best. Forced to simplify his life, he concludes that it is best "as long as possible" to "live free and uncommitted." Thoreau takes to the woods, dreaming of an existence free of obligations and full of leisure. He proudly announces that he resides far from the post office and all the constraining social relationships the mail system represents. Ironically, this renunciation of legal deeds provides him with true ownership, paraphrasing a poet to the effect that "I am monarch of all I survey." Thoreau's delight in his new building project at Walden is more than merely the pride of a first-time homeowner; it is a grandly philosophic achievement in his mind, a symbol of his conquest of being. When Thoreau first moves into his dwelling on Independence Day, it gives him a proud sense of being a god on Olympus, even though the house still lacks a chimney and plastering. He claims that a paradise fit for gods is available everywhere, if one can perceive it: "Olympus is but the outside of the earth every where." Taking an optimistic view, he declares that his poorly insulated walls give his interior the benefit of fresh air on summer nights. He justifies its lack of carved ornament by declaring that it is better to carve "the very atmosphere" one thinks and feels in, in an artistry of the soul. It is for him an almost immaterial, heavenly house, "as far off as many a region viewed nightly by astronomers." He prefers to reside here, sitting on his own humble wooden chair, than in some distant corner of the universe, "behind the constellation of Cassiopeia's Chair." He is free from time as well as from matter, announcing grandiosely that time is a river in which he goes fishing. He does not view himself as the slave of time; rather he makes it seem as though he is choosing to participate in the flow of time whenever and however he chooses, like a god living in eternity. He concludes on a sermonizing note, urging all of us to sludge through our existence until we hit rock bottom and can gauge truth on what he terms our "Realometer," our means of measuring the reality of things.

Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God (Jonathan Edwards)

a sermon written by a British Colonial Christian theologian, he preached it to his own congregation in Northampton, Massachusetts, to unknown effect, and again on July 8, 1741 in Enfield, Connecticut. It is an appeal to sinners to recognize that they will be judged by God and that this judgment will be more fearful and painful than they can comprehend. "There is nothing that keeps wicked men at any one moment out of hell, but the mere pleasure of God." Most of the sermon's text consists of ten "considerations": God may cast wicked men into hell at any given moment. The wicked deserve to be cast into hell. Divine justice does not prevent God from destroying the Wicked at any moment. The wicked, at this moment, suffer under God's condemnation to Hell. The wicked, on earth—at this very moment—suffer a sample of the torments of Hell. The wicked must not think, simply because they are not physically in Hell, that God (in Whose hand the wicked now reside) is not—at this very moment—as angry with them as He is with those miserable creatures He is now tormenting in hell, and who—at this very moment—do feel and bear the fierceness of His wrath. At any moment God shall permit him, Satan stands ready to fall upon the wicked and seize them as his own. If it were not for God's restraints, there are, in the souls of wicked men, hellish principles reigning which, presently, would kindle and flame out into hellfire. Simply because there are not visible means of death before them at any given moment, the wicked should not feel secure. Simply because it is natural to care for oneself or to think that others may care for them, men should not think themselves safe from God's wrath. All that wicked men may do to save themselves from Hell's pains shall afford them nothing if they continue to reject Christ. God has never promised to save us from Hell, except for those contained in Christ through the covenant of Grace.

Harlem (LANGSTON HUGHES)

relates to the lives of African American people in the USA. The poem poses questions about the aspirations of a people and the consequences that might arise if those dreams and hopes don't come to fruition. What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?

Design (ROBERT FROST)

a fourteen-line sonnet that explores the notion that nature and the whole universe are designed by a malevolent intelligence. It is based on the everyday observation of a spider on a flower holding up a dead moth but essentially the poem is playing around with theological argument. I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth-- Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like the ingredients of a witches' broth-- A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth, And dead wings carried like a paper kite. What had that flower to do with being white, The wayside blue and innocent heal-all? What brought the kindred spider to that height, Then steered the white moth thither in the night? What but design of darkness to appall?-- If design govern in a thing so small.

Mother to Son (LANGSTON HUGHES)

an uplifting, hopeful poem about never giving up. The main symbolism in the poem is when Mother compares her life to a staircase. ... By this, she means that life has not been easy, and her journey through life has been like climbing a staircase. Well, son, I'll tell you: Life for me ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor— Bare. But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on, And reachin' landin's, And turnin' corners, And sometimes goin' in the dark Where there ain't been no light. So boy, don't you turn back. Don't you set down on the steps 'Cause you finds it's kinder hard. Don't you fall now— For I'se still goin', honey, I'se still climbin', And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

A Dream Deferred (LANGSTON HUGHES)

discussing what may become of a dream that is put off, delayed, or postponed by external influences. Throughout the poem, the author uses questions about concrete things in everyday life and compares them to the ignored dreams. What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up Like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?

The Man Who Would Be King (Rudyard Kipling)

a story about two British adventurers in British India who become kings of Kafiristan, a remote part of Afghanistan. The narrator begins by asserting that he almost came to know a king once; more than that he came close to having a role in the king's rule over a kingdom. The king is now dead, however, and so if he wants to get close to a crown again, it will have to be his own crown. He is currently forced to travel by train from Amjir to Mhow in India back in intermediate class because his recent fall into hard times has at least temporarily take him away from his usual accommodations in first class .And so as he shares a car among the lowest class of society, he spies a fellow traveler to far offshoots of his country's empire and soon they are sitting down to trade stories of coming up against that part of travelling to India not found on the tourist agenda. Neither the stranger nor the narrator has funds required to fulfill the man's desire to send a message by telegram so instead he persuades the narrator to travel to Marwar Junction in search of the red-headed man to whom the message will be delivered. The message is cryptic, but not suspicious: "He has gone south for the week. " After a warning from the narrator against posing again as a newspaper reporter, the other man confesses his plan to blackmail the Rajah of Degumber by threatening to file a report about his father's widow unless he receives money not to. As the neighbor exits the train, the narrator ponders over the many times before that he has heard of this same on and they always end the same way which is usually not very good for scammers like the stranger. While Indian officials are easily blackmail due to fear that something distinctly unpleasant and quite believable about them will be believed when read in British newspaper, the sad truth is that very few people outside the domain of localized power enjoyed by these officials really gives a whit about what they have done since very few newspaper readers back in Britain will ever find the urge to travel to these dark, evil pockets of a foreign land.

On Giles and Joan (BEN JONSON)

Giles and Joan agree on their dislike for each other and the malcontent of their marriage. In this way, they get along. But, although the poet presents Giles and Joan as having a humorously discontented relationship, he brings up some rather serious subjects. Apparently, Joan's children do not belong to Giles and the married couple cannot stand the site of each other. It would seem that to an outsider Giles and Joan have a decent marriage even though they despise each other. Thus this poem raises questions about the true nature of marriage and joy in marriage. Who says that Giles and Joan at discord be? Th' observing neighbors no such mood can see. Indeed, poor Giles repents he married ever, But that his Joan doth too. And Giles would never By his free will be in Joan's company; No more would Joan he should. Giles riseth early, And having got him out of doors is glad; The like is Joan. But turning home is sad, And so is Joan. Ofttimes, when Giles doth find Harsh sights at home, Giles wisheth he were blind: All this doth Joan. Or that his long-yearned life Were quite outspun. The like wish hath his wife. The children that he keeps Giles swear are none Of his begetting; and so swears his Joan. In all affections she concurreth still. If now, with man and wife, to will and nill The self-same things a note of concord be, I know no couple better can agree.

Sons and Lovers (D. H. Lawrence)

A 1913 novel Part I The refined daughter of a "good old burgher family," Gertrude Coppard meets a rough-hewn miner, Walter Morel, at a Christmas dance and falls into a whirlwind romance characterised by physical passion. But soon after her marriage to Walter, she realises the difficulties of living off his meagre salary in a rented house. The couple fight and drift apart and Walter retreats to the pub after work each day. Gradually, Mrs. Morel's affections shift to her sons beginning with the oldest, William. As a boy, William is so attached to his mother that he doesn't enjoy the fair without her. As he grows older, he defends her against his father's occasional violence. Eventually, he leaves their Nottinghamshire home for a job in London, where he begins to rise up into the middle class. He is engaged, but he detests the girl's superficiality. William dies and Mrs. Morel is heartbroken. When her second son Paul catches pneumonia she rediscovers her love for Paul. Part II Both repulsed by and drawn to his mother, Paul is afraid to leave her but wants to go out on his own, and needs to experience love. Gradually, he falls into a relationship with Miriam, a farmer's daughter who attends his church. The two take long walks and have intellectual conversations about books but Paul resists, in part because his mother disapproves. At Miriam's family's farm, Paul meets Clara Dawes, a young woman with, apparently, feminist sympathies who has separated from her husband, Baxter. After pressuring Miriam into a physical relationship, which he finds unsatisfying, Paul breaks with her as he grows more intimate with Clara, who is more passionate physically. But even she cannot hold him and he returns to his mother. When his mother dies soon after, he is alone. In Lawrence's own words Lawrence summarised the plot in a letter to Edward Garnett on 12 November 1912: It follows this idea: a woman of character and refinement goes into the lower class, and has no satisfaction in her own life. She has had a passion for her husband, so her children are born of passion, and have heaps of vitality. But as her sons grow up she selects them as lovers — first the eldest, then the second. These sons are urged into life by their reciprocal love of their mother — urged on and on. But when they come to manhood, they can't love, because their mother is the strongest power in their lives, and holds them. It's rather like Goethe and his mother and Frau von Stein and Christiana — As soon as the young men come into contact with women, there's a split. William gives his sex to a fribble, and his mother holds his soul. But the split kills him, because he doesn't know where he is. The next son gets a woman who fights for his soul - fights his mother. The son loves his mother - all the sons hate and are jealous of the father. The battle goes on between the mother and the girl, with the son as object. The mother gradually proves stronger, because of the ties of blood. The son decides to leave his soul in his mother's hands, and, like his elder brother go for passion. He gets passion. Then the split begins to tell again. But, almost unconsciously, the mother realises what is the matter, and begins to die. The son casts off his mistress, attends to his mother dying. He is left in the end naked of everything, with the drift towards death.

Come In (ROBERT FROST)

As I came to the edge of the woods, Thrush music — hark! Now if it was dusk outside, Inside it was dark. Too dark in the woods for a bird By sleight of wing To better its perch for the night, Though it still could sing. The last of the light of the sun That had died in the west Still lived for one song more In a thrush's breast. Far in the pillared dark Thrush music went — Almost like a call to come in To the dark and lament. But no, I was out for stars; I would not come in. I meant not even if asked; And I hadn't been.

Emancipation (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)

Fling out your banners, your honors be bringing, Raise to the ether your paeans of praise. Strike every chord and let music be ringing! Celebrate freely this day of all days. Few are the years since that notable blessing, Raised you from slaves to the powers of men. Each year has seen you my brothers progressing, Never to sink to that level again. Perched on your shoulders sits Liberty smiling, Perched where the eyes of the nations can see. Keep from her pinions all contact defiling; Show by your deeds what you're destined to be. Press boldly forward nor waver, nor falter. Blood has been freely poured out in your cause, Lives sacrificed upon Liberty's alter. Press to the front, it were craven to pause. Look to the heights that are worth your attaining Keep your feet firm in the path to the goal. Toward noble deeds every effort be straining. Worthy ambition is food for the soul! Up! Men and brothers, be noble, be earnest! Ripe is the time and success is assured; Know that your fate was the hardest and sternest When through those lash-ringing days you endured. Never again shall the manacles gall you Never again shall the whip stroke defame! Nobles and Freemen, your destinies call you Onward to honor, to glory and fame.

A Clean, Well-Lighted Place (Ernest Hemingway)

Late in the early morning hours, in a Spanish cafe, an old man drinks brandy. A young waiter is angry; he wishes that the old man would leave so that he and an older waiter could close the cafe and go home. He insults the deaf old man and is painfully indifferent to the older waiter's feelings when he states that "an old man is a nasty thing." The older waiter, however, realizes that the old man drinking brandy after brandy is not nasty; he is only lonely. No doubt, that's the reason why the old man tried to hang himself last week. When the old man leaves, the waiters close the cafe. The young waiter leaves for home, and the older waiter walks to an all-night cafe where, thinking about the terrible emptiness of the old man's life which he keenly identifies with, he orders a cup of nada from the waiter. A cup of nothing. The man who takes the order thinks that the old waiter is just another crazy old man; he brings him coffee. Finishing the coffee, the older waiter begins his trudge homeward. Sleep is hours away. Until then, he must try to cope bravely with the dark nothingness of the night.

To the Memory of My Beloved the Author, Mr. William Shakespeare (BEN JONSON)

wrote this elegy for his friend and sometime rival to stand at the front of the first collected works of Shakespeare. The poem is a tour de force for the genre, offering both heartfelt and hyperbolic praise of the departed poet, whom he places among the stars to guide future writers. To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such As neither man nor muse can praise too much; 'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; For seeliest ignorance on these may light, Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance; Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise. These are, as some infamous bawd or ***** Should praise a matron; what could hurt her more?

Directive (ROBERT FROST)

Back out of all this now too much for us, Back in a time made simple by the loss Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off Like graveyard marble sculpture in the weather, This journey backward in time begins in a cemetery with deteriorating "graveyard marble sculpture." We know that something momentous is involved by the words "all this now too much for us." Here, "loss of detail" tells us that memories are imperfect, that we no longer see things exactly as they were. The past has been "made simple" by the loss of detail, so that we only remember the "bigger picture," as it were begins when a self-proclaimed guide meets you at the gate, shows you how to back out of your old crowded life into a past that is a bit blurry with age and weather. He stops to comment on a house and farm and town—none of which are there still. But there's a road etched by wagon wheels and a glacier's chisel, and the coolness of the mountain air, so that's something. When you're passing the relics of an old homestead and the kids' playhouse, things get a little strange, especially since your guide really just wants you to get lost. He takes you beyond the old orchard, beyond the overgrown field, beyond the house and the playhouse, beyond even your own deepest confusion, and there you'll find a watering hole of sorts. Drink up, Shmoopers, we've arrived at the poem's end.

Life's Tragedy (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)

In his short poem, the author explains what is truly tragic is not the absence of what we want but failing to attain perfection. It may be misery not to sing at all, And to go silent through the brimming day; It may be misery never to be loved, But deeper griefs than these beset the way. To sing the perfect song, And by a half-tone lost the key, There the potent sorrow, there the grief, The pale, sad staring of Life's Tragedy. To have come near to the perfect love, Not the hot passion of untempered youth, But that which lies aside its vanity, And gives, for thy trusting worship, truth. This, this indeed is to be accursed, For if we mortals love, or if we sing, We count our joys not by what we have, But by what kept us from that perfect thing.

Birches (ROBERT FROST)

In the poem, the act of swinging on birches is presented as a way to escape the hard rationality or "Truth" of the adult world, if only for a moment. As the boy climbs up the tree, he is climbing toward "heaven" and a place where his imagination can be free. When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust

To an Athlete Dying Young (A. E. HOUSMAN)

It is one of the author's most often anthologized poems. Its quiet, melancholy tone, its theme of the comfort of death, and its simplicity of form and style combine to make the poem a classic celebration of release from the difficulties of life. The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the market-place; Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-high. Today, the road all runners come, Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town. Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay, And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut, And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears. Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out, Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. So set, before its echoes fade, The fleet foot on the sill of shade, And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. And round that early-laurelled head Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead, And find unwithered on its curls The garland briefer than a girl's.

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time (ROBERT HERRICK)

People have often seen this poem as a poem that exemplifies carpe diem. That's Latin for "seize the day," a phrase meaning "make the most of the time you have." Yet another entry in the carpe diem mode that also contains within it suggestions that the advice was really being geared to fathers as a warning about tarrying too long before attacking the task of arranging marriages for growing daughters. Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry.

The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber (Ernest Hemingway)

Set in Africa, it was published in the September 1936. It is noon. Francis Macomber is on an African safari; Macomber is thirty-five years old, a trim, fit man who holds a number of big-game fishing records. However, at the moment, he has just demonstrated that he is a coward. However, members of the safari are acting as though "nothing had happened." The natives at camp carried Macomber into camp triumphantly, but the gun-bearers who witnessed Macomber's cowardice do not participate in the celebration. In a flashback, the reader realizes that Macomber and his beautiful wife, Margot, are wealthy Americans, and that this jaunt is their first safari — and that Macomber, when faced with his first lion, bolted and fled, earning the contempt of his wife. Of course, though, she has been contemptuous of him for some time; Francis' running from the lion like a scared rabbit has only increased her dislike for her unmanly husband. She makes no secret of this as she slips off in the middle of the night for a rendezvous with the safari guide, Robert Wilson. Next day, as she observes Francis gaining a measure of courage as he engages in a standoff with a charging water buffalo, she realizes that if Francis continues to prove himself strong and willful and courageous, he might leave her and rid himself forever of her sharp-tongued ridicule. As the standoff with the second water buffalo becomes more intense as the water buffalo's horns inch closer and closer to goring Francis, Margot takes aim at the water buffalo, shooting Francis in the back of the head, and he dies at the most courageous moment of his "short happy life."

Out, Out-- (ROBERT FROST)

The poem focuses on people's reactions to death, as well as the death itself, one of the main ideas being that life goes on. The boy lost his hand to a buzz saw and bled so much that he went into shock, dying in spite of his doctor's efforts. The author uses personification to great effect throughout the poem. The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood, Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it. And from there those that lifted eyes could count Five mountain ranges one behind the other Under the sunset far into Vermont. And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled, As it ran light, or had to bear a load. And nothing happened: day was all but done. Call it a day, I wish they might have said To please the boy by giving him the half hour That a boy counts so much when saved from work. His sister stood beside him in her apron To tell them 'Supper.' At the word, the saw, As if to prove saws knew what supper meant, Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap— He must have given the hand. However it was, Neither refused the meeting. But the hand! The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh, As he swung toward them holding up the hand Half in appeal, but half as if to keep The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all— Since he was old enough to know, big boy Doing a man's work, though a child at heart— He saw all spoiled. 'Don't let him cut my hand off— The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!' So. But the hand was gone already. The doctor put him in the dark of ether. He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath. And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright. No one believed. They listened at his heart. Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it. No more to build on there. And they, since they Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

Fire and Ice (ROBERT FROST)

The speaker brings us into the middle of an argument between people who think the world will come to a fiery end and people who think the world will freeze. He could be talking about the literal end of the world, but he's also talking about the power that human beings have to harm or "destroy" one another. The speaker's experience with romantic desire has taught him that passionate or "hot" emotions like love and lust would probably have the power to turn the earth into a big fireball. But he has also experienced the other extreme, and he knows that colder emotions like hate have great destructive power. Love gets all the publicity, but hate is the silent killer. It may not have the same grandeur as the fireball ending, but it'll do the trick. Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.

We Wear the Mask (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)

The speaker opens the poem with the declaration that we wear masks that hide our true feelings. He goes on to emphasize the severity of the pain and suffering that these masks try to cover up. By the end, we understand that all of the politeness and subdued emotions are just phony disguises of the painful truths that hide behind them. And those masks certainly aren't doing anyone any favors. We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,— This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask!

The Minister's Black Veil (Nathaniel Hawthorne)

The story begins with the sexton standing in front of the meeting-house, ringing the bell. He is to stop ringing the bell when the Reverend Mr. Hooper comes into sight. However, the congregation is met with an unusual sight: Mr. Hooper is wearing a black semi-transparent veil that obscures all of his face but his mouth and chin from view. This creates a stir among the townspeople, who begin to speculate about his veil and its significance. As he takes the pulpit, Mr. Hooper's sermon is on secret sin and is "tinged, rather more darkly than usual, with the gentle gloom of Mr. Hooper's temperament". This topic concerns the congregation who fear for their own secret sins as well as their minister's new appearance. After the sermon, a funeral is held for a young lady of the town who has died. Mr. Hooper stays for the funeral and continues to wear his now more appropriate veil. It is said that if the veil were to blow away, he might be "fearful of her glance". Mr. Hooper says a few prayers and the body is carried away. Two of the mourners say that they have had a fancy that "the minister and the maiden's spirit were walking hand in hand". That night another occasion arises, this time a joyous one—a wedding. However, Mr. Hooper arrives in his veil again, bringing the atmosphere of the wedding down to gloom. By the next day, even the local children are talking of the strange change that seems to have come over their minister. Yet, no one is able to ask Mr. Hooper directly about the veil, except for his fiancée Elizabeth. Elizabeth tries to be cheerful and have him take it off. He will not do so, even when they are alone together, nor will he tell her why he wears the veil. Eventually, she gives up and tells him goodbye, breaking off the engagement. The one positive benefit of the veil is that Mr. Hooper becomes a more efficient clergyman, gaining many converts who feel that they too are behind the black veil with him. Dying sinners call out for him alone. Mr. Hooper lives his life thus, though he is promoted to Father, until his death. According to the text, "All through life the black veil had hung between him and the world: it had separated him from cheerful brotherhood and woman's love, and kept him in that saddest of all prisons, his own heart; and still it lay upon his face, as if to deepen the gloom of his dark-some chamber, and shade him from the sunshine of eternity". Even though Elizabeth broke off their engagement, she never marries and still keeps track of the happenings of Hooper's life from afar. When she finds out that he is deathly ill she comes to his death bed to be by his side. Elizabeth and the Reverend ask him once again to remove the veil, but he refuses. As he dies, those around him tremble. He tells them in anger not to tremble, not merely for him but for themselves, for they all wear black veils. Father Hooper is buried with the black veil on his face.

Sympathy (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)

While racism is one theme of the author's poem, in a broader sense, oppression is also a theme. The son of slaves, the author was restricted in the development of his talents by the Jim Crow Laws, which operated from 1877 into the 1960s. I know what the caged bird feels, alas! When the sun is bright on the upland slopes; When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass, And the river flows like a stream of glass; When the first bird sings and the first bud opes, And the faint perfume from its chalice steals— I know what the caged bird feels! I know why the caged bird beats his wing Till its blood is red on the cruel bars; For he must fly back to his perch and cling When he fain would be on the bough a-swing; And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars And they pulse again with a keener sting— I know why he beats his wing! I know why the caged bird sings, ah me, When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,— When he beats his bars and he would be free; It is not a carol of joy or glee, But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core, But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings— I know why the caged bird sings!

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (ROBERT FROST)

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer 5 To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. 10 The only other sounds the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, 15 And miles to go before I sleep. Summary On the surface, this poem is simplicity itself. The speaker is stopping by some woods on a snowy evening. He or she takes in the lovely scene in near-silence, is tempted to stay longer, but acknowledges the pull of obligations and the considerable distance yet to be traveled before he or she can rest for the night.

The Negro Speaks of Rivers (LANGSTON HUGHES)

Written in the first-person voice, the poem begins, "I've known rivers." ... The refrain, "My soul has grown deep like the rivers," links the movement and endurance and power of the great rivers to black history. I've known rivers: I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset. I've known rivers: Ancient, dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

The Collar (GEORGE HERBERT)

describes a speaker's desire to escape from his religious life and turn to one of greater freedom. The poem begins with the speaker stating that he will stand for his present life no longer. I struck the board, and cried, "No more; I will abroad! What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free, free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore What I have lost with cordial fruit? Sure there was wine Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn Before my tears did drown it. Is the year only lost to me? Have I no bays to crown it, No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted? All wasted? Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit and not. Forsake thy cage, Thy rope of sands, Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw, And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away! take heed; I will abroad. Call in thy death's-head there; tie up thy fears; He that forbears To suit and serve his need Deserves his load." But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild At every word, Methought I heard one calling, Child! And I replied My Lord.

To John Donne (BEN JONSON)

praises Donne but also showcases Jonson's unease about his place in canonical history and makes him feel as though he has to assert himself. As Harold Bloom says, authors have to engage with other canonical authors to be canonical, which is essentially what Jonson is doing by asserting himself next to Donne. Donne, the delight of Phoebus and each Muse Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse; Whose every work of thy most early wit Came forth example, and remains so yet; Longer a-knowing than most wits do live; And which no affection praise enough can give! To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life, Which might with half mankind maintain a strife. All which I meant to praise, and yet I would; But leave, because I cannot as I should!

After Apple-Picking (ROBERT FROST)

After a long day's work, the speaker is tired of apple picking. He has felt drowsy and dreamy since the morning when he looked through a sheet of ice lifted from the surface of a water trough. Now he feels tired, feels sleep coming on, but wonders whether it is a normal, end-of-the-day sleep or something deeper. My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there's a barrel that I didn't fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn't pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. Essence of winter sleep is on the night, The scent of apples: I am drowsing off. I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight I got from looking through a pane of glass I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough And held against the world of hoary grass. It melted, and I let it fall and break. But I was well Upon my way to sleep before it fell, And I could tell What form my dreaming was about to take. Magnified apples appear and disappear, Stem end and blossom end, And every fleck of russet showing clear. My instep arch not only keeps the ache, It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round. I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend. And I keep hearing from the cellar bin The rumbling sound Of load on load of apples coming in. For I have had too much Of apple-picking: I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired. There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall. For all That struck the earth, No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble, Went surely to the cider-apple heap As of no worth. One can see what will trouble This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is. Were he not gone, The woodchuck could say whether it's like his Long sleep, as I describe its coming on, Or just some human sleep.

Mowing (ROBERT FROST)

In the poet's own words, the poem may be interpreted thus: "The youth takes up life simply with the small tasks." There was never a sound beside the wood but one, And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground. What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself; Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun, Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound— And that was why it whispered and did not speak. It was no dream of the gift of idle hours, Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf: Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows, Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers (Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake. The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows. My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.

Hills Like White Elephants (Ernest Hemingway)

It was first published in August 1927. In the early 1920s, an American man and a girl, probably nineteen or twenty years old, are waiting at a Spanish railway station for the express train that will take them to Madrid. They drink beer as well as two licorice-tasting anis drinks, and finally more beer, sitting in the hot shade and discussing what the American man says will be "a simple operation" for the girl. The tension between the two is almost as sizzling as the heat of the Spanish sun. The man, while urging the girl to have the operation, says again and again that he really doesn't want her to do it if she really doesn't want to. However, he clearly is insisting that she do so. The girl is trying to be brave and nonchalant but is clearly frightened of committing herself to having the operation. She tosses out a conversational, fanciful figure of speech — noting that the hills beyond the train station "look like white elephants" — hoping that the figure of speech will please the man, but he resents her ploy. He insists on talking even more about the operation and the fact that, according to what he's heard, it's "natural" and "not really an operation at all." Finally, the express train arrives and the two prepare to board. The girl tells the man that she's "fine." She's lying, acquiescing to what he wants, hoping to quiet him. Nothing has been solved. The tension remains, coiled and tight, as they prepare to leave for Madrid. The girl is hurt by the man's fraudulent, patronizing empathy, and she is also deeply apprehensive about the operation that she will undergo in Madrid.

The Draft Horse (ROBERT FROST)

The author offers the reader a seemingly simple story of a violent event that takes place during a journey made by a couple of people in a horse-drawn buggy. On one level the poem is simplicity itself, containing no words or phrases that should cause the reader any difficulties. However, when one asks the question: "What does it all mean?" the poem becomes somewhat problematical. With a lantern that wouldn't burn In too frail a buggy we drove Behind too heavy a horse Through a pitch-dark limitless grove. And a man came out of the trees And took our horse by the head And reaching back to his ribs Deliberately stabbed him dead. The ponderous beast went down With a crack of a broken shaft. And the night drew through the trees In one long invidious draft. The most unquestioning pair That ever accepted fate And the least disposed to ascribe Any more than we had to to hate, We assumed that the man himself Or someone he had to obey Wanted us to get down And walk the rest of the way.

Love That Doth Reign and Live Within My Thought (Henry Howard, Earl of Surry)

The author's translation uses several Petrarchan images that became fashionable in poetic representations of love. The simile of "love as a battlefield," is central to Petrarchanism. Words like captive, arms, banner, and coward create a military confrontation between Love and the beloved woman in which the speaker suffers. The beloved as "cruel fair" is a related Petrarchan idea. The object of affection inspires both desire and terror with her gaze. The lover may feel desire but must refrain from any outward show of it; here, the speaker unfairly suffers the withering gaze of his beloved when in fact it is the personified Love who is boldly showing himself, although the beloved is not likely to accept that excuse. Love that doth reign and live within my thought and built his seat within my captive breast, Clad in arms wherein with me he fought, Oft in my face he doth his banner rest. But she that taught me love and suffer pain,My doubtful hope and eke my hot desireWith shamefaced look to shadow and refrain,Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.And coward Love, then, to the heart apaceTaketh his flight, where he doth lurk and 'plain,His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.For my lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pain,Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove,--Sweet is the death that taketh end by love.

The Artist of the Beautiful (Nathaniel Hawthorne)

The poem follows Owen Warland as he works on an unknown project. The story begins with Peter Hovenden, a retired watchmaker and Owen's former master, walking by with his daughter Annie. Peter scoffs at Owen for working on something other than a watch, and tells his daughter that the more practical work of the blacksmith Robert Danforth is more admirable. Working with such strength, Peter believes, "takes the nonsense out of a man." Owen has overheard this conversation and wonders if Annie agrees with her father. Robert presents Owen with a tiny anvil he had requested and the two briefly discuss the differences between practical work and more ambitious work. Resuming his project, Owen finds himself affected by Robert's practical-mindedness and unintentionally ruins his work. In despair, Owen put the project aside and begins to focus on his watchmaking, becoming well-respected in town. In the midst of this success, Peter returns to the shop and sees that Owen has resumed work on his secret invention. He threatens to destroy it, which he believes will be helping him. Owen shouts at him and curses the "coarse world" that does not appreciate his work. Months later, Annie visits and asks him to repair a thimble of hers. Owen, for a moment, thinks she is the one person who might understand his work, but changes his mind when she accidentally breaks his small machine. Owen breaks from society for a time and finds his nourishment in nature and in chasing butterflies. Peter returns to invite him to a celebration for the engagement of his daughter to Robert Danforth. Owen secretly loves Annie and is despondent for a time but, once his spirits revive, he returns to his project with vigor. Years pass before he visits Robert and Annie at their home. He offers his invention to Annie as a late wedding gift and instructs her to open an extravagantly decorated box. Inside is a small butterfly which lands on her finger. She is unsure if it is real or a machine. Her child reaches for the butterfly but he has inherited his father's strength and his grandfather's skepticism and the butterfly is crushed in his small hands. Owen is not upset because he had already achieved his goal as the artist of the beautiful; the butterfly itself was only the physical manifestation of that symbol.

Encouragement (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)

The poem is about the male/female relationship. The speaker is a woman who loves a man, but he is reticent about his feelings. Who dat knockin' at de do'? Why, Ike Johnson,—yes, fu' sho! Come in, Ike. I 's mighty glad You come down. I t'ought you 's mad At me 'bout de othah night, An' was stayin' 'way fu' spite. Say, now, was you mad fu' true Wen I kin' o' laughed at you? Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f. 'T ain't no use a-lookin' sad, An' a-mekin' out you 's mad; Ef you 's gwine to be so glum, Wondah why you evah come. I don't lak nobidy 'roun' Dat jes' shet dey mouf an' frown,— Oh, now, man, don't act a dunce! Cain't you talk? I tol' you once, Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f. Wha 'd you come hyeah fu' to-night? Body 'd t'ink yo' haid ain't right. I 's done all dat I kin do,>— Dressed perticler, jes' fu' you; Reckon I 'd 'a' bettah wo' My ol' ragged calico. Aftah all de pains I 's took, Cain't you tell me how I look? Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f. Bless my soul! I 'mos' fu'got Tellin' you 'bout Tildy Scott. Don't you know, come Thu'sday night, She gwine ma'y Lucius White? Miss Lize say I allus wuh Heap sight laklier 'n huh; An' she 'll git me somep'n new, Ef I wants to ma'y too. Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f. I could ma'y in a week, Ef de man I wants 'ud speak. Tildy's presents 'll be fine, But dey wouldn't ekal mine. Him whut gits me fu' a wife 'Ll be proud, you bet yo' life. I 's had offers; some ain't quit; But I has n't ma'ied yit! Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f. Ike, I loves you,—yes, I does; You 's my choice, and allus was. Laffin' at you ain't no harm.— Go 'way, dahky, whah 's yo' arm? Hug me closer—dah, dat 's right! Was n't you a awful sight, Havin' me to baig you so? Now ax whut you want to know,— Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f!

On My First Daughter (BEN JONSON)

This is a tragic epitaph for the author's infant child, Mary, who died when she was six months old. In the poem, the author tries to come to terms with her death and consoles himself that she now rests in heaven and all her innocence and purity will remain intact for eternity placing her amongst the most divine residents of heaven. However, despite his belief her soul is in heaven, he shows that the tragedy still weighs heavy upon him by pleading with the earth that covers her grave to be gentle with her. Here lies, to each her parents' ruth, Mary, the daughter of their youth; Yet all heaven's gifts being heaven's due, It makes the father less to rue. At six months' end she parted hence With safety of her innocence; Whose soul heaven's queen, whose name she bears, In comfort of her mother's tears, Hath placed amongst her virgin-train: Where, while that severed doth remain, This grave partakes the fleshly birth; Which cover lightly, gentle earth!

The Snows of Kilimanjaro (Ernest Hemingway)

The short story was published in August 1936 in Esquire magazine. Harry, a writer, and his wife, Helen, are stranded while on safari in Africa. A bearing burned out on their truck, and Harry is talking about the gangrene that has infected his leg when he did not apply iodine after he scratched it. As they wait for a rescue plane from Nairobi that he knows won't arrive on time, Harry spends his time drinking and insulting Helen. Harry reviews his life, realizing that he wasted his talent through procrastination and luxury from a marriage to a wealthy woman that he doesn't love. In a series of flashbacks, Harry recalls the mountains of Bulgaria and Constantinople, as well as the suddenly hollow, sick feeling of being alone in Paris. Later, there were Turks, and an American poet talking nonsense about the Dada movement, and headaches and quarrels, and watching people whom he would later write about. Uneasily, he recalls a boy who'd been frozen, his body half-eaten by dogs, and a wounded officer so entangled in a wire fence that his bowels spilled over it. As Harry lies on his cot, he is aware that vultures are walking around his makeshift camp, and a hyena lurks in the shadows. Knowing that he will die before he wakes, Harry goes to sleep and dreams that the rescue plane is taking him to a snow covered summit of Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa. Its Western summit is called the Masai "Ngàje Ngài," the House of God, where he sees the legendary leopard. Helen wakes, and taking a flashlight, walks toward Harry's cot. Seeing that his leg is dangling alongside the cot and that the dressings are pulled down, she calls his name repeatedly. She listens for his breathing and can hear nothing. Outside the tent, the hyena whines — a cry that is strangely human.

Life is Fine (LANGSTON HUGHES)

The speaker describes going to the river to think, but finding himself unable to do so. He decides to commit suicide by drowning himself. However, instead of sinking like a stone, he keeps returning to the surface and "hollering" loudly. The freezing temperature of the water awakens his mind and body, preventing him from surrendering to death. In the first refrain, he describes how cold the water is, painting a vivid image of himself shivering and ejecting himself from the water repeatedly; he cannot seem to let death catch hold. I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn't, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered! I came up twice and cried! If that water hadn't a-been so cold I might've sunk and died. But it was Cold in that water! It was cold! I took the elevator Sixteen floors above the ground. I thought about my baby And thought I would jump down. I stood there and I hollered! I stood there and I cried! If it hadn't a-been so high I might've jumped and died. But it was High up there! It was high! So since I'm still here livin', I guess I will live on. I could've died for love— But for livin' I was born Though you may hear me holler, And you may see me cry— I'll be dogged, sweet baby, If you gonna see me die. Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

Two Tramps in Mud Time (ROBERT FROST)

The speaker is splitting wood in his yard when two tramps show up looking for work. The woodchopper knows that his technique is flawless; the wood falls "splinterless as a cloven rock." He recognizes that his "life of self-control" prevents him from striking a blow "for the common good." Splitting wood is his way of letting loose. He basks in the signs of spring all around him and in the physical pleasures of hard work on a warm spring day. Growing self-conscious, he recognizes the tramps as loggers who are out of work and assumes they are judging his performance with the ax. This self-consciousness gives him pause in which he worries about the self-indulgent pleasure he finds in splitting wood while these two men need the work to survive. Thinking about his own work, he proclaims the right to his sought-after ideal of joining love and need through his vocation and his avocation, the thing he pursues for enjoyment. Out of the mud two strangers came And caught me splitting wood in the yard, And one of them put me off my aim By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!" I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind And let the other go on a way. I knew pretty well what he had in mind: He wanted to take my job for pay. Good blocks of oak it was I split, As large around as the chopping block; And every piece I squarely hit Fell splinterless as a cloven rock. The blows that a life of self-control Spares to strike for the common good, That day, giving a loose my soul, I spent on the unimportant wood. The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March...

The Birthmark (Nathaniel Hawthorne)

The tale examines obsession with human perfection. Aylmer is a brilliant and recognized scientist and philosopher drops his focus from his career and experiments to marry the beautiful Georgiana (who is physically perfect except for a small red birthmark in the shape of a hand on her cheek). As the story progresses, Aylmer becomes unnaturally obsessed with the birthmark on Georgiana's cheek. One night, he dreams of cutting the birthmark out of his wife's cheek (removing it like scraping the skin from an apple) and then continuing all the way to her heart. He does not remember this dream until Georgiana asks about what his sleep-talking meant. When Aylmer remembers the details of his dream, Georgiana declares that she would rather risk her life having the birthmark removed from her cheek than to continue to endure Aylmer's horror and distress that comes upon him when he sees her. The following day, Aylmer deliberates and then decides to take Georgiana to the apartments where he keeps a laboratory. He glances at Georgiana casually and normally but can't help but shudder violently at seeing her imperfection; Aylmer's reaction causes her to faint. When she awakens, he treats her warmly and comforts her with some of his scientific concoctions but when he attempts to take a portrait of her, the image is blurred save for her birthmark revealing the disgust he has of it. He experiments some more and describes some of the successes to her but as he questions how she is feeling, Georgiana begins to suspect that Aylmer has been experimenting on her the entire time without her knowledge and consent. One day, she follows him into his laboratory, and on seeing her there, Aylmer accuses her of not trusting him and says that having her birthmark in the room will foil his efforts. She professes complete trust in him but demands that he inform her of his experiments. He agrees and reveals that his current experiment is his last attempt to remove the birthmark, and Georgiana vows to take the potion, regardless of any danger it poses to her. Soon after, Aylmer brings her the potion, which he demonstrates as effective by rejuvenating a diseased plant with a few drops. Protesting that she doesn't need proof to trust her husband, Georgiana drinks the concoction and promptly falls asleep. Aylmer watches and rejoices as the birthmark fades little by little. Once it is nearly gone, Georgiana wakes up to see her image in a mirror, the birthmark almost completely faded. She smiles but then informs Aylmer that she is dying. Once the birthmark fades completely, Georgiana dies with it.

In Our Time (Ernest Hemingway)

This author's first collection of short stories, published in 1925

The Flower (GEORGE HERBERT)

This joyful poem is a celebration of God's 'returns' - or rather, the speaker's rediscovery of God's presence after a period of spiritual barrenness. How fresh, oh Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns! even as the flowers in spring; To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. Who would have thought my shriveled heart Could have recovered greenness? It was gone Quite underground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have blown, Where they together All the hard weather, Dead to the world, keep house unknown...

Mending Wall (ROBERT FROST)

Written in 1914, is a poem in blank verse that remains relevant for these uncertain times. It involves two rural neighbors whom one spring day meet to walk along the wall that separates their properties and repair it where needed. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbour know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go. To each the boulders that have fallen to each. And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance: "Stay where you are until our backs are turned!" We wear our fingers rough with handling them. Oh, just another kind of out-door game, One on a side. It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours." Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder If I could put a notion in his head: "Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it Where there are cows? But here there are no cows. Before I built a wall I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offence. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him, But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. I see him there Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. He moves in darkness as it seems to me, Not of woods only and the shade of trees. He will not go behind his father's saying, And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours."

Just So Stories (Rudyard Kipling)

[THE TERM] is a 1902 collection of origin stories. Considered a classic of children's literature, the book is among the author's best-known works. [THE TERM] began as bedtime stories told by the author to his daughter "Effie" (Josephine, the author's firstborn); when the first three were published in a children's magazine, a year before her death, the author explained: "in the evening there were stories meant to put Effie to sleep, and you were not allowed to alter those by one single little word. They had to be told just so; or Effie would wake up and put back the missing sentence. So at last they came to be like charms, all three of them — the whale tale, the camel tale, and the rhinoceros tale."[4] Nine of the thirteen Just So Stories tell how particular animals were modified from their original forms to their current forms by the acts of human beings or magical beings. For example, the Whale has a tiny throat because he swallowed a mariner, who tied a raft inside to block the whale from swallowing other men. The Camel has a hump given to him by a djinn as punishment for the camel's refusing to work (the hump allows the camel to work longer between times of eating). The Leopard's spots were painted by an Ethiopian(after the Ethiopian painted himself black). The Kangaroo gets its powerful hind legs, long tail and hopping gait after being chased all day by a dingo, sent by a minor god responding to the Kangaroo's request to be made different from all other animals.

The House on Mango Street (Sandra Cisneros)

a 1984 coming-of-age/bildungsroman novel. It is written from the perspective of teenage Latina, Esperanza Cordero, who struggles with her life in a Chicano and Puerto Rican neighborhood of Chicago. Esperanza is a little girl who moves with her family to a house on Mango Street. It's a small, crumbling red house in a poor urban neighborhood - not at all what Esperanza had been hoping for when her parents promised to move the family to a house. Esperanza, who's often followed by her younger sister Nenny, meets the other residents of Mango Street and describes their often difficult lives in a series of vignettes, or short sketches. Most of the neighborhood's residents are Hispanic, including Esperanza, whose father is a Mexican immigrant and whose mother is Latina. (By the way, check out Sandra Cisneros's opinion on the terms "Hispanic" and "Latino" under "Trivia.") The beginning of this book introduces us to a collection of characters and explores their cultural backgrounds and how they are affected by poverty, exile, and the restrictions of prescribed gender roles. Esperanza is ashamed of her family's poverty, and describes several instances in which she lies, or tries to hide the fact that she is poor, by saying she lives in a different house, or hiding her unattractive shoes under the table at a party. Puberty also provokes some feelings of shame for Esperanza, whose experience of adolescence is made even more painful than usual by two instances of sexual aggression - one in which an old man at work forces her to kiss him, and one in which some boys at a carnival rape her. Some of Esperanza's friends also suffer significant hardship: Alicia, whose mother is dead, is forced by her father to rise early every morning to make tortillas for her family; Sally, a beautiful girl at school, endures regular beatings by her father; Minerva, a teenaged mother of two, is constantly being abandoned or beaten by her husband. Esperanza's mother encourages her not to let men hold her back, and not to "lay her [her neck] on the threshold waiting for the ball and chain" of marriage (35.3). Witnessing the fate of her female schoolmates who marry young to escape the abuse of their fathers, only to suffer at the hands of their new husbands, Esperanza resolves to leave Mango Street with her books and her papers. She dreams of having a house all her own, where she can write. An encounter with three spiritual sisters at a neighborhood wake suggests that she will be successful in escaping the neighborhood, but that she will never be able to deny her past. The three sisters convince Esperanza that, when she leaves, she must come back for those who cannot leave as easily, and work to make Mango Street a better place.

The Diary of Anne Frank (Anne Frank)

a book of the writings from the Dutch language diary kept by the author while she was in hiding for two years with her family during the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands. The author had expressed the desire in the rewritten introduction of her diary for one person that she could call her truest friend, that is, a person to whom she could confide her deepest thoughts and feelings. She observed that she had many "friends" and equally many admirers, but (by her own definition) no true, dear friend with whom she could share her innermost thoughts. She originally thought her girlfriend Jacque van Maarsen would be this person, but that was only partially successful. In an early diary passage, she remarks that she is not in love with Helmut "Hello" Silberberg, her suitor at that time, but considered that he might become a true friend. In hiding, she invested much time and effort into her budding romance with Peter van Pels, thinking he might evolve into that one, true friend, but that was eventually a disappointment to her in some ways, also, though she still cared for him very much. Ultimately, it was only to Kitty that she entrusted her innermost thoughts. In her diary, Anne wrote of her very close relationship with her father, lack of daughterly love for her mother (with whom she felt she had nothing in common), and admiration for her sister's intelligence and sweet nature. She did not like the others much initially, particularly Auguste van Pels and Fritz Pfeffer (the latter shared her room). She was at first unimpressed by the quiet Peter; she herself was something of a self-admitted chatterbox (a source of irritation to some of the others). As time went on, however, she and Peter became very close, though she remained uncertain in what direction their relationship would develop.

Jude the Obscure (Thomas Hardy)

a novel that began as a magazine serial in December 1894 and was first published in book form in 1895. It is the author's last completed novel. Its protagonist, Jude Fawley, is a working-class young man, a stonemason, who dreams of becoming a scholar. The other main character is his cousin, Sue Bridehead, who is also his central love interest. The novel is concerned in particular with issues of class, education, religion, morality and marriage. Jude Fawley dreams of studying at the university in Christminster, but his background as an orphan raised by his working-class aunt leads him instead into a career as a stonemason. He is inspired by the ambitions of the town schoolmaster, Richard Phillotson, who left for Christminster when Jude was a child. However, Jude falls in love with a young woman named Arabella, is tricked into marrying her, and cannot leave his home village. When their marriage goes sour and Arabella moves to Australia, Jude resolves to go to Christminster at last. However, he finds that his attempts to enroll at the university are met with little enthusiasm. Jude meets his cousin Sue Bridehead and tries not to fall in love with her. He arranges for her to work with Phillotson in order to keep her in Christminster, but is disappointed when he discovers that the two are engaged to be married. Once they marry, Jude is not surprised to find that Sue is not happy with her situation. She can no longer tolerate the relationship and leaves her husband to live with Jude. Both Jude and Sue get divorced, but Sue does not want to remarry. Arabella reveals to Jude that they have a son in Australia, and Jude asks to take him in. Sue and Jude serve as parents to the little boy and have two children of their own. Jude falls ill, and when he recovers, he decides to return to Christminster with his family. They have trouble finding lodging because they are not married, and Jude stays in an inn separate from Sue and the children. At night Sue takes Jude's son out to look for a room, and the little boy decides that they would be better off without so many children. In the morning, Sue goes to Jude's room and eats breakfast with him. They return to the lodging house to find that Jude's son has hanged the other two children and himself. Feeling she has been punished by God for her relationship with Jude, Sue goes back to live with Phillotson, and Jude is tricked into living with Arabella again. Jude dies soon after.

Daisy Miller (Henry James)

a novella that first appeared in Cornhill Magazine in June-July 1878. Annie "Daisy" Miller and Frederick Winterbourne first meet in Vevey, Switzerland, in a garden of the grand hotel,[2] where Winterbourne is allegedly vacationing from his studies (an attachment to an older lady is rumoured). They are introduced by Randolph Miller, Daisy's nine-year-old brother. Randolph considers their hometown of Schenectady, New York, to be absolutely superior to all of Europe. Daisy, however, is absolutely delighted with the continent, especially the high societyshe wishes to enter. Winterbourne is at first confused by her attitude, and though greatly impressed by her beauty, he soon determines that she is nothing more than a young flirt. He continues his pursuit of Daisy in spite of the disapproval of his aunt, Mrs. Costello, who spurns any family with so close a relationship to their courier as the Millers have with their Eugenio. She also thinks Daisy is a shameless girl for agreeing to visit the Château de Chillon with Winterbourne after they have known each other for only half an hour. Two days later, the two travel to Château de Chillon and although Winterbourne had paid the janitor for privacy, Daisy is not quite impressed. Winterbourne then informs Daisy that he must go to Genevathe next day. Daisy feels disappointment and chaffs him, eventually asking him to visit her in Rome later that year. In Rome, Winterbourne and Daisy meet unexpectedly in the parlor of Mrs. Walker, an American expatriate, whose moral values have adapted to those of Italian society. Rumors about Daisy meeting with young Italian gentlemen make her socially exceptionable under these criteria. Winterbourne learns of Daisy's increasing intimacy with a young Italian of questionable society, Giovanelli, as well as the growing scandal caused by the pair's behaviour. Daisy is undeterred by the open disapproval of the other Americans in Rome, and her mother seems quite unaware of the underlying tensions. Winterbourne and Mrs. Walker attempt to persuade Daisy to separate from Giovanelli, but she refuses. One night, Winterbourne takes a walk through the Colosseum and sees a young couple sitting at its centre. He realises that they are Giovanelli and Daisy. Winterbourne, infuriated with Giovanelli, asks him how he could dare to take Daisy to a place where she runs the risk of catching "Roman Fever". Daisy says she does not care and Winterbourne leaves them. Daisy falls ill and dies a few days later.

Meditations (Marcus Aurelius)

a series of personal writings by the Roman Emperor from 161 to 180 AD, recording his private notes to himself and ideas on Stoic philosophy. The author wrote the 12 books of the Meditations in Koine Greek as a source for his own guidance and self-improvement. [THE TERM] is divided into 12 books that chronicle different periods of the author's life. Each book is not in chronological order and it was written for no one but himself. The style of writing that permeates the text is one that is simplified, straightforward, and perhaps reflecting the author's Stoic perspective on the text. Depending on the English translation, the author's style is not viewed as anything regal or belonging to royalty, but rather a man among other men, which allows the reader to relate to his wisdom. A central theme to Meditations is the importance of analyzing one's judgment of self and others and the development of a cosmic perspective. As he said "You have the power to strip away many superfluous troubles located wholly in your judgment, and to possess a large room for yourself embracing in thought the whole cosmos, to consider everlasting time, to think of the rapid change in the parts of each thing, of how short it is from birth until dissolution, and how the void before birth and that after dissolution are equally infinite".[3] He advocates finding one's place in the universe and sees that everything came from nature, and so everything shall return to it in due time. Another strong theme is of maintaining focus and to be without distraction all the while maintaining strong ethical principles such as "Being a good man".[4] His Stoic ideas often involve avoiding indulgence in sensory affections, a skill which will free a man from the pains and pleasures of the material world. He claims that the only way a man can be harmed by others is to allow his reaction to overpower him. An order or logos permeates existence. Rationality and clear-mindedness allow one to live in harmony with the logos. This allows one to rise above faulty perceptions of "good" and "bad" - things out of your control like fame and health are (unlike things in your control) irrelevant and neither good nor bad.

The Chronicles of Narnia (C. S. Lewis)

a series of seven fantasy novels Written by the author, illustrated by Pauline Baynes, and originally published in London between 1950 and 1956. a series of seven books: "The Magician's Nephew,; "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe," "The Horse and His Boy," "Prince Caspian," "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader," "The Silver Chair" and "The Last Battle." The stories center on the magical land Narnia, which is filled with mythological creatures and talking animals. The great lion, Aslan, is a Christ-figure in the series, appearing in each book. He watches over Narnia and intervenes throughout its history. "The Magician's Nephew" explains how Aslan first created Narnia. Digory, a young boy, and his neighbor, Polly, use magic rings to travel between different worlds. They witness Aslan creating Narnia, and are responsible for enabling the evil White Witch to enter its borders. Digory and Polly bury their magic rings with an apple core from a Narnian tree; a new apple tree grows from its seeds, and Digory uses its wood to build the wardrobe that the Pevensies use to enter Narnia. "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" tells how Lucy, Edmund, Susan and Peter Pevensie discover Narnia by walking through a magic wardrobe. The children join Aslan's army and fight the White Witch. The Witch attempts to defeat Aslan by demanding Edmund's life. Aslan offers his life to the Witch instead; however, after she kills him, he rises from the dead and defeats her with his army of talking beasts. In the end, he crowns the children kings and queens of Narnia. In "The Horse and His Boy," a boy named Shasta escapes from the land of Calormene with a Narnian horse called Bree. Together with a girl named Aravis and a mare named Hwin, they save Archenland from a Calormene invasion. Ultimately, Shasta learns that he is actually the lost prince Cor of Archenland.

Rip Van Winkle (Washington Irving)

a short story first published in 1819. It follows a Dutch-American villager in colonial America named Rip Van Winkle who falls asleep in the Catskill Mountains and wakes up 20 years later, having missed the American Revolution. Rip Van Winkle lives in a village in the Catskills with his wife and children. He's an easygoing man with a nagging wife who constantly criticizes him. One day, Rip goes hunting in the mountains and meets Henry Hudson, the famed explorer who discovered the Hudson River. Rip eats and drinks with Hudson and his crew, then falls asleep under a tree. Twenty years later, Rip Van Winkle wakes up to find that the world has changed. His wife has died. His kids are grown. At first, the only person in his village who recognizes him is Peter Vanderdonk, the eldest man in the village. Eventually, Rip's daughter Judith accepts Rip as her father and brings him into her home. Judith has since grown up, married a man named Cardenier, and had a child. Though Rip loves his family, he feels alienated from them, unable to adjust to the fact that twenty years have passed. He tells and retells his story in hopes of keeping alive the old traditions.

Young Goodman Brown (Nathaniel Hawthorne)

a short storypublished in 1835. The story takes place in 17th century Puritan New England, a common setting for Hawthorne's works, and addresses the Calvinist/Puritan belief that all of humanity exists in a state of depravity, but that God has destined some to unconditional election through unmerited grace. Hawthorne frequently focuses on the tensions within Puritan culture, yet steeps his stories in the Puritan sense of sin. In a symbolic fashion, the story follows Young Goodman Brown's journey into self-scrutiny, which results in his loss of virtue and belief. The story begins at dusk in Salem Village, Massachusetts as young Goodman Brown leaves Faith, his wife of three months, for some unknown errand in the forest. Faith pleads with her husband to stay with her, but he insists that the journey must be completed that night. In the forest he meets an older man, dressed in a similar manner and bearing a physical resemblance to himself. The man carries a black serpent-shaped staff. Deeper in the woods, the two encounter Goody Cloyse, an older woman, whom Young Goodman had known as a boy and who had taught him his catechism. Cloyse complains about the need to walk; the older man throws his staff on the ground for the woman and quickly leaves with Brown. Other townspeople inhabit the woods that night, traveling in the same direction as Goodman Brown. When he hears his wife's voice in the trees, he calls out but is not answered. He then runs angrily through the forest, distraught that his beautiful Faith is lost somewhere in the dark, sinful forest. He soon stumbles upon a clearing at midnight where all the townspeople assembled. At the ceremony, which is carried out at a flame-lit altar of rocks, the newest acolytes are brought forth—Goodman Brown and Faith. They are the only two of the townspeople not yet initiated. Goodman Brown calls to heaven and Faith to resist and instantly the scene vanishes. Arriving back at his home in Salem the next morning, Goodman Brown is uncertain whether the previous night's events were real or a dream, but he is deeply shaken, and his belief he lives in a Christian community is distorted. He loses his faith in his wife, along with all of humanity. He lives his life an embittered and suspicious cynic, wary of everyone around him. The story concludes: "And when he had lived long, and was borne to his grave... they carved no hopeful verse upon his tombstone, for his dying hour was gloom."

The Death of the Hired Man (ROBERT FROST)

a typical poem by the author in which an ordinary man and his wife turn into a philosophically significant debate. The wife represents love and sympathy, emotion and imagination, and evaluates 'human beings' not in terms of reason but emotion. The husband is a 'practical' modern man who regards and respects people in terms of their work, worth, contribution and so on. In other words, the husband represents reason, intellect, utilitarianism, practicality, rationality, and the like. Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step, She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage To meet him in the doorway with the news And put him on his guard. 'Silas is back.' She pushed him outward with her through the door And shut it after her. 'Be kind,' she said. She took the market things from Warren's arms And set them on the porch, then drew him down To sit beside her on the wooden steps. 'When was I ever anything but kind to him? But I'll not have the fellow back,' he said. 'I told him so last haying, didn't I? If he left then, I said, that ended it. What good is he? Who else will harbor him At his age for the little he can do? What help he is there's no depending on. Off he goes always when I need him most. He thinks he ought to earn a little pay, Enough at least to buy tobacco with, So he won't have to beg and be beholden. "All right," I say, "I can't afford to pay Any fixed wages, though I wish I could." "Someone else can." "Then someone else will have to." I shouldn't mind his bettering himself If that was what it was. You can be certain, When he begins like that, there's someone at him Trying to coax him off with pocket-money,— In haying time, when any help is scarce. In winter he comes back to us. I'm done.'...

On the Jewish Question (Karl Marx)

a work written in 1843, and first published in Paris in 1844 under the German title "Zur Judenfrage" in the Deutsch-Französische Jahrbücher. It was one of the author's first attempts to develop what would later be called the materialist conception of history. also referred to as the "Jewish problem", was a wide-ranging debate in 19th- and 20th-century European society that pertained to the appropriate status and treatment of Jews. In the author's view, Bauer fails to distinguish between political emancipation and human emancipation. As noted above, political emancipation in a modern state does notrequire the Jews (or, for that matter, the Christians) to renounce religion; only complete human emancipation would involve the disappearance of religion, but that is not yet possible "within the hitherto existing world order". In the second part of the essay, Marx disputes Bauer's "theological" analysis of Judaism and its relation to Christianity. Bauer has stated that the renouncing of religion would be especially difficult for Jews, because Judaism is, in his view, a primitive stage in the development of Christianity.[clarification needed]Hence, to achieve freedom by renouncing religion, the Christians would have to surmount only one stage, whereas the Jews would need to surmount two. In response to this, Marx argues that the Jewish religion does not need to be attached to the significance it has in Bauer's analysis, because it is only a spiritual reflection of Jewish economic life. This is the starting point of a complex and somewhat metaphorical argument which draws on the stereotype of the Jew as a financially apt "huckster" and posits a special connection between Judaism as a religion and the economy of contemporary bourgeois society. Thus, the Jewish religion does not need to disappear in society, as Bauer argues, because it is actually a natural part of it.[clarification needed] Having thus figuratively equated "practical Judaism" with "huckstering and money", Marx concludes, that "the Christians have become Jews"; and, ultimately, it is mankind (both Christians and Jews[14] that needs to emancipate itself from ("practical") Judaism. The second part of Marx's essay is frequently cited as evidence of Marx's antisemitism:[4][15] Let us consider the actual, worldly Jew - not the Sabbath Jew, as Bauer does, but the everyday Jew. Let us not look for the secret of the Jew in his religion, but let us look for the secret of his religion in the real Jew. What is the secular basis of Judaism? Practical need, self-interest. What is the worldly religion of the Jew? Huckstering. What is his worldly God? Money. [...] The Jew has emancipated himself in a Jewish manner, not only because he has acquired financial power, but also because, through him and also apart from him, money has become a world power and the practical Jewish spirit has become the practical spirit of the Christian nations. The Jews have emancipated themselves insofar as the Christians have become Jews. [...] In the final analysis, the emancipation of the Jews is the emancipation of mankind from Judaism.

Ships that Pass in the Night (Paul Lawrence Dunbar)

expresses his wish of everybody having opportunities in life, regardless of their race. Although the African Americans were free, they were still discriminated against and had less chances to do things than the white people did. "Pregnant night" to me means that they have hope and expectation that the opportunities will come to them (Line 2). And anyways, we also say a woman is expecting when she is pregnant. Thus, it makes sense here. The author catches "the gleaming of a random light" (Line 4). This means that he is sensing the opportunity is nearby but not in his grasp as "the ship I [the author] seek[s] is passing, passing," and the opportunity passes him by (Line 5). The concept of opportunity is represented by the ship. The second stanza summarises how Dunbar tries to reach the opportunities but his voice is not strong enough and only the "its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing" (Line 5). Finally Dunbar questions if there is any "way that I [Dunbar] may sight and check that speeding bark which out of of sight and sound is passing, passing," or in other words, will he ever be able to try out anything that he is deprived of solely due to his colour? He simply wants to do what the others, the white people, can; and this is the wish of every black person during that time. Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing; I look far out into the pregnant night, Where I can hear a solemn booming gun And catch the gleaming of a random light, That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing. My tearful eyes my soul's deep hurt are glassing; For I would hail and check that ship of ships. I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud, My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips, And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing. O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing, O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark! Is there no hope for me? Is there no way That I may sight and check that speeding bark Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (Washington Irving)

gothic story Once upon a time, a guy named Ichabod lived in a little town called Sleepy Hollow. He was the town teacher and choirmaster. In other words, he was pretty important people. That's the backstory and this is where the craziness starts. One day, Ichabod realizes that the richest guy in town has an only daughter who's pretty good lookin'. He decides that he's going to hit on her so hard that she'll have no choice but to fall in love with him. Flawless plan, clearly. Oh, there is one problem though. There's this other guy named Brom and he wants to kill Ichabod for taking his lady. Minor snag. Ichabod lies low for a while because, you know, he doesn't want to die, but then something amazing happens. There's a party at his lady's place and he is invited. Booya. He gets dressed up, sprays on his finest Axe Body Spray (19th-century edition), and heads off on his borrowed steed. The party is hoppin', but when it's over, his lady dumps him. Ichabod is making his way home, crying all the way, when he meets the Headless Horseman. Ichabod goes nuts trying to get away from him, and when he finally thinks that he's safe, the Headless Horseman throws his head at him, and knocks Ichabod off of his horse and onto the ground. The next day, no one knows what happened to Mr. Crane. They see horse tracks, Ichabod's hat, and a pumpkin, and they all assume the Horseman got him. We hear that Ichabod ran away and became a judge. But Brom laughs mighty suspiciously every time they talk about Ichabod. Hmm, could it be? Nah, it was the Horseman. Right?

Theme for English B (LANGSTON HUGHES)

seems so poignantly to argue for their interconnectedness. Nevertheless, it is clear that the author would not want his reader to see "[THE TERM]" as a poem only about the complications of identity and understanding who we are, but to also be made aware of the role race plays in the life of this young student at this time in America. T The instructor said. Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it's that simple? I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem. I went to school there, then Durham, then here to this college on the hill above Harlem. I am the only colored student in my class. The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem, through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas, Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y, the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator up to my room, sit down, and write this page: It's not easy to know what is true for you or me at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you. hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page. (I hear New York, too.) Me—who? Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love. I like to work, read, learn, and understand life. I like a pipe for a Christmas present, or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach. I guess being colored doesn't make me not like the same things other folks like who are other races. So will my page be colored that I write? Being me, it will not be white. But it will be a part of you, instructor. You are white— yet a part of me, as I am a part of you. That's American. Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me. Nor do I often want to be a part of you. But we are, that's true! As I learn from you, I guess you learn from me— although you're older—and white— and somewhat more free. This is my page for English B.

My Kinsman, Major Molineaux (Nathaniel Hawthorne)

short story written in 1831. In about 1732, Robin, a youth, arrives by ferry in Boston seeking his kinsman, [PART OF THE TERM], an official in the British Colonial government, who has promised him work. Yet no one in town tells him where the major is. A rich man threatens the youth with prison, and an innkeeper calls him a runaway bond servant. At the inn, he meets a man with a face described as looking like the devil - two protrusions emanating from his forehead (like horns), eyes burning like 'fire in a cave'- who seems at the center of many evil things. Later, he runs into the man again, but this time his face is painted black and red. After blocking his path with a cudgel, he finally gets the answer that his kinsman will soon pass by. He waits at the spot on the steps of a church where he is greeted by the first polite gentleman he has met all night. Soon, the two men hear the roar of an approaching mob. At its head is the man with the red and black face and in its midst is Major Molineux, tarred and feathered. The crowd is in an uproar, and everyone is laughing. Soon, so is young Robin, as his eyes meet those of the Major, who knows him right away. Disillusioned, the youth asks the gentleman the way back to the ferry. Yet the latter restrains him, saying that it is still possible for him to thrive without his kinsman's protection.

Redemption (GEORGE HERBERT)

sonnet, allegorical narrates a biblical message of forgiveness through God and faith. Having been tenant long to a rich lord, Not thriving, I resolvèd to be bold, And make a suit unto him, to afford A new small-rented lease, and cancel th' old. In heaven at his manor I him sought; They told me there that he was lately gone About some land, which he had dearly bought Long since on earth, to take possessiòn. I straight returned, and knowing his great birth, Sought him accordingly in great resorts; In cities, theaters, gardens, parks, and courts; At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth Of thieves and murderers; there I him espied, Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died.

Poetics (Aristotle)

the earliest surviving work of dramatic theory and first extant philosophical treatise to focus on literary theory This has been the traditional view for centuries. In it, the author offers an account of what he calls "poetry" (a term that derives from a classical Greek term, ποιητής, that means "poet; author; maker" and in this context includes verse drama - comedy, tragedy, and the satyr play - as well as lyric poetry and epic poetry). They are similar in the fact that they are all imitations but different in the three ways that the author describes: Differences in music rhythm, harmony, meter and melody. Difference of goodness in the characters. Difference in how the narrative is presented: telling a story or acting it out. In examining its "first principles", Aristotle finds two: 1) imitation and 2) genres and other concepts by which that of truth is applied/revealed in the poesis. His analysis of tragedy constitutes the core of the discussion.[5] Although Aristotle's Poetics is universally acknowledged in the Westerncritical tradition, "almost every detail about his seminal work has aroused divergent opinions".[6] The work was lost to the Western world for a long time. It was available in the Middle Agesand early Renaissance only through a Latin translation of an Arabic version written by Averroes.

On my First Son (BEN JONSON)

written in 1603 and published in 1616 after the death of Jonson's first son Benjamin at the age of seven.[1][2] The poem, a reflection of a father's pain in his young son's death, is rendered more acutely moving when compared with Jonson's other, usually more cynical or mocking, poetry. It is clearly different to the poem written about his daughter's death, which does not show the loss on such an intense level. Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy; My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy. Seven years tho' wert lent to me, and I thee pay, Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. O, could I lose all father now! For why Will man lament the state he should envy? To have so soon 'scap'd world's and flesh's rage, And if no other misery, yet age? Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say, "Here doth lie Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry." For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such, As what he loves may never like too much.