William Graham Sumner explained his view on social Darwinism through an excerpt that was displayed in a collection of essays in 1914. This accusatory text was written in the 1880s and was directed toward the poor people of America. However‚ he did not see them as less fortunate‚ which is often used synonymously with the word poor. To be unfortunate means to be unlucky; these poor citizens were put in this position by their own faults. According to Sumner‚ it was not a matter of luck‚ but a matter
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When reflecting on the day and then writing this story‚ I discovered that although we were together as a family for the entire day‚ at the same time‚ we were separated by an invisible wall created by technology that took us away from being in the moment with each other. This was the exact message my dad was trying to get across in his hour-long lecture. I won’t give the exact play by play of his entire lecture‚ but it started out as him telling me how “bratty” and selfish I had been toward the family
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said that they had nothing to give to them. But the travelers‚ being the kind banditos that they were shared what little they had with them. They went up to the villagers and said “it is not much but we will share with you a secret‚ we will teach you how to make tacos out of stones’
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Despite the relative success of the late Victorian Darwinian Liberals it is arguable that Darwin’s biological ideas were too open-ended‚ matter of fact‚ rapidly outdated‚ and ambiguous in how they applied to humanity to be truly applicable to any type of politics. George Bernard Shaw summarised evolution as being borrowed by anyone “who had an axe to grind” in the late Victorian era. While this may appear to be part of his flippant repertoire‚ there is a lot of truth contained in that statement.
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Loss is often sudden and painful‚ like a kick to the gut‚ but the pain eventually fades leaving you with only a memory of the past. Sometimes‚ though‚ it is not a kick. It is a rusty razor gash that opens up your belly leaving you desperately trying to stuff slippery innards back into a yawning wound. Even when it heals there remains a jagged scar and a dull ache as lingering reminders of what has been lost. I once counted Professor Gregor Szaranev as a close friend. I suppose I still do even though
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Though scorching‚ her hands did not react‚ the skull of her mate‚ her lover‚ her friend in life. His hand reached into the wicker basket removed two large red stones‚ placed a stone in each of the skull’s eye sockets. They began to glow‚ intensifying until they became fiery red staring into her eyes and soul. She breathes in the fragrance of incense and that of the cauldron’s brew‚ most pleasurable among fragrances her mate’s blood covering her body in its most natural state. She brought it to her
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means she would get tons of attention. She had planned this for years‚ soon realizing that the party was more hers‚than it was Bees. Distinctively deciding not to do anything‚ she waited quietly out front of Bee’s bedroom door that morning with her present in hand. Bethsabee was quite rudimentary- she had always reminded Auburn of Sherlock Holmes‚ and
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at all. Of all the ancient years that I have been here‚ I have never encountered that saintly aura that is mine own mother.” Draco supports. “Neither I young fellow‚ but this is not to say it is out of the question. However‚ we attend to a more present and important matter‚ namely‚ why you are not illuminated like
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to the racist nature of the Europeans who colonized Canada. The main character in the story‚ Big Tom‚ appears physically and mentally worn out by his life. At the beginning of the story‚ the reader gets a sense of bitterness with how he perceives his life. Despite living in poverty‚ he appears to be a caring father. The reader senses Big Tom grappling with his Native identity when he tells his infant son a story: “his voice slid awkwardly through the ageless folktale of his people”. It is as if Big
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picture all in my head‚ like I was watching a movie. Then she began repeating the story she had just told me‚ and I realized that she was merely talking to herself. Although this discovery disenchanted me at first‚ I soon realized that‚ although the woman was talking to herself‚ she still had so many fantastic stories stored in her mind. The residents of the home all had some life flittering in them and numerous stories to share; they just need someone to listen to them. After my experience at the home
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