British Literature Exam 2
When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
"Ode on a Grecian Urn"
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
"Ode on a Grecian Urn" envies the immortality of the lute players and trees inscribed on the ancient vessel because they shall never cease playing their songs, nor will they ever shed their leaves. He reassures young lovers by telling them that even though they shall never catch their mistresses, these women shall always stay beautiful. The people on the urn, unlike the speaker, shall never stop having experiences. They shall remain permanently depicted while the speaker changes, grows old, and eventually dies.
Summary of We Are Seven
'Seven' by William Wordsworth begins with the speaker asking what a child, who is clearly full of life, could possibly know about death. At first the poet makes it seem as if the child doesn't know anything about death This is due to the fact that she does not seem to understand that her siblings have died. The little girl continues to spend time singing to them, and speaking with them as if they were still alive. By the end of the poem it becomes clear that the girl understands more than it seemed. She is not allowing grief to ruin her life or keep her from living happily. She shows a greater understanding through her acceptance of their deaths, and continued optimism.
"How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?" Quick was the little Maid's reply, "O Master! we are seven." "But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
(1) 'Seven' by William Wordsworth (2) In the final two stanzas, the speaker becomes frustrated at the little girl's resolve, and in his attempt to make her understand the reality of her loss, he says, "But they are dead! Those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven". The girl's joyful demeanor even as she tells this stranger of the deaths of her siblings is so frustrating to him that it drives him to be distasteful enough to say to this little girl not once, but twice "they are dead!". He is obviously irritated that the girl did not seem aware of her loss, but rather continued to live as if her siblings were simply away for a while.
I met a little cottage Girl: She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad: Her eyes were fair, and very fair; —Her beauty made me glad.
(1) 'Seven' by William Wordsworth (2) The speaker then begins to describe a young girl with whom he is speaking. He describes her "clusters" or curls around her head and her very light eyes. Once the reader has the image of a beautiful little girl in mind, he/she can imagine the conversation taking place and thereby further identify with the speaker. When the speaker claims that the beauty of the young girl made him "glad", the reader begins to feel the effect this little girl had on the speaker.
I had not a dispute but a disquisition with Dilke, upon various subjects; several things dove-tailed in my mind, and at once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously—I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason—Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge. This pursued through volumes would perhaps take us no further than this, that with a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.[
(1) Keats: "on negative capability (2) Keats understood Coleridge as searching for a single, higher-order truth or solution to the mysteries of the natural world. He went on to find the same fault in Dilke and Wordsworth. All these poets, he claimed, lacked objectivity and universality in their view of the human condition and the natural world. In each case, Keats found a mind which was a narrow private path, not a "thoroughfare for all thoughts". Lacking for Keats were the central and indispensable qualities requisite for flexibility and openness to the world, or what he referred to as negative capability.[5] This concept of Negative Capability is precisely a rejection of set philosophies and preconceived systems of nature.[6] He demanded that the poet be receptive rather than searching for fact or reason, and to not seek absolute knowledge of every truth, mystery, or doubt
'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. ... Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.'
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2) The Mariner falls into a kind of stupor, and then wakes to find the dead Sailors' bodies reanimated by angels and at work on the ship. Powered by the Spirit from the South Pole, the ship races homeward, where the Mariner sees a choir of angels leave the bodies of the deceased Sailors. After this angels' chorus, the Mariner perceives a small boat on which a Pilot, the Pilot's Boy, and a Hermit approach. (part5)
"With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drought all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail!"
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2) In this terrible calm, trapped completely by the watery ocean that they cannot drink, the men on the ship grow so thirsty that they cannot even speak. When the Mariner sees what he believes is a ship approaching, he must bite his arm and drink his own blood so that he is able to alert the crew, who all grin out of joy. (part 3)
It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2) It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood
This seraph-band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light; This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart - No voice; but oh! the silence sank Like music on my heart.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2) Powered by the Spirit from the South Pole, the ship races homeward, where the Mariner sees a choir of angels leave the bodies of the deceased Sailors. (part 5)
I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2) The Mariner concludes his tale by explaining that as he travels from land to land he is always plagued by that same compulsion to tell his tale, that he experiences a peculiar agony if he doesn't give in to his urge to share the story, and that he can tell just from looking at their faces which men must hear his tale.
He holds him with his skinny hand, 'There was a ship,' quoth he.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2) Three young men are walking together to a wedding, when one of them is detained by a grizzled old sailor. (part1)
At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name. It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through!
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2)An Albatross breaks the pristine lifelessness of the Antarctic. The sailors greet it as a good omen, and a new wind rises up, propelling the ship. Day after day the albatross appears, appearing in the morning when the sailors call for it, and soaring behind the ship. (part1)
Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2)At first, the other Sailors are furious with the Mariner for killing the bird which they believed a god omen and responsible for making the breezes blow. But after the bird has been killed the fog clears and the fair breeze continues, blowing the ship north into the Pacific, and the crew comes to believe the bird was the source of the god and mist and that the killing is justified. It is then that the wind ceases, and the ship becomes trapped on a vast, calm sea. The Sailors and the Mariner become increasingly thirsty, and some sailors dream that an angered Spirit has followed them from the pole. (part II)
O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware, The selfsame moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2)At this moment he becomes inspired, and has a spiritual realization that all of God's creatures are beautiful and must be treated with respect and reverence. With this realization, he is finally able to pray, and the albatross fell from his neck and sunk into the sea. (part 3)
One after one, by the star-dogged Moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2)But the joy fades as the ghostly ship, which sails without wind, approaches. On its deck, Death and Life-in-Death gamble with dice for the lives of the Sailors and the Mariner. After Life-in-Death wins the soul of the Mariner, the Sailors begin to die of thirst, falling to the deck one by one, each staring at the Mariner in reproach. (part3)
The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door. He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2)He ends with the explicit lesson that prayer is the greatest joy in life, and the best prayers come from love and reverence of all of God's creation. Thus he moves onward to find the next person who must hear his story, leaving the Wedding Guest "a sadder and a wiser man."
An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2)Surrounded by the dead Sailors and cursed continuously by their gaze, the Mariner tries to turn his eyes to heaven to pray, but fails. It is only in the Moonlight, after enduring the horror of being the only one alive among the dead crew that the Mariner notices beautiful Water Snakes swimming beside the ship. (part 3)
Ah! well a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner (2)The crew then hangs the albatross around the Mariner's neck. (part II)
God save thee, ancient Mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!— Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS.
(1) coleridge, the rime of the ancient mariner(2)But then as the other sailor's cry out in dismay, the Mariner, for reasons unexplained, shoots and kills the albatross with his crossbow. (partI)
"The great secret of morals is Love; or a going out of our own nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action, or person, not our own. A man to be greatly good must imagine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and of many others; the pains and pleasures of his species must become his own."
(1) shelley defense of poetry (2) He states that "reason is to imagination as the instrument to the agent, as the body to the spirit, as the shadow to the substance" (Wu 1185). Shelley argues that every man experiences happiness and delight in certain experiences but "Those in whom it exists in excess are poets, in the most universal sense of the word; and the pleasure resulting from the manner in which they express the influence of society or nature upon their own minds, communicates itself to others, and gathers a sort of reduplication from that community (Fordham).
"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little Maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, And sing a song to them. "And often after sun-set, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there.
(1)'Seven' by William Wordsworth (2) But the girl is unwavering in her resolve that she is one of seven. Her description of her deceased siblings reveals that they are still very real to her and very close to her. She describes their green graves, and their close proximity to where she and her mother live. She then describes her interactions with them, claiming she often knits there and sits on their graves to sing to them. She also tells this stranger that she often takes her supper out to the church yard to eat with them.
"The first that died was sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain; And then she went away. "So in the church-yard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. "And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side."
(1)'Seven' by William Wordsworth (2) In the following three stanzas, the girl recounts her relationship with her siblings, which is enough to bring any reader to tears, although the girl shows not even the slightest sign of despair. She describes her sister Jane's death. She says that at the moment of death, "God released her of her pain". This description reveals that the little girl is not angry with God for taking her sister, but rather sees God as compassionate for easing her sister's pain and taking her to be with Him rather than leaving her to suffer in the world. The girl then tells memories of her brother, John, and how they played "together round her [Jane's] grave". Her memory of her brother's death is contrasted with her lively childlike demeanor as she explains that it was in the winter when she could "run and slide" on the snow that her brother John was "forced to go". It is apparent that her description of her brother's death is slightly more bitter than that of her sister's, even if only because she was a bit older and could feel the sting of death more intensely than when she lost her sister the year before. However, she makes it very clear that she still counts both John and Jane as present siblings, even though they are laid in the church yard.
"You run about, my little Maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the church-yard laid, Then ye are only five."
(1)'Seven' by William Wordsworth (2) The speaker again challenges the girl. He apparently decides to let her count the siblings that are away at sea and school as part of her family, but of the two buried siblings, he says, "if two are in the church-yard laid, then ye are only five". It would seem this stranger wants to convince the little girl of the reality of the tragedy she has endured. He is trying to get his point across that her two siblings are dead and gone, and that would mean she is only one of five children.
"You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell, Sweet Maid, how this may be." Then did the little Maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the church-yard lie, Beneath the church-yard tree."
(1)'Seven' by William Wordsworth (2) Upon hearing her answer, the speaker questions her calculations, claiming that if two are gone to study and two are at sea, there could not be seven left. The speaker apparently doesn't have the heart to mention the two buried siblings, but he does question how she can claim to belong to a family with seven children, when four are away. He asks her, "sweet maid, how this may be?" To which the girl replies with much confidence, "Seven boys and girls are we". She then reaffirms that two are laid in the ground under the tree in the church-yard.
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. "Two of us in the church-yard lie, My sister and my brother; And, in the church-yard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother."
(1)'Seven' by William Wordsworth (2)The speaker begins a conversation with this young lively girl in which he asks her how many siblings she has. The girl replies that she is one of seven. She then explains that "two [were at] Conway", or going to school, and that "two [were] out to sea" and finally that two were buried "in the church-yard" and that she alone lived with her mother in a home not too far from where her two siblings were buried. Within the innocent, light-hearted answers of the young girl, there are embedded the realities of the tragedies this girl has already experiences. The reader immediately feels the loss this young girl has lived through. Even if she doesn't express overt sadness or despair, the reader can begin to feel it for her as the reality of what she has been through sets in. The reader quickly realizes that having once had six siblings, she now lives alone with her mother.
A simple Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?
(1)'Seven' by William Wordsworth (2)The speaker opens with a question, one that resonates with most if not all people. Why should a child ever have to experience death? Immediately, any reader whose ever known the untimely death of a child, or experienced a young child loose a mother, father or sibling, identifies with the speaker.
You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know. JACK. What on earth do you mean? ALGERNON. You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose. Bunbury is perfectly invaluable.
Algernon explains to Jack why they both qualify as Bunburyists—people who have assumed false identities. Although Jack resents this accusation, Algernon does not intend his words as an insult. In fact, Algernon feels amused to discover the subterfuge of his outwardly earnest friend. The false identities assumed by Algernon and Jack drive the plot of the play. Both men use their alternative personas to deceive others, to gratify their own desires, and to make themselves look moral, which turns them from mere pretenders into hypocrites.
Really, if the lower orders don't set us a good example, what on earth is the use of them? They seem, as a class, to have absolutely no sense of moral responsibility.
Algernon. that is when his butler, Lane and him had philosophical chat about the nature of marriage and the married state.
____ Well, in the first place girls never marry the men they flirt with. Girls don't think it right. JACK. Oh, that is nonsense! ___ It isn't. It is a great truth. It accounts for the extraordinary number of bachelors that one sees all over the place.
Algernon. when algernon and jack are arguing over the cucumber sandwich. algernon told him to stop actng like him and gwendolen were already engage
meaning and significance of 'we are seven'
As We Are Seven progresses, the reader can clearly see that the child has a much more hopeful idea of death than the stranger she was speaking with. It was hard for the child to see her siblings laid in the ground, but she never felt as if they were gone. She still felt close to them, and she kept them alive in her heart by engaging in activities with them. Most intriguing, is this little girl's confidence that she would see them again. In fact, she was just as confident that she would again see Jane and John as she was confident that she would see her other four siblings that were away. It is apparent that this hope kept the young girl from being overcome with grief. The description in the second stanza of this girl being full of life, beauty, and hope, makes it clear that she has not been overcome with sadness. Even though the speaker seems to think the girl is unreasonable, and even illogical, the quickly becomes aware that the child possesses wisdom deeper than that of the adult with whom she is speaking. Her ability to endure such tragedy without growing cold and bitter or sad and depressed, reveals a wisdom and understanding beyond her years. The speaker, who is the adult the little girl is speaking with, symbolizes the average adult. Had the speaker been faced with the tragedy this little girl had faced, he would have despaired because he would have counted the deceased ones as dead and gone forever. The little girl on the other hand had hope for an after-life and found joy in their memories. This young girl's ability to grieve and yet hope in the midst of loosing ones so close to her reveals the inward peace that comes from her hope and confidence in a gracious God and a better after-life.
Do not speak slightingly of the three-volume novel, Cecily. I wrote one myself in earlier days. CECILY. Did you really, Miss Prism? How wonderfully clever you are! I hope it did not end happily? I don't like novels that end happily. They depress me so much. MISS PRISM. The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means.
Cecily and her governess, Miss Prism, discuss the romance novels of the time, wildly popular with women readers. The dialogue reveals that both women have melodramatic imaginations. Miss Prism's confession lays out the first clue to her role in the play's absurdly melodramatic plot. Miss Prism defines fiction as happy endings for good characters and justice for the bad. By Miss Prism's standards, the ending of the play will not be fiction, since good and bad people are not rewarded according to their just deserts.
Darling! And when was the engagement actually settled? CECILY. On the 14th of February last. Worn out by your entire ignorance of my existence, I determined to end the matter one way or the other, and after a long struggle with myself I accepted you under this dear old tree here. The next day I bought this little ring in your name, and this is the little bangle with the true lover's knot I promised you always to wear.
Cecily explains to Algernon the details of her engagement to Ernest, which has taken place entirely in her imagination. She thinks Algernon is Ernest, the fictional wayward brother of Jack, Cecily's guardian. Cecily, unaware that Jack invented Ernest to hide his own reprobate behavior, has fallen in love with Ernest. Algernon, who has learned from Jack of Cecily's interest in Ernest, masquerades as Ernest so that Cecily will fall in love with him. The plot builds so melodramatically as to ridicule the genre.
Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time. But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves (I.iii)
Cicero speaks these lines during the ominous storm before Caesar's assassination, when Casca mentions the portentous quality of the various signs manifesting throughout Rome. Cicero here wisely remarks that the symbols are indeed strange but that men may interpret them whichever way they wish, in some cases assigning meanings that have no relation to their original or intended meaning. More important than the symbols themselves is the way they are decoded. In this way, Cicero voices one of the main themes of the play: the misreading of augurs and omens. Nature might offer hints as to what the future has in store, but it is up to men to properly interpret them.
The dream is all amiss interpreted, it was a vision fair and fortunate (II.ii)
Decius Brutus speaks these lines to Caesar regarding Calpurnia's foreboding dream. He insists that the vision of Caesar's statue spurting blood while Romans bathe their hands in it is not an ominous vision but rather one of good tidings: it "signifies that from you great Rome shall suck/ Reviving blood" (II.ii). Decius Brutus twists the meaning of Calpurnia's vision into something positive. Again, the emphasis here is on the ability to distort or skew the meaning of auguries, so that they foretell whatever seems most expedient or advantageous. Decius Brutus creates his own interpretation as a way to bring Caesar to the Senate (where he knows a trap is waiting). In the end, Calpurnia's dream proves to be a warning, as the Senators do in fact dip their hands in the blood of murdered Caesar.
The precept as well as the practice of the Primitive Church was distinctly against matrimony. MISS PRISM [Sententiously]. That is obviously the reason why the Primitive Church has not lasted up to the present day. And you do not seem to realise, dear Doctor, that by persistently remaining single, a man converts himself into a permanent public temptation. Men should be more careful; this very celibacy leads weaker vessels astray.
Doctor Chasuble, a rector, attempts to fend off a matrimonial attack from Miss Prism, the governess of Cecily Cardew. The reluctant rector and the aging, marriage-mad spinster do battle through witty repartee. He pleads his clerical vow of celibacy, which leads Miss Prism to counter with a rebuke of his bachelor status as a moral temptation. Her suggestion that Doctor Chasuble is irresistible to women shows a skilled and practiced hand at flirting. The dialogue assumes that men naturally fear marriage and women naturally feel intent upon attaining a husband.
And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man, I know he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep (I.iii)
During the ominous storm at the end of Act I, Cassius tells Casca that Caesar is not tyrannical in nature, but that he could easily become corrupted by the enormous influence he now wields. Caesar will soon discover how easily the people of Rome can be manipulated, and he will not be able to resist the temptation to abuse his power. This introduces a vital layer of complexity to Julius Caesar. The question is not simply whether Caesar is an evil oppressor of the people—he is not (at least not yet)—but whether he will become one in the future. Power is naturally corrosive, Cassius insists, but is this a persuasive excuse for taking Caesar's life? Ultimately, the public will decide.
It is a creature that I teach to fight, To wind, to stop, to run directly on, His corporal motion governed by my spirit (IV.i)
Here, Antony is speaking to Octavius about the third leader of their Triumvirate, Lepidus. Antony speaks rather dismissively of Lepidus' decision-making skills and independence. Rather, in Antony's mind he functions as a tool or loyal beast of burden that can be directed in whichever way he wishes. This contrasts rather drastically to Brutus' strict adherence to rules and civility. Antony here is able to ruthlessly dehumanize others, and view them strictly in terms of their utility. What can Lepidus do for him? How can he be used to offer maximal advantage? The focus is on strategy. This is why Antony is a superior politician to Brutus, because he is willing to disregard morals in favor of gaining the upper hand.
There is a tide in the affairs of men Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyages of their life Is bound in shallows and miseries (IV.iii)
Here, Brutus explains to Cassius that it is advantageous to march forth and surprise the Octavius-Antony faction at Philippi. Through the metaphor of a flood, the quote speaks to a delicate balance between fate and free-will, and (with Machiavellian echoes) implies there are moments when destiny offers rare opportunities that should be seized. Essentially, Brutus is implying that free-will must be exercised judiciously, when it properly compliments the course of destiny. Again, Brutus here misreads fate's trajectory, and by exerting his will, ensures his own demise.
For let the gods so speed as I love The name of honor more than I fear death (I.ii)
Here, Brutus remarks to Cassius that he would readily sacrifice his life for the greater good. Honor in Julius Caesar is synonymous with bravery and selflessness. This is why Brutus is considered honorable by nearly every character in the play: he is earnestly committed to public service and the overall good of his country. It is precisely this virtue that Cassius exploits for his own aims. "I see thou honorable mettle may be wrought" Cassius says of Brutus at the end of Act I, scene 2. And sure, enough, by forging the letter from the plebeians (who beg Brutus to stand up to Caesar), Cassius appeals to Brutus' honor, which serves to ensnare him in the conspiracy. Tragically, it is Brutus' great virtue that contributes to his death and to the Civil War.
Let me tell you Cassius, you yourself Are much condemned to have an itching palm, To sell and mart your offices for gold To underservers (IV.iii)
Here, Brutus reprimands Cassius for allowing his troops to take bribes from the Sardians, where they are presently camped. Brutus has condemned a man named Lucius Pella because he has broken the law. Cassius has appealed to Brutus to forgive the man, because he knows him personally and because he is a valuable asset to their cause. However, Brutus will not hear of it. No matter how valuable Lucius Pella may be, he broke the law, and therefore must be punished. Once again, Brutus shows he is pedantically committed to the rule of law, even if it costs him a valuable strength. Although Brutus here wants to be lawfully consistent, he overlooks strategic investments and advantages and comes off as self-righteous to a fault.
Go bid the priests do present sacrifice And bring me options of success (II.i)
Here, Caesar orders his servant to order a sacrifice from the priests, as a way to determine whether or not he should go to the Senate. By asking for sacrifice to be performed, Caesar reveals his belief in predestination. The entrails of the ox will offer signs of what is fated to happen, and what he ought to do in accordance. Even though the ox appears to have no heart (an ominous portent) Caesar misreads it as an indictment of his cowardice should he stay home. Fate and predestination both have a large presence in the play, often giving characters subtle signs and glimpses of what is to pass. Yet the characters fail, rather consistently, to interpret these symbols correctly.
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man Most like this dreadful night (I.iii)
Here, Cassius does precisely what Cicero warned against: he interprets the ominous portents of the stormy night as indication of the gods' displeasure with Caesar and his illegal rise to power. Cassius twists the meaning of the strange symbols so that they match his already formed opinions. For Cassius, this stormy night, with all of its bizarre signs and portents, offers further validation for his plot to murder Caesar; proof that the gods are really on his side. Of course, we learn at the end of the play that these signs had little to do with Caesar himself, but more to do with the civil war that follows.
O! You and I have heard our fathers say There was a Brutus once that would have brooked Th'eternal Divel to keep his state in Rome As easily as a King (I.ii)
Here, Cassius is speaking to Brutus about the founder of the Roman Republic, Lucius Junius Brutus, who banished the oppressive Tarquin kings from the city in 509 BCE From that point on, Rome was governed by Consuls, typically two at a time, who were democratically elected by the Senate every year. In this scene, Cassius appeals to Brutus' pedigree, invoking his famous ancestor who, Cassius suggests, would have tolerated governance by the Devil himself before he would have tolerated a king. Trying to recruit Brutus to his side, Cassius appeals to his friend's righteous allergy to monarchy and one-man rule. Given the historical precedent of the Tarquin tyrants, the threat of another dictatorship looms large in the play, and serves as the main catalyst for Caesar's murder.
The fault (dear Brutus) is not in our stars, But in ourselves that we are underlings (I.ii)
Here, again, trying to enlist Brutus in the murder plot, Cassius suggests that it is not their fate to be Caesar's underlings, but rather that it is within their power to alter the course of history. This quote is important as it introduces one of the central conundrums of the play: how much of the future can an individual influence on his/her own and how much is destined to happen anyway? Despite the attempts of Cassius and Brutus to restore the republic and abolish tyranny, the result is ultimately the same; they are destined to fail.
We are two lions littered in one day, And I the elder and more terrible, And Caesar shall go forth (II.ii)
Here, as Calpurnia urges him not to go to the Senate, Caesar compares himself to "danger" using the metaphor of twin lions. Caesar insists that he is the bigger and more terrible of the twins. All of this is a way to show off how honorable he is. As with Brutus, honor for Caesar means bravery and strength. Skipping a requisite Senate visit on account of his wife's premonitions implies fear and cowardice, and these would make him appear dishonorable. This emphasizes the performative nature of honor. Caesar would heed Calpurnia's warning were it not for the fact that he would look weak to the world. Again, like Brutus, Caesar's vain sense of honor leads to his death.
And that we are contented Caesar shall Have all true rights and lawful ceremonies It shall advantage more, than do us wrong (III.i)
Here, having just killed Caesar, Brutus insists that Antony speak at the funeral as a show of respect. In his mind, this is the ethical and morally correct stance. For Brutus, ethics and morals are tied closely with laws and tradition. Abiding by the laws of storied institutions implies moral rectitude, and Brutus believes that by displaying his proper adherence to what is lawfully correct, the public will reward him. But the public, as it turns out, is fickle and cares little for laws and ethics. In this way, Brutus' rigid moral stance inhibits his ability to read the pulse of the Roman populace, and thereby limits his prowess as a politician.
Themes of Ode on a Grecian Urn
If the "Ode to a Nightingale" portrays Keats's speaker's engagement with the fluid expressiveness of music, the "Ode on a Grecian Urn" portrays his attempt to engage with the static immobility of sculpture. The Grecian urn, passed down through countless centuries to the time of the speaker's viewing, exists outside of time in the human sense—it does not age, it does not die, and indeed it is alien to all such concepts. In the speaker's meditation, this creates an intriguing paradox for the human figures carved into the side of the urn: They are free from time, but they are simultaneously frozen in time. They do not have to confront aging and death (their love is "for ever young"), but neither can they have experience (the youth can never kiss the maiden; the figures in the procession can never return to their homes). The speaker attempts three times to engage with scenes carved into the urn; each time he asks different questions of it. In the first stanza, he examines the picture of the "mad pursuit" and wonders what actual story lies behind the picture: "What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?" Of course, the urn can never tell him the whos, whats, whens, and wheres of the stories it depicts, and the speaker is forced to abandon this line of questioning.
"If he could but once set eyes on him, he thought the mystery would lighten and perhaps roll altogether away, as was the habit of mysterious things when well examined."
In Chapter 2, Utterson is trying to convince himself that once he sees Hyde, he will be able to free himself from his curiosity about him, which is growing by the hour. Utterson's confidence that rational examination of the facts would clear up the mystery highlights his position as a respectable lawyer in the Victorian era. The story throws this common Victorian assumption into question, as rational examination fails to satisfy many of the characters in the face of mysterious, supernatural events.
"'We had,' was the reply. 'But it is more than ten years since Henry Jekyll became too fanciful for me. He began to go wrong, wrong in mind; and though of course I continue to take an interest in him for old sake's sake, as they say, I see and I have seen devilish little of the man. Such unscientific balderdash,' added the doctor, flushing suddenly purple, 'would have estranged Damon and Pythias.'"
In Chapter 2, we get an early glimpse into the nature of Dr. Lanyon and Jekyll's friendship. Both are doctors and men of science, but Dr. Lanyon believes that Henry Jekyll became isolated by radical views, straying too far from the orthodoxy of their scientific profession. Lanyon equates Jekyll's unconventional pursuits with a preoccupation with irrational matters. Lanyon's reference to the legendary friendship of Damon and Pythias indicates he once felt close to Jekyll, and he chokes up with emotion just talking about the subject. This strain in their professional relationship gives pathos to Jekyll's turning to Lanyon for help later.
"Hitherto it had touched him on the intellectual side alone; but now his imagination also was engaged, or rather enslaved; and as he lay and tossed in the gross darkness of the night and the curtained room, Mr. Enfield's tale went by before his mind in a scroll of lighted pictures."
In Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, characters struggle to control the irrational side of their minds. In this quote about Mr. Utterson, Utterson is gripped by Mr. Enfield's tale about Mr. Hyde as he is home alone in bed, tossing and turning. In the daytime, his rational mind prevails, and his intellectual mind is able to keep the story in check, but at night, his imagination is engaged, and the story engrosses him. Utterson's curiosity is drawing him into Enfield's tale.
"It is well," replied my visitor. "Lanyon, you remember your vows: what follows is under the seal of our profession. And now, you who have so long been bound to the most narrow and material views, you who have denied the virtue of transcendental medicine, you who have derided your superiors—behold!"
In Dr. Lanyon's last letter, he recounts Jekyll's words to him before Jekyll reveals himself as Hyde. Jekyll chided Lanyon for being close-minded in his dismissal of scientific inquiries that go beyond the realm of materialism. Jekyll thus gloats as the revelation of Hyde sends Lanyon into shock. Lanyon is unable to understand or accept what he has seen. Lanyon's rational mind, when confronted with the irrational, simply collapses.
Throughout Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, characters contend with the moral choices they make in their own lives and those others make around them. The theme of the duality of human nature plagues the characters, since the values of Victorian society instructed people to overcome their immoral natures. As this quote from Jekyll reveals, Jekyll's desire to dissociate was born out of this desire to overcome his nature. Jekyll theorizes that if he were free from his lower nature, life would be more bearable, and he could live a satisfying, moral life without being hindered by dark impulses.
In Jekyll's last letter, the reader finally gets a firsthand account of what it was like for Jekyll to turn into Hyde. When Jekyll first sees himself as Hyde in the mirror, he sees not a monster but a friend. Jekyll strangely feels peace when facing his savage side, rather than complete repulsion. Jekyll finally accepts that he, just like every other human, has both good and evil in his or her nature. As a product of a society that encourages repression, Jekyll realizes that facing one's own evil nature leads to peace.
"Five minutes afterwards, if you insist upon an explanation, you will have understood that these arrangements are of capital importance; and that by the neglect of one of them, fantastic as they must appear, you might have charged your conscience with my death or the shipwreck of my reason."
In Jekyll's letter to Dr. Lanyon, one can see how just how deteriorated Jekyll's state of mind has become, even if the reason why is not yet clear. Jekyll's mind is so compromised that if Lanyon fails to carry out his requests, Jekyll worries his sanity might be irreversibly compromised. Like many of the characters in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Jekyll's rational mind is under threat by the unexplainable, mysterious supernatural events Jekyll has put into motion.
"It was thus rather the exacting nature of my aspirations than any particular degradation in my faults, that made me what I was, and, with even a deeper trench than in the majority of men, severed in me those provinces of good and ill which divide and compound man's dual nature."
In his final letter, Jekyll explains how, more than anything, it was his desire for achievement rather than an innate degradation in his soul that drove a wedge in his personality. What he became resulted not from his wickedness but from his scientific drive to understand what caused his split nature. Everyone, Jekyll contends, has a duality of personality and the potential for good and evil acts. Jekyll's comparison of himself with others reveals his conviction that his evil impulses were not greater, his aspirations were higher.
"I do not suppose that, when a drunkard reasons with himself upon his vice, he is once out of five hundred times affected by the dangers that he runs through his brutish, physical insensibility; neither had I, long as I had considered my position, made enough allowance for the complete moral insensibility and insensate readiness to evil, which were the leading characters of Edward Hyde. Yet it was by these that I was punished. My devil had been long caged, he came out roaring.
In the final chapter of the novel, Jekyll describes the unintended effect of repression. Jekyll compares his position to a drunkard's, saying that both himself as Hyde, and a person who is intoxicated, are reduced to a state of animalistic impulses. Neither are in possession of reason. Jekyll says Hyde, repressed for so long, had built-up frustrations that exploded. Jekyll sees Hyde's fury as the logical consequences of Jekyll's repression of his evil side.
(3) O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
In the final stanza, the speaker presents the conclusions drawn from his three attempts to engage with the urn. He is overwhelmed by its existence outside of temporal change, with its ability to "tease" him "out of thought / As doth eternity." If human life is a succession of "hungry generations," as the speaker suggests in "Nightingale," the urn is a separate and self-contained world. It can be a "friend to man," as the speaker says, but it cannot be mortal; the kind of aesthetic connection the speaker experiences with the urn is ultimately insufficient to human life. The final two lines, in which the speaker imagines the urn speaking its message to mankind—"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," have proved among the most difficult to interpret in the Keats canon. After the urn utters the enigmatic phrase "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," no one can say for sure who "speaks" the conclusion, "that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." It could be the speaker addressing the urn, and it could be the urn addressing mankind. If it is the speaker addressing the urn, then it would seem to indicate his awareness of its limitations: The urn may not need to know anything beyond the equation of beauty and truth, but the complications of human life make it impossible for such a simple and self-contained phrase to express sufficiently anything about necessary human knowledge. If it is the urn addressing mankind, then the phrase has rather the weight of an important lesson, as though beyond all the complications of human life, all human beings need to know on earth is that beauty and truth are one and the same. It is largely a matter of personal interpretation which reading to accept. ('ode')
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
In the first stanza, the speaker stands before an ancient Grecian urn and addresses it. He is preoccupied with its depiction of pictures frozen in time. It is the "still unravish'd bride of quietness," the "foster-child of silence and slow time." He also describes the urn as a "historian" that can tell a story. He wonders about the figures on the side of the urn and asks what legend they depict and from where they come. He looks at a picture that seems to depict a group of men pursuing a group of women and wonders what their story could be: "What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? / What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?"
(3)Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
In the fourth stanza, the speaker attempts to think about the figures on the urn as though they were experiencing human time, imagining that their procession has an origin (the "little town") and a destination (the "green altar"). But all he can think is that the town will forever be deserted: If these people have left their origin, they will never return to it. In this sense he confronts head-on the limits of static art; if it is impossible to learn from the urn the whos and wheres of the "real story" in the first stanza, it is impossible ever to know the origin and the destination of the figures on the urn in the fourth. It is true that the speaker shows a certain kind of progress in his successive attempts to engage with the urn. His idle curiosity in the first attempt gives way to a more deeply felt identification in the second, and in the third, the speaker leaves his own concerns behind and thinks of the processional purely on its own terms, thinking of the "little town" with a real and generous feeling. But each attempt ultimately ends in failure. The third attempt fails simply because there is nothing more to say—once the speaker confronts the silence and eternal emptiness of the little town, he has reached the limit of static art; on this subject, at least, there is nothing more the urn can tell him. (ode)
Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
In the fourth stanza, the speaker examines another picture on the urn, this one of a group of villagers leading a heifer to be sacrificed. He wonders where they are going ("To what green altar, O mysterious priest...") and from where they have come. He imagines their little town, empty of all its citizens, and tells it that its streets will "for evermore" be silent, for those who have left it, frozen on the urn, will never return. In the final stanza, the speaker again addresses the urn itself, saying that it, like Eternity, "doth tease us out of thought." He thinks that when his generation is long dead, the urn will remain, telling future generations its enigmatic lesson: "Beauty is truth, truth beauty." The speaker says that that is the only thing the urn knows and the only thing it needs to know.
(3) Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
In the second and third stanzas, Keats examines the picture of the piper playing to his lover beneath the trees. Here, the speaker tries to imagine what the experience of the figures on the urn must be like; he tries to identify with them. He is tempted by their escape from temporality and attracted to the eternal newness of the piper's unheard song and the eternally unchanging beauty of his lover. He thinks that their love is "far above" all transient human passion, which, in its sexual expression, inevitably leads to an abatement of intensity—when passion is satisfied, all that remains is a wearied physicality: a sorrowful heart, a "burning forehead," and a "parching tongue." His recollection of these conditions seems to remind the speaker that he is inescapably subject to them, and he abandons his attempt to identify with the figures on the urn. ('ode..')
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
In the second stanza, the speaker looks at another picture on the urn, this time of a young man playing a pipe, lying with his lover beneath a glade of trees. The speaker says that the piper's "unheard" melodies are sweeter than mortal melodies because they are unaffected by time. He tells the youth that, though he can never kiss his lover because he is frozen in time, he should not grieve, because her beauty will never fade. In the third stanza, he looks at the trees surrounding the lovers and feels happy that they will never shed their leaves. He is happy for the piper because his songs will be "for ever new," and happy that the love of the boy and the girl will last forever, unlike mortal love, which lapses into "breathing human passion" and eventually vanishes, leaving behind only a "burning forehead, and a parching tongue."
No, Caesar hath it not, but you and I And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness (I.ii)
In this part of the scene, Casca has told Brutus and Cassius that Caesar fainted before the crowd at the Lupercalia festivities in a minor fit. It was a poorly kept secret that Julius Caesar had "the falling sickness" or epilepsy. Speaking these lines, Cassius, suggests that it is the three of them, not Caesar, that have the "falling sickness," because they are complacent in allowing Caesar to seize monarchical power. Again, Cassius here is working to nudge Brutus into a conspiracy to topple Caesar. Raising the specter of tyranny seems to be his main strategy in eliciting his colleague's participation. More importantly, Cassius suggests that tyranny is not merely the fault of one ambitious, power-grabbing individual, but also of those who stand by and allow it to happen.
"Hosts loved to detain the dry lawyer, when the light-hearted and loose-tongued had already their foot on the threshold; they liked to sit a while in his unobtrusive company, practising for solitude, sobering their minds in the man's rich silence after the expense and strain of gaiety."
In this quote from Chapter 3, we see Mr. Utterson's effect on people. Utterson's presence can bring a calming mood to those around him. People find Utterson's silence is enriching after their exhausting socializing. His presence exemplifies Victorian standards and recalls people to those virtues. Ironically, the narrator refers to the exuberant, carefree mood at parties as a "strain." Victorian society could be conflicted about having fun.
Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the country, and the cigarette case was given to me in the country.
JAck. in act 1 when they are fighting over who the cigarette case belongs to. jack confessing algernon that is his, and algernon belived jack was lying. algernon knew jack as ernest and the case belong to somoene name ernest,
Nothing will induce me to take his hand. I think his coming down here disgraceful. He knows perfectly well why. CECILY. Uncle Jack, do be nice. There is some good in every one. Ernest has just been telling me about his poor invalid friend Mr. Bunbury whom he goes to visit so often. And surely there must be much good in one who is kind to an invalid, and leaves the pleasures of London to sit by a bed of pain.
Jack Worthing confronts his friend Algernon, who masquerades as Ernest Worthing, a fictional younger brother Jack invented as an alter ego and recently killed off. Algernon pretends to be Ernest in order to approach Cecily, Jack's ward, a woman fascinated by her guardian's romantically evil brother. Algernon piles hypocrisy upon pretense by assigning to the fictional Ernest the same fictional invalid friend that he himself uses. Cecily is taken in by a con artist inventing fictional virtues.
Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this garb of woe does not betoken some terrible calamity? JACK. My brother. MISS PRISM. More shameful debts and extravagance? CHASUBLE. Still leading his life of pleasure? JACK [Shaking his head]. Dead! CHASUBLE. Your brother Ernest dead? JACK. Quite dead. MISS PRISM. What a lesson for him! I trust he will profit by it. CHASUBLE. Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincere condolence. You have at least the consolation of knowing that you were always the most generous and forgiving of brothers.
Jack Worthing tells Doctor Chasuble and Miss Prism about the death of his brother Ernest, and they express conventional condolences, including comments on the evil ways of the deceased. Their hypocritical piety appears even more ridiculous by the audience's awareness that Ernest does not actually exist. Jack himself falls into hypocrisy not only because he invents a brother but also because he uses his fictional brother to make himself look generous and forgiving. Later developments in the play will undermine Miss Prism's self-righteousness.
I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come up to town expressly to propose to her. ALGERNON. I thought you had come up for pleasure? . . . I call that business. JACK. How utterly unromantic you are! ALGERNON. I really don't see anything romantic in proposing. It is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic about a definite proposal. Why, one may be accepted.
Jack confides in Algernon about his intentions toward Gwendolen, Algernon's cousin. Algernon's response reveals his aristocratic attitude that marriage functions primarily as a financial arrangement. Algernon also maintains a confirmed bachelor's antagonism toward marriage in general. Jack's feelings seem sincere, until we recall he has assumed the identity of Ernest, his fictional dissolute younger brother. Jack courts Gwendolen under false pretenses, while accusing Algernon of being unromantic. Jack's behavior suggests that Algernon's cynicism has merit.
"I, for my part, from the nature of my life, advanced infallibly in one direction and in one direction only. It was on the moral side, and in my own person, that I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both."
Jekyll makes a case for why his scientific experiment should be seen as a moral act rather than a degraded one. Jekyll had the vision to postulate a true theory about human nature only because he was so moral: He was an upstanding citizen who worked hard, became an accomplished doctor, and controlled his lower impulses. Ultimately, he says, because his good and bad sides were both fully realized, he achieved a level of consciousness that allowed him to see the truth about human nature not many others comprehended.
Ode on a Grecian Urn
Keats
To be born, or at any rate bred, in a hand-bag, whether it had handles or not, seems to me to display a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life that reminds one of the worst excesses of the French Revolution. And I presume you know what that unfortunate movement led to?
LADY BRACKNELL. wehn jack told her that he was adopted found in a handbag at a station by a man.
sitting down again. A moment, Mr. Worthing. A hundred and thirty thousand pounds! And in the Funds! Miss Cardew seems to me a most attractive young lady, now that I look at her. Few girls of the present day have any really solid qualities, any of the qualities that last, and improve with time.
Lady Augusta Bracknell objects to Jack Worthing as a suitor for her daughter Gwendolen. But Lady Bracknell has a much more positive response about the engagement of her nephew Algernon to Cecily, Worthing's ward, after learning the amount of Cecily's fortune. Money, a tangible quality that improves with time, overcomes Lady Bracknell's class prejudices and reveals them as hypocritical. Lady Bracknell's change of heart comes late in the play, by which time she remains the only character who does not know that Jack's name is not really Ernest or that Algernon has pretended to be Ernest as well.
LADY BRACKNELL. Never speak disrespectfully of Society, Algernon. Only people who can't get into it do that. [To Cecily.] Dear child, of course you know that Algernon has nothing but his debts to depend upon. But I do not approve of mercenary marriages. When I married Lord Bracknell I had no fortune of any kind. But I never dreamed for a moment of allowing that to stand in my way. Well, I suppose I must give my consent.
Lady Bracknell graciously allows Cecily to marry her nephew, reminding the audience that Algernon lives as an idle aristocrat who marries for money. She approves of her nephew's marriage in a manner that denies his mercenary motives and betrays her own. Early in the play Algernon declared marriage to be a matter of business. Lady Bracknell's appraisal of Cecily reveals where Algernon acquired this arrogant aristocratic attitude. Both Lady Bracknell and Algernon feel so assured of their place in society that they imagine themselves to be conferring favor on Cecily by allowing her to bring money into their family.
You can hardly imagine that I and Lord Bracknell would dream of allowing our only daughter—a girl brought up with the utmost care—to marry into a cloak-room, and form an alliance with a parcel.
Lady Bracknell responds in outrage to Jack's admission that he has no idea who his parents were, having been left in a hand-bag in the cloak-room of a train station before being adopted by a rich old man. She previously seemed to approve of Jack's wealth, but his lack of family connections exists as an insurmountable class barrier. Lady Bracknell ironically does not yet know that Ernest Worthing is Jack's invention. Her violent objection to Ernest Worthing's class foreshadows the revelation of Jack's true family that will come late in the play.
That is satisfactory. What between the duties expected of one during one's lifetime, and the duties exacted from one after one's death, land has ceased to be either a profit or a pleasure. It gives one position, and prevents one from keeping it up. That's all that can be said about land. JACK. I have a country house with some land, of course, attached to it, about fifteen hundred acres, I believe; but I don't depend on that for my real income.
Lady Bracknell, Algernon Moncrieff's formidably aristocratic aunt, interrogates Jack about his finances after Jack has declared his intention of marrying her daughter Gwendolen. At this point, Lady Bracknell and Gwendolen know Jack as Ernest Worthing. Lady Bracknell pretends her land feels like a burden but expresses the aristocratic rule that land confers position. Jack calls her bluff by explaining he owns land as well and pretending to be equally casual about it.
Child, you know how anxious your guardian is that you should improve yourself in every way. He laid particular stress on your German, as he was leaving for town yesterday. Indeed, he always lays stress on your German when he is leaving for town. CECILY. Dear Uncle Jack is so very serious! Sometimes he is so serious that I think he cannot be quite well.
MISS PRISM. when Cecily did not want to get lectured anymore. miss prism told her that she had to since jack requested her to.
the importance of being earnest
Oscar Wilde
Ozymandias
Percy Shelley
It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, Than tarry till they push us (V.v)
Realizing that the end is near, Brutus decides the most honorable way to go is suicide and so asks Strato to hold his sword while he runs into it. Again, in this scene honor connotes self-pride. It is more "honorable" for Brutus to save face and take his own life than it is to be captured and appear weak. Because Brutus does not fear death, he is deemed brave, self-possessed, and a model of Roman virtue. On the other hand, Cassius orders someone else to do the deed, and before dying, covers his face so as not to see the sword swing down on him. Both are signs of fear and cowardice, and both serve to paint his death in a dishonorable light.
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Robert Louis Stevenson
Julius Caesar
Shakespeare
A Defense of Poetry
Shelley
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away."
The memory of those emotions survives "stamped" on the lifeless statue, even though both the sculptor and his subject are both now dead. On the pedestal of the statue appear the words, "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: / Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" But around the decaying ruin of the statue, nothing remains, only the "lone and level sands," which stretch out around it. (ozymandias)
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
The speaker in "Ode on a Grecian Urn" describes the pictures depicted on the urn, including lovers chasing one another, musicians playing instruments, and a virginal maiden holding still. All the figures remain motionless, held fast and permanent by their depiction on the sides of the urn, and they cannot touch one another, even though we can touch them by holding the vessel.
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
The speaker recalls having met a traveler "from an antique land," who told him a story about the ruins of a statue in the desert of his native country. Two vast legs of stone stand without a body, and near them a massive, crumbling stone head lies "half sunk" in the sand. The traveler told the speaker that the frown and "sneer of cold command" on the statue's face indicate that the sculptor understood well the emotions (or "passions") of the statue's subject. (ozymandias)
He holds him with his glittering eye— The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will.
Three young men are walking together to a wedding, when one of them is detained by a grizzled old sailor. The young Wedding-Guest angrily demands that the Mariner let go of him, and the Mariner obeys. But the young man is transfixed by the ancient Mariner's "glittering eye" and can do nothing but sit on a stone and listen to his strange tale. (part1 )
"If each, I told myself, could be housed in separate identities, life would be relieved of all that was unbearable; the unjust might go his way, delivered from the aspirations and remorse of his more upright twin; and the just could walk steadfastly and securely on his upward path, doing the good things in which he found his pleasure, and no longer exposed to disgrace and penitence by the hands of this extraneous evil. It was the curse of mankind that these incongruous ******s were thus bound together—that in the agonized womb of consciousness, these polar twins should be continuously struggling. How, then were they dissociated?"
Throughout Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, characters contend with the moral choices they make in their own lives and those others make around them. The theme of the duality of human nature plagues the characters, since the values of Victorian society instructed people to overcome their immoral natures. As this quote from Jekyll reveals, Jekyll's desire to dissociate was born out of this desire to overcome his nature. Jekyll theorizes that if he were free from his lower nature, life would be more bearable, and he could live a satisfying, moral life without being hindered by dark impulses.
With every day, and from both sides of my intelligence, the moral and the intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to that truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two."
Throughout Jekyll's final letter, we see an important theme in the story: Human nature is made up of a series of oppositions—good and evil, moral and intellectual, and rational and irrational. Jekyll tries to bring moral conscience and rational analysis to investigate the central question which drove his experiment. The truth that he finds fragments his soul. Victorian society strove to separate the good from the evil in human nature to purify it. Jekyll sought to unify his soul as a natural, wholesome quest.
"If you choose to make capital out of this accident,' said he, `I am naturally helpless. No gentleman but wishes to avoid a scene,' says he. `Name your figure."
When Enfield blackmails Hyde for trampling the girl, his account of Hyde's response is surprising. Hyde replies that if Enfield is threatening to expose him and ruin his reputation, he will gladly pay Enfield off. Even though Hyde represents an uncontrolled, impulse-driven side of Jekyll's personality, Hyde's cold calculation shows a level of repression. Hyde is trying to uphold his appearance as a gentleman, in accordance with the Victorian custom.
"A great curiosity came on the trustee, to disregard the prohibition and dive at once to the bottom of these mysteries; but professional honour and faith to his dead friend were stringent obligations; and the packet slept in the inmost corner of his private safe."
When Utterson receives a strange letter from Dr. Lanyon that reads "not to be opened til the death or disappearance of Dr. Henry Jekyll," Utterson is tempted to ignore the instructions and tear open the letter, but stops himself. Utterson has become desperate to understand the mysteries behind Jekyll's behavior, and it seems Lanyon has something to say on the matter. But Dr. Lanyon is now dead, and Mr. Utterson feels obligated to honor Lanyon's wishes. Utterson's professionalism allows him to repress his curiosity and maintain respect for his dead friend's wishes.
We Are Seven
William Wordsworth
Oh! it is absurd to have a hard-and-fast rule about what one should read and what one shouldn't. More than half of modern culture depends on what one shouldn't read.
algernon. that is happening in act 1 when algernon told jack that he had found a cigarette case.
the rime of the ancient mariner
coleridge
"Hence it came about that I concealed my pleasures; and that when I reached years of reflection, and began to look round me and take stock of my progress and position in the world, I stood already committed to a profound duplicity of life."
in his letter, Jekyll reveals a strange truth about his life: He was already living a life of duplicity long before his personality split into Jekyll and Hyde. Living in the Victorian era, Jekyll was compelled to satisfy his appetites in secret and further repress them to preserve his reputation as an upright citizen. It is never revealed what "pleasures" Jekyll indulged in, so the reader is left to surmise to what degree Jekyll's character was composed of evil before it split.
On Negative Capability
keats
Negative capability
the capacity of the greatest writers (particularly Shakespeare) to pursue a vision of artistic beauty even when it leads them into intellectual confusion and uncertainty, as opposed to a preference for philosophical certainty over artistic beauty. The term has been used by poets and philosophers to describe the ability of the individual to perceive, think, and operate beyond any presupposition of a predetermined capacity of the human being
