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senior folio

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jinny kim

on 30 April 2011

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Transcript of senior folio

Senior Portfolio Short Stories favorite Novel Songs Character Developement Allusions Author Theme Plays/Theaters Speech Setting 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.
Some one 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. . . . . . . “Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at Stanford hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liza who was suffering from a rare and serious disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her five-year-old borhter, who had miraculously survived the same dieseas and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness. The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister. I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, ‘Yes, I’ll do it if it will save Liza.’ . . . As I went over to say goodbye I saw that the expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsby's face, as though a faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality of his present happiness. Almost five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams--not through her own fault but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. . . . She believed herself to be completely normal. Two very simple reasons lay behind her decision to dies, and she was sure tha, were she to leave a note explaining, many people would agree with her.
The first reason: everything in her life was the same and, one her youth was gone, it would be downhill all the way, with old age beginning to leave irreversible marks, the onset of illness, the departure of friends. She would gain nothing by continuing to live; indeed , the likelihood of suffering only increased.
The second reason was more philosophical: Veronika read the newspapers, watcher TV, and she were aware of what was going on in the world. Everything was wrong, and she and no way of putting things right – that gave her a sense of complete powerlessness. . . . Verse 1
The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home,
'Tis summer, the darkies are gay;
The corn-top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day.
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy and bright;
By 'n' by Hard Times comes a-knocking at the door,
Then my old Kentucky home, goodnight.
Weep no more my lady
Oh! weep no more today!
We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home,
For the Old Kentucky Home far away.
Verse 2
They hunt no more for the possum and the coon,
On meadow, the hill and the shore,
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
On the bench by the old cabin door.
The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,
With sorrow, where all was delight,
The time has come when the darkies have to part,
Then my old Kentucky home, goodnight.
Chorus The women slept but little. In the morning, looking into each other’s faces, they read their fate. Neither spoke; but Piney, accepting the position of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm around the Duchess’s waist. They kept this attitude for the rest of the day. That night the storm reached its greatest fury, and rending asunder the protecting pines, invaded the very hut.
Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, which gradually died away. As the mbers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: “ Piney, can you pray?” “No, dear,” said Piney, simply. . . . “Now, I’ll tell you what, my friend,” said Scrooge, “I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore,” he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoats that he staggered back into the Tank again; “and therefore I am about to raise your salary!”
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and strait-waistcoat. . . . Short stories are well fit to me. The biggest reason would be that it does not need much time so that I do not feel any burden for time. For me, if I start reading something, I feel so curious about the next scenes and stories that I cannot really concentrate on doing other works. I had experienced so many times that I stayed up night trying to finish a book and felt so tired at the next morning. Therefore, short stories are pleasant to read.
More importantly, always, what I get from it is much more than what I put into it. Even though I only read story while I was waiting for someone, or while I was in bathroom, I sometimes cry or get challenged by those short stories. . . . Character developes and changes as story goes. Sometimes, readers can see quick character developement when characters face extreme hardships or happiness which would be turnign point. Character that goes through hardship could look back and self reflect on his past. Character that gets great fortune could become arrogant and greedy. . . . And laughing Ceres

Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle IV To Richard Boyle, Earl of Burlington

Yet hence the poor are cloth'd, the hungry fed;
Health to himself, and to his infants bread
The lab'rer bears: What his hard heart denies,
His charitable vanity supplies.

Another age shall see the golden ear
Embrown the slope, and nod on the parterre,
Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd,
And laughing Ceres reassume the land. Allusions give great pleasure when I notice those in reading. As I find allusions I feel more attached to the work because I could use the knowledge that I already know and that makes me feel as if I am communicating with the writer. If one does not realize the allusion, he read the work only superficially. As soon as he knows the allusion, it will show him hidden and deep messages. . . . From Crow's-eye View
Yi sang

Theseventhchildalsosays heisscared


it's fine.
fine Understanding author is important in order to understand literature because literature shows ideology of an author. Some authors use real person for their characters and sometimes we see author himself in literature. All that makes writing personal. . . . HAMLET
Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.
Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
Ay, madam, it is common.
If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee?
Seems, madam? Nay it is. I know not 'seems'.
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief
That can denote me truly. These indeed 'seem',
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within which passeth show -
These but the trappings and the suits of woe. Setting plays a vital role in literature. The rationale behind this is that it helps people imagine where and when the story is happening. If setting is not clear, and suddenly some cultures appear, people may get confused and have hard time understanding. This is because according to the time or place, proper language usage, cultures are needed to create sense of reality to the readers. The sun was starting to burn m cheeks, and I could feel drops of sweat gathering in my eyebrows. The sun was the same as it had been the day I’d buried mother, and like then, my forehead especially was hurting me, all the veins in it throbbing under the skin. It was this burning, which I couldn’t stand anymore, that made me move forward. I knew that it was stupid, that I wouldn’t get the sun off me by stepping forward. But I took a step, one step, forward. And this time, without getting up, the Arab drew his knife and held it up to me in the sun. . . . It was difficult not to think about what he had left behind. The desert, with its endless monotony, put him to dreaming. The boy could still see the palm trees, the wells, and the face of the woman he loved. He could see the Englishman at his experiments, and the camel driver who was a teacher without realizing it. Maybe the alchemist has never been in love, the boy thought.The alchemist rode in front, with the falcon on his shoulder. The bird knew the language of the desert well, and whenever they stopped, he flew off in search of game. On the first day he returned with a rabbit, and on the second with two birds. . . . HAMLET
Not so, my lord; I am too much i' the sun.
Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
Ay, madam, it is common.
If it be,
Why seems it so particular with thee? Hamlet
Seems, madam? Nay it is. I know not 'seems'.
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief
That can denote me truly. These indeed 'seem',
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within which passeth show -
These but the trappings and the suits of woe. Theme creates the general atmosphere along the story’s flowing. Also, theme affects all the settings, characters, and the story flows as well. By knowing what theme is, people could read story with the right idea it should be. If one is not aware of theme, readers may get misunderstood. . . . Speech is a great tool to show how one person thinks and conveys that to others. So its usage varies from political usage such as election speech to politic reforming speech. It usually handles unusual matters such as right of people, or a corruption of a company in strike.
Good thing about having speech is that it greatly affects people’s emotion. When they are together with other people, people tend to follow the general atmosphere at the place and the people there as well as the emotion of the speaker. That is why people get more excited when they hear speech than reading the same speech in words. . . . Well, children, where there is so much racket there must be something out of kilter. I think that ‘twixt the negrose fo the South and the women at the north, all talking about rights, the white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what’s all this here talking about?
That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or give me any best place! And aint’s I a woman? Look at me! And ain’t I a woman?. . . I could work as much and eat as much as a man-when I could get it- and bear the lash as well! And ain’t I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cired out with my mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain’t I a woman?
Then they talk about this thing in the head; what’s this they call it? [a member of the audience whispers “intellect”] That’s it, honey. To make a strong speech, sometimes, people use the same words over and over again to emphasize the point and choose specific targets; so that the language and the contents are more focused to the audience and the place the speech is held. Sometimes, I feel that the flow of short stories are little abrupt than that of novel. Even though, it has a beginning, middle, and end, some parts goes slower and some part goes faster than the other part since it has to contain all the ideas in such a few paragraphs. The light shot off the steel and it was like a long flashing blade cutting at my forehead. At the same instant the sweat in my eyebrows dripped down over my eyelids all at once and covered them with a warm, thick film. My eyes were blinded behind the curtain of tears and salt. All I could feel were the cymbals of sunlight crashing on my forehead and, indistinctly, the dazzling spear flying up from the knife in front of me. In a short while, though, she would have the final experience of her life., which promised to be very different: death. She wrote the letter to the magazine, then abandoned the topic, and concentrated on more pressing matters, more appropriate to what she was living, or rather, dying, through at that moment. “A merry Christmas, Bob!” said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. “A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I’ll raise your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another I, Bob Cratchit!” No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart. I think the words, “colossal vitality of his illusion,” are a perfect description. For five years, all Gatsby thought about was Daisy. He only concentrated on her admirable qualities. For him, there was no such thing as a displeasing feature about her. His mind just kept building her up until there was no person more perfect in the world. Anyone reading the book would have to realize that inevitably she would fall short of his dreams. Gatsby was living in a fantasy. The Duchess, without knowing exactly why, felt relieved, and putting her head upon Piney’s shoulder, spoke no more. An so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep.
. . . and pulseless and cold, with a Derringer by his side and a bullet in his heart, though still calm as in life, benearth the snow, lay he who was at once the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts of Poker Flat. Refrain
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
I looked over Jordan, and what did I see?
Coming for to carry me home,
A band of angels coming after me,
Coming for to carry me home.
If you get there before I do,
Coming for to carry me home,
Tell all my friends I’m coming, too.
Coming for to carry me home. Refrain
I’m sometimes up and sometimes down,
Coming for to carry me home,
But still my soul feels heavenly bound,
Coming for to carry me home.
The brightest day that I can say,
Coming for to carry me home,
When Jesus washed my sins away,
Coming for to carry me home.
Refrain MACBETH:
It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood:
Stones have been known to move and trees to speak;
Augurs and understood relations have
By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth
The secret'st man of blood. What is the night?

Almost at odds with morning, which is which.

How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person
At our great bidding?

Did you send to him, sir? MECBETH:
I hear it by the way; but I will send:
There's not a one of them but in his house
I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow,
And betimes I will, to the weird sisters:
More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know,
By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good,
All causes shall give way: I am in blood
Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er:
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand;
Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd.

You lack the season of all natures, sleep. MY SIREN
Robert Desnos
My siren is blue as the veins where she swims
For the moment she sleeps on mother-of-pearl
And on the ocean I create for her
She can visit the magic grottoes of preposterous isles
There some very foolish birds
converse with crocodiles who never finish up
And the very foolish birds fly above the blue siren
The crocodiles return to their drink
And the island doesn't come back
doesn't come back from where it's placedwhere my siren and I have forgotten it My siren has some very beautiful stars in her sky
Blonde stars with black eyes
Red haired stars with sparkling teeth
and dark stars with beautiful breasts
Each night three by three
alternating the color of their hair
These stars visit my siren
This makes for lots of comings and goings in the sky
But my siren's sky isn't an ordinary sky
My siren has seven boats on her ocean
Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday
Saturday and Sunday
Some with steam the others with sails
Some rapid the others slow
But all beautiful all charming
with sailors who know their craft Brutus.
Hence, I will follow.
[Exit Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius.]
I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord.
Thou art a fellow of a good respect;
Thy life hath had some smatch of honor in it.
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?
Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.
Farewell, good Strato. [He runs on his sword]
Caesar, now be still.
I killed not thee with half so good a will.
[Dies] . . . Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony and Octavius with Messala and Lucilius as prisoners. The army follows.]
What man is that?
My master’s man. Strato, where is thy master?
Free from the bondage you are in, Messala.
The conquerors can but make a fire of him,
For Brutus only overcame himself,
And no man else hath honor by his death.
So Brutus should be found. I think thee, Brutus,
That thou hath proved Lucilius’ saying true. My country, ’ tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing:
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims’ pride,
From every mountainside
Let freedom ring.
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.
Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York!
Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slops of California! But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi!
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!
When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! free at last! thank God almighty, we are free at last!” Tony.
Yes, we can. We will. [He shivers, as though a pain went though him. She holds him closer and begins to sing-without orchestra.]
Hold my hand and we’re halfway there.
Hold my hand and I’ll take you there.
Somehow . . .
[he has started to join tin on the second line. She sings harder, as though to urge him back to life, but his voice falters and he barely finished the line. She sings on, a phrase or two more, then sotps, his body quiet in her arms. A moment, and then, as she gently rests Tony on the floor, the orchestra finished the last bars of the song. Lightly, she brusheds Tony’s lips with hter figners. “As the transfusion progressed, he lay in a bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheeks. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and aksed with a trmebling voice, ‘Will I start to die right away?’
“Being young, the boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give her all his blood.
Yes, I’ve learned courage,” she added, “because I’ve had inspiring teachers.”
Dan Millman At night, they spread their sleeping gear and kept their fires hidden. The desert nights were cold, and were becoming darker and darker as the phases of the moon passed. They went on for a week, speaking only of the precautions they needed to follow in order to avoid the battles between the tribes. Unlike short stories, there are more details in novels and it helps readers to feel as if they are in the story. By doing so, I could indirectly experience things that I have actually never experienced in real life. For example, when Gatsby met Daisy, the nervous feeling of Gatsby was so well descriptive by his actions. His change of feeling from nervousness to anger by meeting one’s beloved one may seem weird. However, as I read, I could understand even the anger and the embarrassment of Gatsby. That is the attractive point of reading novels. Also, according to the setting of the novel, readers could gather knowledge. . . . Another favorite novel, Veronika Decides to Die shows those in depth thinking well, mainly because it is written in first person’s point of view. Novel can be very personal. Also, the world and event the character sees can be very different from what I used to think. By exploring unfamiliar world, novel enables me to think in different way and helps me understand other people when it comes to meet people who are different from me in reality. Poetry is not only for reading which conveys images and idea but also for giving spirit through form of song. People sing a song every time whenever they feel sad or happy. In times of sadness, people listen to sad song and get console from it because they get sense of kinship by someone who experienced similar situation.
I think song is a very powerful mean of conveying ideas because it seeps into people’s brain with rhythmic sounds. That is why almost every company has its own logo songs and also in the times of election, the candidates make songs and advertise themselves. . . . Some songs are historical because that shows the distinctive condition of the time it was sung. So by listening to music, people can travel back and remember back days. Even though the themes are similar, according to the time, or to the culture, the messages could be different. Therefore, this form of literature is very fun and also helpful to know better about the world. The character development emphasizes the importance and the seriousness of the event that struck the character because what could change people’s personality cannot be a light event. By doing so, it does not only enlarge the seriousness of events, but also make reader’s emotion more serious as well. Sometimes, by looking at how characters change, I get lessons of what I should warn myself from and how I should behave to those big incidents when it really comes true in my life. Also, in different period of time, certain style of writing was in mode. For example, many of literatures in 1930s took surrealistic point of view on world and talked about world in different ways. The style of writing is affected by social condition. Therefore author and his style of writing is precious historic product. However, it is not easy to find unless one has enough background information of the subject that writer talks about. One of the frequently used allusions may be stories and people in the bible. Finding it may not be easy however I think for that it is attractive. Plays are fun to watch. This is because we can actually see the literature. However, it is not always good because it could limit the reader’s privilege, which is imagining.
People could learn lots of things by watching theater. There are still many plays that use old language and vocabularies for the setting of the old time. As time passed, plays went through some changes. One of them is theme. . . . Many of the play in the past talked about heroes and honors and today’s plays more talk about common people.
Also, in Shakespeare’s time, theater was very limited. There were limit in sex, clothing, and stages while today’s plays are very free and also use technology. Also, it explains the background of why something happen. For example, since the setting also affects the characters in the story, in order to fully understand why character do something, the setting has to be understood first. Under hot weather, the character may become violent or impatient. For instance, reader who does not understand theme may see jokes only as a hilarious meaning, when it actually has sarcastic meaning. The theme of betrayal, hatred, love and jealousy can be found in literature talks about morals and uprightness. 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.
When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease–of the joy that kills. The End
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