...“My Mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun” BY: Christopher Kirkhart Proffessor Guirguis Polk Community College Lit-1000-46898 22 September 2013 Christopher Kirkhart Professor Guirguis LIT 1000-46898 September 22, 2013 “My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun” In “My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun” Shakespeare wanted to show that one’s love does not have to be portrayed as a picture of ultimate beauty to be loved ("My mistresses eyes are nothing like the sun"). The diction in this poem is Shakespeare stating that beauty is not all about how one looks or even smells. He knows that not everyone is flawless, but everyone has flaws and should be known for their true beauty which is on the inside. He doesn’t state anything about her that isn’t true, yet he portrays her exactly as she is, his true love. Even though he is commenting on her flaws he does it in a relaxed tone. This makes the poem pleasant to read and helps to see it for what it truly means. Shakespeare’s diction has plenty of attitude by describing beautiful and wonderful things, then he states that she is the total opposite of them. She is not white as snow but a brownish gray, roses are a nice red and white beauty, but not her, she’s the opposite ("Mabillard"). “love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound,” his attitude is confident by telling us that she is a normal person that we can relate to, not a fake perfect person that does not...
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...Symbolism “Shakespeare My Mistress Eyes are Nothing Like the Sun” On a closer reading of "My Mistress' Eyes are Nothing Like the Sun,” the lyricist tone appears agitated by the worlds unjust comparisons of human likenesses to Gods’, objects and abstracts. Yet, he assures readers of his love on behalf of his mistress. The poet reveals an inner peace toward love by use of concrete and abstract symbols. Focusing on Symbols leads to Shakespeares’ poem “My Mistress' Eyes are Nothing Like the Sun,” as he downplays love, in contrast to Elizabeth Barret Browning symbolism as she uplifts love, while Robert Burns try reassuring love. Shakespeare symbolizes his love using a form of figurative speech, paradox, in depicting his frustrations of disproven...
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...Sonnet: My Mistress’ Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun The poem “My Mistress’ Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun” by William Shakespeare talks about how the speaker sees his mistress’ appearance. He describes this mistress using the traditionally used characteristics that make a woman beautiful. Instead of pointing out the best traits that makes his mistress physically beautiful, the speaker portrays his mistress in a more realistic way, with characteristics that are believable. The poet uses a specific style, a descriptive comparison method, to communicate his message. This sonnet rhymes ababcdcdefefgg, which shows that it is a typical English sonnet as described by Vale (2010, p.84). With this form, the speaker was able to describe his mistress in a seemingly negative way. He describes her as not as beautiful as the objects that a woman’s beauty is traditionally compared to, but as the opposite. With this form, simple diction and poetic syntax, the poet creates a serious mood in the poem which perfectly communicates his message. The poet uses a descriptive comparison style to communicate his message. He picked descriptions that usually are used to compare certain features of a woman’s beauty, and then contradicts them with this mistress’ features. He chooses specific features that, perhaps, he believes they best show a woman’s beauty. These are: the eyes, lips, breasts, hair, cheeks, breath and voice. This has begun right at the beginning, in the title of the poem, “My Mistress’ Eyes...
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...Freddy Rodriguez Prof. Chamberlain English 063 16 Oct, 2012 My Hate for Work We all deal with some sort of issue that makes our work experience negative. In my case its cooking at a restaurant where all you hear is kids screaming uncontrollably from the control point window in the grill, the fog coming from both the fryer and grill, and last, but not least the “pushing and shoving” from the grill team when we’re pulling off a thousand dollar hour. If you haven’t guessed yet, its Friendly’s “Where ice cream makes the meal”... and my hate for people. I’m just kidding, but I don’t like rude people; like if I’m nice to you why can’t you return the nice gesture? Anyways (back on track) its crazy how many sounds you hear, things you see and objects you feel within a five hour shift that actually feels like two because of working through a rush period. Children children children, I hate them. Hate is a strong word? Trust me I KNOW! I cannot fathom the loud screaming that sounds like metal to metal screeching; all because mommy won’t them get ice cream. The sad part is that I work in the grill and its sort of tucked away in the back. Imagining the intensity of the screaming? Quite horrible isn’t it? As if the loud grinding gears of their voices isn’t enough, I have the pleasure of watching them run around like its free game day at chuck e cheese or something. The only part I enjoy of them running around like maniacs is seeing the huge bright shiny smile on their faces, it makes...
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...Prologue I leaned over the toilet for the fourth time this morning spilling whatever was left in my stomach. I dry heaved for the next five minutes trying to rid whatever was giving me this ill feeling. Once I finished I wiped the sweat off my forehead and laid back against my cold tub. It felt good against my warm skin. I removed my sweat drenched shirt and just laid against the tile floor. I have never experience such pain and nausea in my life. I didn’t want to think about the many possibilities that could be wrong with me. "Ki you alright?" asked my eight year old brother behind my bathroom door. "Yes boo just go get me a bottle of water." I could hear him scurrying off down the stairs to the kitchen. I tried my best to stand up but I just felt too weak. All of a sudden my body grew very tired and I couldn’t get my body to move. I heard my door open and a scream. "Mom, Dad hurry!" yelled my brother Jasone. I didn’t understand why he was screaming until I followed his horrified eyes down to my floor and there was blood everywhere. I slowly reached up to touch my nose and I felt the blood all over my hands and I knew something was definitely wrong. My brother rushed over to me and held my head in his lap as he cried. I tried to reach up and touch him but it all hurt too much. "Lord please I’m not ready to die." I said to myself. "Mom!!" my brother cried out again. "Jasone what is you doing in your sister room and screaming on-" she couldn’t continue her sentence as she...
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...the outside. I had to make my mind up whether to knock or press the bell. I turned to face the garden. I thought about going back to my car and drove home. Home. That was where I wanted to be; or was it where I would be after I knocked the door? I sighed and walked to the side where there was a wooden bench by the beautiful garden. I could see that the woman in the family loved the garden. The smell of white lilies reminded me of the florist down the road on Sixteenth Street. I sat on the sturdy looking wooden bench, trying to figure out what I would say if someone was to open the door. I wished I did not find out where she was so that I would not have three sleepless nights thinking of why she left me, whether she was looking for me or whether I should be angry. I was abandoned at Bliss Home when I was barely four. They said they found me playing joyfully in the playground, innocently thinking that I was sent to school. After three years, I found out that my mother left me at the orphanage because she had to go and find my father who left us when I was two. I was devastated, knowing that my mother left me to strangers. Funny, I thought, how manipulative and contradictory adults could be when it comes to giving advice. Those at Bliss Home took good care of me and made me realise that I was still lucky to be able to enjoy life. Sister Lisa was one of those who managed to make me see that I should make the most of myself than being miserable, grieving my unfortunate life; thinking...
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...been able to apply it to every other situation in my life, and has succeed since then It is something that everyone and anyone can do, the problem most will have is changing their ways. Once thinking and doing something your whole life it becomes very hard to change the way you live. But once making this decision, your whole life will change. My coach told me one more run, and we will win the game! We can move onto finals! And that all I had to do was hit the ball, that I could do it. I believed him. I heard the crowd cheering me on, I’ve never heard so much cheering before. I took a breath, slow and deep, and took in the moment. It was the middle of summer, I was out of breath, the air was dry, and the sun beaming down on us. As I looked around, I could see the exhaustion in both teams faces. The sweat dripping down our faces; while both teams wanted to win, the look in our faces also said I can’t wait for this to be over. Both coaches chanted to their teams, pushing us through the last few minutes of the game. While you could see the exhaustion in our faces, the inspiring words our coaches were yelling to us, gave us all hope. You could see the coaches words being processed in our faces, and the second gust of energy came in. The other team took their “ready” position on the field, while our runners got into place. A calm came over the field, and the stands of fans grew quiet as everyone took one last deep breath. I put my right foot in the...
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...Abandoned Church of God: Akron, Alabama. Digital photograph. ©2010 April Dobbins. Miracle from the forthcoming novel The Proximity of Distance Tope Folarin OUR HEADS MOVE simultaneously, and we smile at the tall, svelte man who strides purposefully down the aisle to the pulpit. Once there, he raises both of his hands then lowers them slightly. He raises his chin and says let us pray. “Dear Father, we come to you today, on the occasion of this revival, and we ask that you bless us abundantly, we who have made it to America, because we know we are here for a reason. We ask for your blessings because we are not here alone. Each of us represents dozens, sometimes hundreds of people back home. So many lives depend on us Lord, and the burden on our shoulders is great. Jesus, bless this service, and bless us. We ask that we will not be the same people at the end of the service as we were at the beginning. All this we ask of you, our dear savior, Amen.” The pastor sits, and someone bolts from the front row to the piano and begins to play. The music we hear is familiar and at the same time new; the bandleader punches up a pre-programmed beat on the cheap electronic piano and plays a few Nigerian gospel songs to get us in the mood for revival. We sing along, though we have to wait a few moments at the beginning of each song to figure out what he’s playing. We sing joyful songs to the Lord, then songs of redemption, and then we sing songs of hope, hope that tomorrow...
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...Ernst Hemingway My father pulled back the blanket from the Indian's head. His hand came away wet. I looked towards him, and saw his face expression had changed. He mounted on the edge of the lower bunk with the lamp in one hand and looked in. The Indian laid with his face towards the wall. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. The blood had flowed down into a pool where his body sagged the bunk. His head rested on his left arm. The open razor lay, edge up, in the blankets. I bent slightly forwards against the doorway of the shanty. I could see the Indians head hanging from the neck. I looked away horrified. My father looked back towards me, and maintained his eyes. His eyes asked me if I was okay, but then suddenly he said: "Take Nick out of the shanty, George” I looked at him and said that there was no need of that. I stood in the door of the kitchen, and had the whole time a good view of the upper bunk when my father, who had a lamp in one hand, tipped the Indian's head back. He looked around in the shanty, and saw the Indians faces. They were all looking at him. Their faces showed their grief for the dead Indian. The women sat beside of the dead Indian and cried, but the men stood up and showed their respect for the Indian. I looked around in the shanty and watched what was going on around me. I could feel my heart starting to beat faster. I wiped sweat away from my forehead. My eyes began to get wet, and I began to breathe faster. I tried to look over to my dad, to catch...
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...My aunt to me the greatest person in this world, one of a kind and one in a million Sometimes I know the words to say, Give thanks for all you've done, But then they fly up and away, As quickly as they come, She has the biggest heart with the most caring touch, which she shares with so many of us. How could I possibly thank you enough, The one who makes me whole, The one to whom I owe my life, The forming of my soul, Her soul is made of pure love, yet she's worth way more than gold, The one who tucked me in at night, The one who stopped my crying, The one who is an expert At knowing when I am lying, In my eyes, she will always be, the most beautiful person to walk the earth. The one who makes such sacrifices, To always put me first, Who lets me test my broken wings No matter how much it hurts, To me she's the smartest woman I know, and it truly does show. For accepting me as I changed Accepting all my flaws, Not loving ‘cause you had to, But loving just because, There is no one that compares to her, no one that even comes close, For never giving up on me, Even when your nerves had reached the end, For always being proud of me, For being my best friend, On a high pedestal is where I hold her, for I admire her so much more than she knows. Having her apart of my life is the greatest gift of all, being in her presence is god's blessing to me. Looking deep inside of her, I see that strong, wise woman I hope to become, So thank you Auntie for everything, And most of all thank you...
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...Lifesourcing – Blog (www.shomprakash.com) This is Friday Shomprakash Sinha Roy About the author : Shomprakash Sinha Roy is a Senior Technical Consultant and Social Media Professional for Dell International Services. He moonlights as a blogger on a few websites. Notable among them, are his contributions at The Youth Express, and Lifesourcing (www.shomprakash.com). For Roy, writing has been a necessity driven by experiences; more than anything else. Having struggled for survival for three straight years, he finally has a job that pays so that he can keep writing and stay alive at the same time. He dreams of the times of Hemingway and Bill Shakespeare, and idolizes Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Arundhati Roy and Rabindranath Tagore. The story “This is Friday” was presented via the blog Lifesourcing, and was accepted as a truly contemporary work of romance by thousands of readers. It was also promoted via different social media channels and as made its way to readers across India, the Middle East and the United States of America. It’s about one night that begins as a drunken journey across the protagonist’s favourite shopping mall to his favourite lounge in town. It explores a rhythmic side to the city of Bangalore, where the protagonist dwells upon his desires and deep-rooted values of friendship and “trust”. It also turned out to be the author’s first successful attempt to use the present continuous narrative form. His debut novel “The Pink Smoke” is being published by Grapevine...
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...the same time. But suddenly, the door creeped open as cold fear gripped me, nausea poured over me as I felt panic entering my soul. But before I could do anything, a recollection of drunken fist was smashed on me and I could not rebel at all. I could not stop the tears in my eyes as they just flowed freely. Everything just seemed so break and hopeless to me. For the next few minutes, it was like hell, but my father soon got exhausted and left the room. I huddled at the corner of my room and keep on hoping that it was just a dream. The entire room was dark except for the glow which came from the flickering computer screen. I closed my eyes and felt another bout of tears coming. “I swear, I am not going to let him off so easily!” I thought to myself, full of hatred. But the nightmare was not over, history repeated itself, just a few hours later. I could no longer tolerate it, I used all the strength I have and push him. He fell onto the ground and suddenly, he seems to have great difficulty in breathing. It was his heart attack. Upon seeing it, I rush to his bedroom to search for his medicine and found it. I then tried to hurried and get back to him, but then, I suddenly stop. I hesitated. Looking at the hardship he was going through now, he thought about those things that he have did to me just now, I then threw the bottle of medicine away. This was my only chance to get back on him, but I just stared instantly at him. He was...
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...fresh the carrots tasted. We’ve just moved to a new place, just south of the lake where my brother and I learned to swim. Although our old home was destroyed unexpectedly by a bunch of men in hats, we were adjusting well to our new place. The grass was soft and the hills were lightly capped with white snow. It was in between winter and spring, my favorite time of the year. Jimmy and I were on our way to the pasture to find hay for our beds. Suddenly, I saw a quick flash and heard a crisp crack! Oh no, not again. “Jimmy run, go home!” I screamed to my little brother as I fell to the ground. Skeptically, my brother ran south. I lay on the ground with tears in my eyes. A sharp pain overcomes my body as I concentrate on breathing. I think back on all the times in my life that I’ve been scared or hurt. This is definitely the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I start to worry that I may not make it out of this jam alive, when I see a human in an orange vest triumphantly marching towards me. Thinking quickly, and bravely I might add, I use all my might to force myself up off of the ground. As the man in the orange vest raises his hunting tool at me, I dart off behind two large oak trees. One shot! Two shots! Good thing this guy is really a lousy shot. I run and I run fast, but before I do I stare the man right in the eyes. If he could only realize that I have a mind, a soul of my own. Surely he thinks I’m some kind of inferior being who has no sense of right or wrong...
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...As I gave my speech to my brother on October fifth two-thousand and thirteen, his wedding day, I peered across the tent with tears in my eyes. Sitting at the bridal table, was the most breath-taking man that I have ever laid my hazel eyes on. Hair as dark as a bar of chocolate, mildly-fair skin, goofy glasses, and a wonderful smile that made me feel as though my world paused for a second. I then realized I had lost my train of thought, which is not ideal for giving a speech, especially a very important one. I finished my speech, hugged my brother and his new wife, and walked over to the bridal table. I typically am not the go-to-the-guy type of girl, but I was just so intrigued by this man that I just had to go against my own rules for a change. I walked up, sat in the seat next to him and asked, “Are you Snap-Chatting?” He then looked up, and I noticed that his eyes were a beautiful green-blue. He gazed at me and then replied with a simple, “Yes.” I then of course handed him my phone and added him into my contacts. “Zach. What a nice name.” I thought to myself. The rest of that night is history. Weeks went by, and we had become inseparable. I had never known love, but I was beginning to realize that love is what we had. He would pick me up at my house, and take me to school, this was when I was still in traditional high school. That was just our thing, the rides to school, though I dreaded the destination, he made my day significantly better. We went out to eat often to our...
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...This story takes place in both Chicago, Illinois in the winter of 2014, and in Anchorage, the largest city in Alaska in the summer of 2019. Point of View: The 1st person point of view of Babs. When death is lurking in your veins, your life presents itself to you through your dimming, and regretful eyes, in the way you lived. In life, every couple years or so, you reflect on yourself, seeing what and who you are versus what and who you wanted to be. I’ve never been where I should or wanted to be. I’ve made some mistakes, just like every other human being. What I’ve done in my short twenty four years of life on gods beautiful green earth has led me here. Lying on the edge of this cliff, with my neck and torso over this mountain top, blood slowly flowing up my shoulder and down my neck like a stream of interconnecting rivers; one river ending at my mouth forcing me to swallow my own blood, the others getting in my eyes and going throw my gaping nostrils gasping for air, making breathing and seeing that much harder at this altitude. I have my own custom made six inch hunting knife dug into my right peck, with a human hand stuck between my chest and the knife. My family is dead; my friends are gone; everyone I know is oblivious and careless to anything that’s happened to me. If I bleed to death or fall off the edge, no one will miss me or come...
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