Various Text Types.doc

7/27/2019 Various Text Types.doc

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Literature -is an enduring expression ofmans thoughts, feelings and actions in

words, well chosen, and arranged.

Poem:

Its not the things

that can be bought


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that are the lifes

richest treasures,Its just the little

heart gifts that the

money cannotmeasure A cheerful


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smile, a friendly

word, a sympatheticnod Are

priceless little

treasures from thestorehouse of our


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God

They are thepriceless things in life

for which no one can

payAnd the giver finds


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rich recompense in

giving them awaySource: Lifes Richest Treasures. Helen Steiner Rice(n.p.)

Essay:One time, investigating in the

backyard of our house in

Temuco the tiny objects andminiscule beings of my world, I


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came upon a hole in one of the

boards of the fence. I lookedthrough the hole and saw thelandscape like that behind our

house, uncared for and wild. Imoved back a few steps

because I sensed vaguely thatsomething was about to


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happen. All of a sudden, a

hand appeared- a tiny hand ofa boy about my own age. Bythe time I came close again,

the hand was gone, and in itsplace was a marvelous white

sheep.


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The sheeps wool was faded.

Its wheels had escaped. All ofthis only made it moreauthentic. I had never seen

such a wonderful sheep. Ilooked back through the hole

but the boy had disappeared. Iwent into the house and


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brought out a treasure of my

own: a pinecone, opened, fullof odor and resin, which Iadored. I set it down in the

same spot and went off withthe sheep.

I never saw either the hand orthe boy again. And I have never


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again seen a sheep like that

either. The toy I Iost finally infire. But even now, in 1954,almost fifty years old,

whenever I pass by a toy shop,I look furtively into the

window, but its no use. They


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dont make sheep like that

anymore.I have been a lucky man. Tofeel the intimacy of brothers is

a marvelous thing in life. Tofeel the love of people whom

we do not know. From thoseunknown to us, who are


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watching over our sleep and

solitude, over our dangers andour weaknesses- that issomething still greater and

more beautiful, it widens outthe boundaries of our being,

and unites all living things.Source:Childhood and Poetry. Pablo Neruda (n.p.)


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Short Story:

I was content to rub my neckwith a handkerchief becausenow I felt the sweat dripping

from my hair onto the nape ofmy neck and that was

disagreeable. I soon gave uprubbing myself, however, for it


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didnt do any good; my

handkerchief was alreadywringing wet and I was stillsweating. My buttocks, too,

were sweating, and my damptrousers stuck to the bench.

Suddenly, Juan said, Yourea doctor arent you?


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Yes, said the Belgian.

Do people suffer- very long?Oh! When? No, no, saidthe Belgian, in a paternal

voice, its quickly over.His manner was as reassuring

as if he had been answering apaying patient.


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But I Somebody, told me-

They often have to fire twovolleys.Sometimes,

said the Belgian, raising hidhead, it just happens that the

first volley doesnt hit any ofthe vital organs.


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So then they have to reload

their guns and aim all overagain?Juan thought for a moment,

then added hoarsely, But thattakes time!

He was terribly afraid ofsuffering. He couldnt think


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about anything else, but that

went with his age. As for me, Ihardly thought about itanymore, and it certainly was

not fear of suffering that mademe perspire.

I rose and walked toward thepile coal dust. Tom gave a start


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and looked at me with a look

of hate. I irritated him becausemy shoes squeaked. I wonderedif my face was as putty

colored as his. Then, I noticedthat he, too, was sweating.

The sky was magnificent; nolight at all came into our dark


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corner and I had only to lift my

head to see the Big Bear.From: The Wall, Jean- Paul Sartre.(n.p.)

Play:MRS. LINDEN: My mother was

then alive, bedridden, andhelpless; and I had my two


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younger brothers to think of. I

thought it is my duty to accepthim.NORA: Perhaps it was. I

suppose he was rich then?MRS. LINDEN: Very well off, I

believe. But his business wasuncertain. It fell to pieces at


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his death; and there was

nothing left.NORA: And then-?MRS. LINDEN: then I had to

fight my way by keeping ashop, a little school, anything I

could turn my hand to. The lastthree years have been one long


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struggle for me. But now its

over, Nora. My poor mother nolonger needs me; she is at rest.And the boys are in business

and can look after themselves.Nora: How free your life must

feel!


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MRS. LINDEN: No, Nora; only

inexpressibly empty. No one tolive for.(Stands up restlessly.)That is why I couldnt bear to

stay any longer in that out-of-the-way corner. Here it must

be easier to find somethingreally worth doing-something


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to occupy ones thoughts. If I

could only get some settledemployment-some office work.NORA: But, Christina, thats so

tiring, and you look worn outalready. You should rather go

to some watering place andrest.


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MRS. LINDEN: (going to

window) I have no father togive me money, Nora.NORA:(rising) oh! Dont be

vexed with me.MRS. LINDEN: (going toward

her) My dear Nora, dont yoube vexed with me. The worst


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of a position like mine is that it

makes one bitter. You have noone to work for, yet you havealways to be on the strain. You

must live; and so you becomeselfish. When I heard of the

happy change


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In you circumstances- can you

believe it?- I rejoiced more onmy own account than on yours.From:A Dolls House, Henrik Ibsen.(n.p.)

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Various Text Types.doc

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