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Portfolio

Portfolio
by

Johnson Chou

on 4 May 2010

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Transcript of Portfolio

Portfolio Novels Speeches Poetry Short Stories Songs Theatre/Plays Authors Theme/Messages Symbolism Setting The Metamorphosis (Franz Kafka) The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton) The Outcast of Poker Flats (Bret Harte) The Mouse (H.H.Munro) I Have a Dream (Martin Luther King, Jr.) The Gettysburg Address (Abraham Lincoln) Swing Low, Sweet Chariot (Fisk Jubilee) We Are The World (Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie) Hamlet (William Shakespeare) West-side Story (Arthur Laurents) The Road Not Taken (Robert Frost) Cat's in the Cradle (Harry Chapin) Italo Calvino Robert Kiyosaki A Bird in the House (Elizabeth Jennings) Eveline (James Joyce) Lord of the Flies (William Golding) The Bible Thanatopsis (William Cullen Bryant) Alice in Wonderland (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) Poetry is simple to understand, and sometimes very complex. The meaning of the words can be express differently because each person has their own idea. It gives me headache to figure out what it actually means when the poem is hard to understand. However, a simple poem does not mean it's only for kids because the meaning behind the words or phrases is easier to understand, but it makes us think and sometimes we relate them into our modern world. I do not really like poetry because I get the feeling that I am still getting the wrong answer even if I get the meaning of the poem. I needed help from a professional reader who can easily understand the poem well in order to prove the meaning of the poem is the same as the one I am thinking. Novels are interesting to read because there are moralities in some of the books which I realized that some of them connect to our world right now. There are a lot of symbolism in the books we read such as "The Metamorphosis", "The Lord of the Flies", and other interesting books in the world. However, some of them are confusing because of the plot twist, which sometimes misled us to the situation of the story. Personally, the type of book I would like to read is a book with many kinds of symbolism in it with a surprise in the middle of the story which catches my attention in order to make me want to continue reading the book, but not the really long. I don’t really read books at home, only during class, but thanks to that now I am starting to have interest in reading books once in awhile.
Short stories are fun to read. Even though it is short, it gives us moral lessons to learn. Sometimes it is about love, friendship, and even death. In fact, children read short stories first in literature because it is easier for them to understand the concept of the stories they have read. I prefer reading short story books because it is short with lots of meaning behind those words or phrases. In fact, it can be also confusing, but not as much as novels, poetry, and other types of literature books. I am not a person that loves books, but I believe that if a person has the opposite side of me, he or she would probably have tons of collection of books, and they would understand other books easily than I am. Most people would forget who wrote the book because of how interesting the book is or they just don't care, but it is also as important to learn about the authors as learning the book because they might be related or maybe they are the character of the book. Also it is important because of how they use the style of writing the book, which whoever wanted to be a writer, can learn from. This could be a common question to every reader “Who is the author of the book?” Of course, people who check who the author first before reading the book would know. It is the way to help the author popular and to be recognized to the world, and by doing that, we can get information from other people of what books did the same author published. Why do we use theatre or plays to teach children? I think it is because that everyone likes a good story, we learn easier by visual effects, it makes us follow the story easier, and the actors and actresses uses their expressions that we actually feel the story unlike reading the book. Themes/Plays are actually my favorite because sometimes I imagine myself in the situation of the main character which I can sense the feeling of it. In the story, we can learn a lot of things such as emotions, symbolism, characteristics, moral lessons and other things that we expected to learn from. Sometimes they can be made into movies like Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet for instance, and they are famous up until now. We also use them as an example on comedies, relationships, and also friendships. I would actually buy a ticket to watch a play with my friends and have fun. So with small food and much of Homer and the accordion, a week passed over the heads of the outcasts. The
sun again forsook them, and again from leaden skies the snowflakes were sifted over the land. Day by day
closer around them drew the snowy circle, until at last they looked from their prison over drifted walls of
dazzling white that towered twenty feet above their heads. It became more and more difficult to replenish their
fires, even from the fallen trees beside them, now half−hidden in the drifts. And yet no one complained. The
lovers turned from the dreary prospect and looked into each other's eyes, and were happy. Mr. Oakhurst
settled himself coolly to the losing game before him. The Duchess, more cheerful than she had been, assumed
the care of Piney. Only Mother Shipton−−once the strongest of the party−−seemed to sicken and fade. At
midnight on the tenth day she called Oakhurst to her side. "I'm going," she said, in a voice of querulous
weakness, "but don't say anything about it. Don't waken the kids. Take the bundle from under my head and
open it." Mr. Oakhurst did so. It contained Mother Shipton's rations for the last week, untouched. "Give 'em to
the child," she said, pointing to the sleeping Piney. "You've starved yourself," said the gambler. "That's what
they call it," said the woman, querulously, as she lay down again and, turning her face to the wall, passed
quietly away. Evidently she had detected something of his predicament, and was enjoying his confusion. All the blood in his body seemed to have mobilized in one concentrated blush, and an agony of abasement, worse than a myriad mice, crept up and down over his soul. And then, as reflection began to assert itself, sheer terror took the place of humiliation. With every minute that passed the train was rushing nearer to the crowded and bustling terminus, where dozens of prying eyes would be exchanged for the one paralyzing pair that watched him from the farther corner of the carriage. There was one slender, despairing chance, which the next few minutes must decide. His fellow traveler might relapse into a blessed slumber. But as the minutes throbbed by that chance ebbed away. The furtive glance which Theodoric stole at her from time to time disclosed only an unwinking wakefulness.

"I think we must be getting near now," she presently observed.

Theodoric had already noted with growing terror the recurring stacks of small, ugly dwellings that heralded the journey's end. The words acted as a signal. Like a hunted beast breaking cover and dashing madly toward some other haven of momentary safety he threw aside his rug, and struggled frantically into his disheveled garments. He was conscious of dull suburban stations racing past the window, of a choking, hammering sensation in his throat and heart, and of an icy silence in that corner toward which he dared not look. Then as he sank back in his seat, clothed and almost delirious, the train slowed down to a final crawl, and the woman spoke. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month--
Let me not think on't--Frailty, thy name is woman!--
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears:--why she, even she--
O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer--married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules: within a month:
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not nor it cannot come to good:
But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue. 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. Song literature is nice because I believe that all songs are related to something or someone. However, some people would only care about the music itself and not the lyrics, but if we read the lyrics, we can see how deep the meanings are and who or what is it related to. It is very emotional and can be inspired by a lot of people. This is important because in some way, we can be relaxed by just singing it along. In literature, we can see that the meaning of some part of the words from the lyrics can be represented as the title of the song, but why? Well, artist wrote their lyrics based on their life, and they will think of something that will fit to their situation for their lyrics and will eventually became the title of the song. Setting sets the mood of the story. If the setting is at night and it’s raining, then the mood will be gloomy, but it is not always the same case. Some of them can be still happy, and they will have good reasons for it. If our book does not have setting, then no one will even bother to read the book. Setting is very important because it allows us to reflect upon the importance of time and place of the story. It is where the characters will mostly be appearing in the scene and where they will talk. it is also very important to the story because it allows the reader to understand and imagine the story and relate them into their own lives. I realize how much setting can add to the story because sometimes I picture the story in my mind which adds interest to the story. Speeches are important because it is another way to express your feelings. They were used since centuries from men that use words to make a final statement, to make clear for some position, to make a point of opinion, to make justice for political issues for their people. Speeches can be made not only on a big event, but also small event like in a party. A big event would be in a marriage or a president from a country trying to make closer relationship with his people. It is they higher way of communication between more than two person. A speech needs to be effective in order for people to listen and follow you. Speaking in public requires self-confidence and a voice that is capable of expressing a variety of meanings. I wanted to learn this because I think this would be important in the future because making speeches can exercise your mind and build up your self-confidence, and it is a good practice in social life, politics, and business. Whether you are writing fiction, or fact, story, or novel, they all have a theme! It is what the authors are writing about: boy meets girl, comedy, drama, mystery, man kills his rival, boy grows up and experiences life...etc. If the person doesn’t know what he or she is writing about, how can you write? The author can't get characters to fit in the story, and it certainly can't get the dialogue correct. Everything depends upon the theme. If we want to practice it, we could just start writing ideas down, but if you can't decide what you are writing about, you just have an outline or just notes for a possible story. As a reader, you have it easier. The writer should be telling you all through the work. A novel usually has more than one theme, but successful, readable novels usually have a central theme overriding the others. The theme is the story in a sense because it is the one that carries the story. Without theme, there would be no book and it would not be a story anymore. Symbols are very important because they have meaning to human beings. Letters and words are symbols of various concepts arranged in a way that transmits meanings. Numbers are other symbols representing concept. Musical notes are symbols as are pictures in a gallery. Without symbols, we would not have civilization. A symbol is something that represents something else, either by association or by resemblance. It can be a material object or a written sign used to represent something invisible. Language itself is a system of spoken or written symbols by which we communicate. In writing, symbolism is the use of a word, a phrase, or a description, which represents a deeper meaning than the words themselves. This kind of extension of meaning can transform the written word into a very powerful instrument. There comes a time
When we head a certain call
When the world must come together as one
There are people dying
And it's time to lend a hand to life
The greatest gift of all

We can't go on
Pretneding day by day
That someone, somewhere will soon make a change
We are all a part of
God's great big family
And the truth, you know love is all we need

[Chorus]
We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day
Just you and me

Send them your heart
So they'll know that someone cares
And their lives will be stronger and free
As God has shown us by turning stone to bread
So we all must lend a helping hand
[Chorus]
We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day
Just you and me

When you're down and out
There seems no hope at all
But if you just believe
There's no way we can fall
Well, well, well, well, let us realize
That a change will only come
When we stand together as one

[Chorus]
We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day
Just you and me O him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 'He took me for his housemaid,' she said to herself as she ran. 'How surprised he'll be when he finds out who I am! But I'd better take him his fan and gloves - - that is, if I can find them.' As she said this, she came upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name 'W. RABBIT' engraved upon it. She went in without knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great fear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann, and be turned out of the house before she had found the fan and gloves.
'How queer it seems,' Alice said to herself, 'to be going messages for a rabbit! I suppose Dinah'll be sending me on messages next!' And she began fancying the sort of thing that would happen: '"Miss Alice! Come here directly, and get ready for your walk!" "Coming in a minute, nurse! But I've got to see that the mouse doesn't get out." Only I don't think,' Alice went on, 'that they'd let Dinnah stop in the house if it began ordering people about like that!' Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. Soda fought for fun, Darry for pride, and Two-Bit for conformity. Why do I fight? I thought, and couldn’t think of any real good reason. There isn’t any real good reason for fighting except self-defense.

They used to be buddies, I thought, they used to be friends, and now they hate each other because one has to work for a living and the other comes from the West Side. They shouldn’t hate each other...I don’t hate the Socs anymore...they shouldn’t hate...

“We won,” Dally panted. “We beat the Socs. We stomped them—chased them outa our territory.”

Johnny didn’t even try to grin at him. “Useless...fighting’s no good...”

“Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold...” The pillow seemed to sink a little, and Johnny died. It was a yellow voice, a high, shrill treble in the nursery
Whie always and high, I remember it so,
White cupboard, off-white table, mugs, dolls' faces
And I was four or five, The garden could have been
Miles away, We were taken down to the green
Asparagus beds, the cut lawn, and the smell of it
Comes each summer after rain when white returns, Our bird,
A canary called Peter, sang behind bars. The black and white cat
Curled and snoozed by the fire and danger was far away. Saturday nights are spent in “the invariable squabble for money her way through the crowds and returning
home late under her load of provisions” When her mother was dying, she had promised her “to keep the home together as long as she could”. Thus, the duties of keeping the house, preparing the meals, and caring for “the two young children who had been left to her charge” had fallen on her. The only bright spot in her life is her boyfriend Frank, but she can only see him secretly because “her father had found out about the affair and had forbidden her to have anything to say to him”. Her father drinks heavily and is both verbally and physically abusive toward his family. The officer grinned cheerfully at Ralph.

"We saw your smoke. What have you been doing? Having a war or something?"

Ralph nodded.

The officer inspected the little scarecrow in front of him. The kid needed a bath, a hair-cut, a nose-wipe and a good deal of ointment.

"Nobody killed, I hope? Any dead bodies?"

"Only two. And they've gone."

The officer leaned down and looked closely at Ralph.

"Two? Killed?"

Ralph nodded again. Behind him, the whole island was shuddering with flame. The officer knew, as a rule, when people were telling the truth. He whistled softly. [1] The Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave unto him, to shew unto his servants things which must shortly come to pass; and he sent and signified it by his angel unto his servant John:
[2] Who bare record of the word of God, and of the testimony of Jesus Christ, and of all things that he saw.
[3] Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written therein: for the time is at hand.
[4] John to the seven churches which are in Asia: Grace be unto you, and peace, from him which is, and which was, and which is to come; and from the seven Spirits which are before his throne;
[5] And from Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, and the first begotten of the dead, and the prince of the kings of the earth. Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood,
[6] And hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen.
[7] Behold, he cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see him, and they also which pierced him: and all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him. Even so, Amen.
[8] I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty.
[9] I John, who also am your brother, and companion in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, was in the isle that is called Patmos, for the word of God, and for the testimony of Jesus Christ.
[10] I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day, and heard behind me a great voice, as of a trumpet, Tony: You heard - it's gonna be a fair fight!
Doc: And that's going to cure something?
Tony: From here on in, everythin's gonna be all right! I got a feelin'!
Doc: What have you been taking tonight?
Tony: A trip to the moon! And I'll tell ya a secret. It ain't a man that's up there, Doc. It's a girl, lady. Buenas noches, Senor.
My child arrived just the other day,
Came into the world in the usual way,
But there were planes to catch, bills to pay,
He learned to walk while I was away.
He was talking before I knew it,
And as he grew, he said,
"I'm going to be like you, Dad,
you know I'm gonna be likeyou."
And the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man on the moon, "When you coming home, I don't know when, We'll get together then, Son, You know we'll have a good time then." “Myth is the hidden part of every story, the buried part, the region that is still unexplored because there are as yet no words to enable us to get there. Myth is nourished by silence as well as by words.” “The only difference between a rich person and poor person is how they use their time”
“The poor, the unsuccessful, the unhappy, the unhealthy are the ones who use the word tomorrow the most”
“Tomorrows only exist in the minds of dreamers and losers” In this overworked and exhausted family who had time to worry any longer about Gregor more than was absolutely necessary? The household was constantly getting smaller. The servant girl was now let go. A huge bony cleaning woman with white hair flapping all over her head came in the morning and the evening to do the heaviest work. The mother took care of everything else in addition to her considerable sewing work. It even happened that various pieces of family jewelry, which previously the mother and sister had been overjoyed to wear on social and festive occasions, were sold, as Gregor found out in the evening from the general discussion of the prices they had fetched. Doc: Buenas noches? So that's why you made it a fair fight...
Tony: I'm gonna see her tomorrow an' I can't wait!
Doc: Tony... things aren't tough enough?
Tony: Tough? Doc, I'm in love!
Doc: And you're not frightened?
Tony: Should I be?
Doc: [after a pause] No. I'm frightened enough for the both of us. THE END!! by Johnson Chou 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.
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.
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