LIFE BY H AZQIL D ANIEL
CONTENTS 1. 2. 3. 4. FICTION PROSE NON-FICTION PROSE POETRY READERRESPONSE
""The purpose of ourlivesisto be happy. " - Dalai Lama XIV
FICTION PROSE
"The Story of an Hour" by Kate Chopin S HORT STORY Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death. It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message. She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her. There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.
She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams. She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought. There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air. Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will — as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body. She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.
There would be no one to live for her during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination. And yet she had loved him — sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being! "Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering. Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhole, imploring for admission. "Louise, open the door! I beg, open the door — you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door." "Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window. Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.
She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom. Someone was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife. But Richards was too late. When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease — of the joy that kills. T H E END Kate Chopin's "The Story of an Hour" is regarded as one of the finest examples of a short story about life. It evaluates freedom, independence, and the impact of society standards on an individual's life experience. The narrative is short, but its exploration of the human experience carries a tremendous impact.
"Life is a journey, not a destination. " -RalphWaldo Emerson
"A Rose for Emily" by William Faulkner VIGNETTES WHEN Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at least ten years. It was a big, squarish frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been our most select street. But garages and cotton gins had encroached and obliterated even the august names of that neighborhood; only Miss Emily's house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-an eyesore among eyesores. And now Miss Emily had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson. T H E END The famous vignette "A Rose for Emily" by William Faulkner relates the tale of a strange and secretive lady called Emily Grierson. Through a succession of small but powerful sequences, Faulkner builds a vivid portrait of Emily's life and the circumstances that created her, capturing the complexity and paradoxes of the human experience with an original mix of pathos and comedy. "A Rose for Emily" is a must-read for anybody interested in the art of the vignette and is largely regarded as one of Faulkner's best works.
"Thislife is but a passing shade. Focus your heart on the eternal abode. " - Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)
"Harrison Bergeron" by Kurt Vonnegut FLAS H F ICTION THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213 th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General. Some things about living still weren't quite right, though. April for instance, still drove people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron's fourteenyear-old son, Harrison, away. It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn't think about it very hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn't think about anything except in short bursts. And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains.
George and Hazel were watching television. There were tears on Hazel's cheeks, but she'd forgotten for the moment what they were about. On the television screen were ballerinas. A buzzer sounded in George's head. His thoughts fled in panic,like bandits from a burglar alarm. "That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did, " said Hazel. "Huh" said George. "That dance-it was nice, " said Hazel. "Yup, " said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They weren't really very good-no better than anybody else would have been, anyway. They were burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like something the cat drug in. George was toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn't be handicapped. But he didn't get very far with it before another noise in his ear radio scattered his thoughts . George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas. Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself, she had to ask George what the latest sound had been. "Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer, " said George . "I'd think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds, " said Hazel a little envious. "All the things they think up." "Urn, " said George. "Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?" said Hazel. Hazel, as a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman named Diana Moon Glampers. "If I was Diana Moon Glampers, " said Hazel, "I'd have chimes on Sunday- just chimes. Kind of in honor of religion . "
"I could think, if it was just chimes, " said George. "Well-maybe make 'em real loud, " said Hazel. "I think I'd make a good Handicapper General." "Good as anybody else, " said George. "Who knows better then I do what normal is?" said Hazel. "Right, " said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son who was now in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that. "Boy!" said Hazel, "that was a doozy, wasn't it?" It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling, and tears stood on the rims of his red eyes. Two of of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor, were holding their temples. "All of a sudden you look so tired, " said Hazel. "Why don't you stretch out on the sofa, so's you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch." She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in a canvas bag, which was padlocked around George's neck. "Go on and rest the bag for a little while, " she said. "I don't care if you're not equal to me for a while . " George weighed the bag with his hands. "I don't mind it, " he said. "I don't notice it any more. It's just a part of me." "You been so tired lately-kind of wore out, " said Hazel. "If there was just some way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. Just a few." "Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out, " said George. "I don't call that a bargain." "If you could just take a few out when you came home from work, " said Hazel. "I mean-you don't compete with anybody around here. You just set around." "If I tried to get away with it, " said George, "then other people ' d get away with it-and pretty soon we'd be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against everybody else. You wouldn't like that, would you?"
"I'd hate it, " said Hazel. "There you are, " said George. The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think happens to society?" If Hazel hadn't been able to come up with an answer to this question, George couldn't have supplied one. A siren was going off in his head. "Reckon it'd fall all apart, " said Hazel. "What would?" said George blankly. "Society, " said Hazel uncertainly. "Wasn't that what you just said? "Who knows?" said George. The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin. It wasn't clear at first as to what the bulletin was about, since the announcer, like all announcers, had a serious speech impediment. For about half a minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer tried to say, "Ladies and Gentlemen." He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read. "That's all right-" Hazel said of the announcer, "he tried. That's the big thing. He tried to do the best he could with what God gave him. He should get a nice raise for trying so hard." "Ladies and Gentlemen, " said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must have been extraordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. And it was easy to see that she was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those worn by two-hundred pound men. And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody. "Excuse me-" she said, and she began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive . "Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen, " she said in a grackle squawk, "has just escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under-handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous."
A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen-upside down, then sideways, upside down again, then right side up. The picture showed the full length of Harrison against a background calibrated in feet and inches. He was exactly seven feet tall. The rest of Harrison's appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever born heavier handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H-G men could think them up. Instead of a little ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick wavy lenses. The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him whanging headaches besides. Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard. In the race of life, Harrison carried three hundred pounds . And to offset his good looks, the H-G men required that he wear at all times a red rubber ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black caps at snaggle-tooth random. "If you see this boy, " said the ballerina, "do not - I repeat, do not - try to reason with him." There was the shriek of a door being torn from its hinges. Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set. The photograph of Harrison Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as though dancing to the tune of an earthquake. George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake, and well he might have - for many was the time his own home had danced to the same crashing tune. "My God-" said George, "that must be Harrison!" The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an automobile collision in his head. When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone. A living, breathing Harrison filled the screen.
Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood - in the center of the studio. The knob of the uprooted studio door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered on their knees before him, expecting to die. "I am the Emperor!" cried Harrison. "Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!" He stamped his foot and the studio shook. "Even as I stand here" he bellowed, "crippled, hobbled, sickened - I am a greater ruler than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become ! " Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore straps guaranteed to support five thousand pounds. Harrison's scrap-iron handicaps crashed to the floor. Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness. The bar snapped like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the wall. He flung away his rubber-ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the god of thunder. "I shall now select my Empress!" he said, looking down on the cowering people. "Let the first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!" A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow. Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps with marvelous delicacy. Last of all he removed her mask. She was blindingly beautiful. "Now-" said Harrison, taking her hand, "shall we show the people the meaning of the word dance? Music!" he commanded. The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of their handicaps, too. "Play your best, " he told them, "and I'll make you barons and dukes and earls."
The music began. It was normal at first-cheap, silly, false. But Harrison snatched two musicians from their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang the music as he wanted it played. He slammed them back into their chairs. The music began again and was much improved. Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while-listened gravely, as though synchronizing their heartbeats with it. They shifted their weights to their toes. Harrison placed his big hands on the girls tiny waist, letting her sense the weightlessness that would soon be hers. And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang! Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the laws of motion as well. They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun. They leaped like deer on the moon. The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it. It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling. They kissed it. And then, neutraling gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air inches below the ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long time . It was then that Diana Moon Clampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun. She fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress were dead before they hit the floor. Diana Moon Clampers loaded the gun again. She aimed it at the musicians and told them they had ten seconds to get their handicaps back on. It was then that the Bergerons' television tube burned out. Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George. But George had gone out into the kitchen for a can of beer.
George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shook him up. And then he sat down again. "You been crying" he said to Hazel. "Yup, " she said. "What about?" he said. "I forget, " she said. "Something real sad on television." "What was it?" he said. "It's all kind of mixed up in my mind, " said Hazel. "Forget sad things, " said George. "I always do, " said Hazel. "That's my girl, " said George. He winced. There was the sound of a rivetting gun in his head. "Gee - I could tell that one was a doozy, " said Hazel. "You can say that again, " said George. "Gee-" said Hazel, "I could tell that one was a doozy." "Harrison Bergeron" by Kurt Vonnegut is considered one of the best examples of flash fiction about life. This short and impactful story explores themes of individuality, freedom, and the dangers of a conformist society. Through a series of concise and powerful scenes, Vonnegut creates a vivid picture of a dystopian world where conformity is the norm and the slightest deviation is met with harsh punishment. "Harrison Bergeron" is a thought-provoking piece of flash fiction that challenges readers to consider the importance of individuality and freedom in our lives. T H E END
NON - FICTION PROSE
STOP WAITING FOR THE PERFECT TIME TO TRAVEL by Matt Kepnes TRAVEL BLOG As the sun rises on a new year, we look out on the horizon and commit to being a better version of ourselves. And often one of those commitments is travel. This year we will travel more, we say. We ponder the exotic locations we hope to find ourselves in. We think of the adventures we’ll go on and the people we’ll meet. We begin to formulate plans, research trips, and save money. But, as the year progresses, most will abandon those dreams, forever pushing them off as life throws them curveballs that derail their aspirations. Chances are, you’ll find a reason why today just isn’t the right day. “Tomorrow, ” you’ll say. “Today isn’t perfect, and I just have too many things to do. Now is not the right time.” The “right time” is usually when you have more money or more time off, or when things aren’t so “crazy.” Then you’ll be able to travel. The stars need to align a little more, and things need to be a little less busy. But here’s a secret: it’s never going to be the right time to travel. The idea that the stars will align and you’ll find the perfect day to step out of your door and into the world is fantasy. Today might not be the perfect day — but neither is tomorrow. Tomorrow, you’ll find another excuse why you can’t go. Tomorrow, there will still be more bills to pay. Tomorrow, there still won’t be “enough” money.
Tomorrow, there will still be someone’s wedding or birthday party to attend. Tomorrow, there will still be more planning to do. Tomorrow, people you know will still sow the seeds of doubt in your head. Tomorrow, you’ll still worry about all the bad stuff that might happen to you. Tomorrow, you still won’t know if you’re making the right decision. Tomorrow, you will still second-guess yourself. Tomorrow, something else will come up and you’ll say to yourself, “Today isn’t the right day. Let’s try again tomorrow.” Tomorrow will never be perfect. Because there is no such thing as perfection. I mean, doesn’t it feel like so much of adult life is saying, “Next week will just be a little better” — knowing full that next week is not going to be any less crazy than this week? The hardest part of any journey is stepping out the door. And one of the key components to making that first step easier is to understand that the stars will never align and there will never be the right moment to travel. You just have to go. You have to leap. You have to trust yourself that it will all work out. Because it will. END "Nomadic Matt" is a popular travel blog that offers insights and advice for travelers on how to see the world on a budget. The author, Matt Kepnes, shares his own experiences and reflections on how travel has changed his life and helped him to live life to the fullest. The blog covers a wide range of topics, from budget travel tips and destination guides to personal stories and reflections on life on the road. With its focus on living life to the fullest and seeking out new experiences, "Nomadic Matt" is an inspiring and practical resource for anyone who wants to travel more, see more of the world, and live life to the fullest.
"Life is short, play hard. " - Kobe Bryant
""Just Do It" poster by Nike A D VERTI SEMENT ""Just Do It" poster by Nike is a well-known example of an advertisement that explores the theme of life. The poster features the iconic Nike "swoosh" logo and the phrase "Just Do It" written in bold letters. The poster's message is simple and direct: encourage people to live their lives to the fullest and not to let fear or doubt hold them back. The poster has become a cultural touchstone, and its message has resonated with people all over the world. By urging people to "just do it, " the poster encourages them to take action, pursue their dreams, and make the most of the limited time they have in this world.
"Into the Wild" by Jon Krakauer TRAVEL WRITING CHAPTER FOUR CARTHAGE Carthage, South Dakota, population 274, is a sleepy little cluster of clapboard houses, tidy yards, and weathered brick storefronts rising humbly from the immensity of the northern plains, set adrift in time. Stately rows of cottonwoods shade a grid of streets seldom disturbed by moving vehicles. There's one grocery in town, one bank, a single gas station, a lone bar-the Cabaret, where Wayne Westerberg is sipping a cocktail and chewing on a sweet cigar, remembering the odd young man he knew as Alex. The Cabaret's plywood-paneled walls are hung with deer antlers, Old Milwaukee beer promos, and mawkish paintings of game birds taking flight. Tendrils of cigarette smoke rise from clumps of farmers in overalls and dusty feed caps, their tired faces as grimy as coal miners'. Speaking in short, matterof-fact phrases, they worry aloud over the fickle weather and fields of sunflowers still too wet to cut, while above their heads Ross Perot s sneering visage flickers across a silent television screen. In eight days the nation will elect Bill Clinton president. It's been nearly two months now since the body of Chris McCandless turned up in Alaska. "These are what Alex used to drink, " says Westerberg with a frown, swirling the ice in his White Russian. "He used to sit right there at the end of the bar and tell us these amazing stories of his travels. He could talk for hours. A lot of folks
"Into the Wild" by Jon Krakauer "Into the Wild" by Jon Krakauer is a classic example of travel writing that relates to the theme of enjoying life to the fullest. The book tells the story of Christopher McCandless, a young man who gives up all of his possessions and sets out on a journey into the Alaskan wilderness in search of adventure and a deeper understanding of life. Through McCandless's journey, Krakauer explores themes of self-discovery, freedom, and the importance of living in the moment. The book's vivid descriptions of the natural beauty of the Alaskan wilderness, combined with McCandless's philosophical musings on life and the world around him, create an unforgettable portrait of a young man embracing the mystery and wonder of life. The book's themes of embracing the unknown, taking risks, and living life to the fullest make it an inspiring and thought-provoking read for anyone seeking to make the most of their time on this earth.
POETRY
"Life is a song, sing it. " - Friedrich Nietzsche
The Old Pond H AIKU "An old silent pond... A frog jumps into the pond— Splash! Silence again. - Matsuo Basho, Japanese haiku poet. This Haiku captures the fleeting nature of life and the idea that even small moments can leave a lasting impact. The sudden splash of the frog breaking the silence of the pond symbolizes the sudden, unexpected events that can happen in life. The return to silence after the splash symbolizes the transience of all things, including life itself. T H E END
"The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost R H YME POETRY "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. T H E END
"The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost is a well-known example of rhyme poetry that explores the theme of life. The poem describes a speaker's decision to take a lesstraveled path through the woods, and reflects on the choices we make and the paths we choose in life. The poem's refrain, "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, " serves as a metaphor for the many forks in the road that we face in life, and the poem's rhyme and meter reinforce the idea that life is a journey, full of twists and turns, and that the choices we make along the way can have a profound impact on our lives. Through its evocative language and imagery, "The Road Not Taken" encourages readers to reflect on their own life choices and to make the most of the opportunities that come their way.
"Life is Fine" by Langston Hughes MOD ERN POEM 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! T H E END
"Life is Fine" by Langston Hughes "Life is Fine" by Langston Hughes is a short, modern poem that explores the theme of life. The poem reflects on the ups and downs of life, and encourages readers to find joy and contentment in the midst of it all. The poem's refrain, "Life is fine, fine as wine, " serves as a reminder that, despite its challenges, life is worth living, and that we can find happiness and fulfillment if we look for it. Through its simple, straightforward language and imagery, "Life is Fine" captures the essence of life and encourages readers to embrace its many complexities and uncertainties, and to find joy in the journey.
""The biggest tragedy in life is not death, but what we let die inside of us while we live. " - Norman Cousins.
READER RESPONSE
Reader Response "T H E STORY OF AN HOUR" BY KATE C HOPIN ( S HORT STORY) "Kate Chopin's "The Story of an Hour" is a dramatic and thought-provoking short story that addresses the diverse and complicated nature of existence. Through the use of colourful and inventive language, the author creates a setting that is both emotionally and intellectually interesting, challenging the reader's imagination and creativity and prompting us to consider the meaning and purpose of life in great depth. Chopin's language competence is one of the most prominent characteristics of her work. Throughout the story, she used exact and precise imagery to express Louise Mallard's varied experiences and feelings. The language is colourful and expressive, creating vivid pictures in the reader's imagination. The sensory details are accurate and the descriptions are evocative, evoking a genuine sensation of presence and immediacy. This is a defining characteristic of Chopin's writing and one of the reasons her compositions are so memorable and lasting. Chopin's use of symbolism is a significant component of her discourse. She utilises diverse items and imagery to symbolise deeper truths and emotions throughout the tale. For instance, an open window indicates freedom and the promise of a new life, while a springtime scene represents regeneration and optimism. The story is replete with symbolism, which contributes to its rich and complex atmosphere and invites the reader to connect with the issues and concepts being addressed.
In addition to its creative and imaginative use of language, "The Story of an Hour" functions as both a source of pleasure and a method for elucidating ideas. The story is captivating and intriguing, and it provokes us to consider the essence of life and what it means to live a meaningful existence. Through the depiction of Louise's emotions to the news of her husband's death, the novel addresses the meaning of love and happiness, as well as what it takes to live a really full life. The short narrative "The Story of an Hour" highlights the power and possibilities of language. Chopin creates an emotionally and intellectually fascinating atmosphere via her use of vibrant and inventive language, inspiring the reader's imagination and creativity and prompting us to reflect profoundly on the meaning and purpose of life. Whether acting as a source of amusement, elucidating ideas, or promoting creative expression, the language in this narrative is vital to its overall impact and efficacy. T H E END
REFERENCE A Rose for Emily. (n.d.). https://xroads.virginia.edu/%7EDRBR/wf_rose.html Davis, S. C. (2013, June 1). dream hampton. Pinterest. https://www.pinterest.dk/pin/dont-dream-of-winning-trainfor-it-mohamed-farah--229824387207137324/ Full text of “Harrison Bergeron (& Activity).” (n.d.). https://archive.org/stream/HarrisonBergeron/Harrison+Bergeron_djvu.txt Kepnes, M. (2022, June 14). Stop Waiting for the Perfect Time to Travel. Nomadic Matt ’ s Travel Site. Retrieved February 3, 2023, from https://www.nomadicmatt.com/travel-blogs/there-is-no-tomorrow-in-travel/ Krakauer, J. (2007). Into the Wild. Adfo Books. Poem Hunter. (2003, January 13). The Old Pond. https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-pond/ Poetry Foundation. (n.d.). The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44272/the-road-not-taken Poets.org - Academy of American Poets. (n.d.). Life is Fine. Academy of American Poets. https://poets.org/poem/lifefine The Story of an Hour. (n.d.). https://www.owleyes.org/text/the-story-of-an-hour/read/chopins-short-story 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.