It was the way he crinkled his nose when he smiled. It was the way he laughed. He didn’t laugh like one of those goofy guys who giggled and covered their mouths as if they were embarrassed by their own laughter. No. Not him. He threw his head back and let his happiness overflow. He laughed until his sides ached and his mouth felt numb. We laughed until we could laugh no more.
It was the way he held his nephews and nieces. He spun them around in circles and rolled around in the grass with them. His beautiful suit covered in grass stains and food, but he didn’t care. “It’s just a suit. Who cares? Come swing with me!”
It was the way he loved the tart taste of raspberries and the crunch of apples, but hated the blandness of apples and the gooeyness of raspberries. It was the way he ate,
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He moved until the bed shook. I couldn’t stop his dreams from haunting him, and all I could do was hold him and pray he would stop shaking. It was the way he recited Shakespeare in his sleep. I heard the entire second act of Othello from his slumbering lips one hot summer night.
It was the way he thought. When he disappeared into the confines of his beautiful mind, he became still, disconnected from us mortals. His heavy-lidded eyes and his dreamy smile were intoxicating. It was as though he had lived a thousand lives and loved a thousand times. It was the way he became quiet when he was drunk. He was introspective and when I asked him what he was thinking, he would reply, “Everything and nothing.” He was wise beyond his years, and yet so young and fragile. I had to be careful not to break him.
It was the way his hair smelled. Clean. Cool. Coconuts. Long curls, straight strands. I wanted to bury my fingers in it, weave it into my soul and bind him to me forever. It was the way his skin felt smooth and warm and lush. I wanted to live in him. I wanted to lose myself in him. His past, his present and his future were my drugs. I was a hopeless
did is that he was not afraid of saying the plain truths. The stories, which were previously
the way he feels about the world. He shows us that at the time of this
a laid back manner which many people seemed to like. He was well respected in his village, but
All humans are united in their imperfection. Everyone is inevitably flawed; this is human nature. How one rectifies their mistakes truly shapes who they are. Shakespeare’s Othello exemplifies the imperfection of human nature, focusing on what happens when each character’s fatal flaw takes control over their decisions, and eventually distorts their individual perspectives. Their actions consequently erupt in chaos by the end of the play. This play ultimately serves as a reminder of human nature. Though infinitely diverse and complex, humans are creatures of habit who ultimately share the same villainous tendencies. The evil in the world will always prevail through the manipulation of one’s imperfections, leading to the downfall of the
He was visibly joyful, childlike and inelegant in the way he carried himself, yet remained invisible to the human eye. This developed a yearning within him to be recognised which inevitably led to his downfall, like the change from summer to autumn does to leaves. A downfall turned destructive later that day.
pushed himself to the limits, and he is in control of what he says and does. He
without using one shred of proof or any real basis. This is a man who
The play “Tartuffe” by Moliere, is one of the is one of the most famous of theatrical productions of its type. The plot centers on the main character, Orgon, and the fact that his family has fallen under the spell of the charismatic Tartuffe. Orgon and his family end up being beholden to Tartuffe in that everything they do is run by him first. This is despite the fact that the rest of the family despises him and is well aware that he is a fraud. Throughout this satirical work, a comedy of errors occurs which contributes to the overall comedy of the play.
Throughout the saga of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Shakespeare uses many sources and examples of irony. This play tells the convoluted story of many lovers and how their love changes. The beginning of the play starts with the story of two sworn lovers Lysander and Hermia, who are banned from marrying each other. Hermia’s father, Egeus arranges Hermia to marry Demetrius, even while Hermia’s love is claimed to Lysander. However, Hermia’s friend Helena is madly in love with Demetrius, but he disregards her completely.
In this particular passage, there are three main aspects which are relevant to the development of the plot. These are Othello’s trust in Iago to take care of Desdemona while he cannot and his never ending faith and complete trust in him, the first seed of doubt of Desdemona planted in Othello’s head, and Iago’s harsher and harsher crudeness.
He had the prince charming face. Small, evenly distributed features seemed to line up in all the right places. Golden blond hair blew easily in the wind as he took a drag for the cigarette, smoke passing over and contorting his appearance. His icy blue eyes, matching the chill in the air, followed each person who passed. Brown sweater too perfect, shoes too nice, watch too new, he continued observing the people around him.
Even though he was poor and was not like those who live in the plaster houses, he was grateful for everything he has. He appreciated his family, the food he was able to eat, and all the small aspects of life. This was all
He was able to fathom into words, what it was he felt. Feelings, he often tried to suppress with alcohol. Yet he breeds them to life with his pen. Cornering the matter, I think this is why I'd like for him to exist, yet he ceases to not. Maybe because of his suffering, his words knew pain. Maybe that is why his messy stature embodies something so beautiful and raw. So if he were here, next to me, to be blatant. I would ask him this, and this is
He was constantly going. Working on anything he could. Like when he smiled, it could light up anyone's day, old or young, child or adult, human or animal. Or the fact that, much to some peoples dismay, when he sings it sounds like a beautiful symphony in everyone's ears. Or maybe is it the fact that, when he is put in a role of another person in theatre, he automatically becomes another person; even changing his voice for additional
every single one of his actions until the very end of the story. This connection with art