Murder in the name of Love Comparisons and Contrasts of Porphyria’s Lover and My Last Duchess Robert Browning was an author of two very eerie and dramatic monologues known as‚ Porphyrias Lover and My Last Duchess. Although both poems have very related themes‚ they still contrast in ways that are too apparent to go unnoticed. You clearly recognize the similarities of both writings in the way that oddly enough‚ both point of views come from insecure men and they both irrationally kill the women they
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Throughout the story‚ “My Last Duchess” by Margaret Atwood‚ there exists vast dissimilarities between stereotypical women and women opposing stereotypes‚ and society. These dissimilarities are shown evidently through the characters. Margaret Atwood uses her characters to supply detailed examples of individuals who embody these stereotypes‚ those who do not‚ and the conflicting tones she uses in regards to these characters display her feminist ideals. A few of the characters representing stereotypical
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PROLOGUE PROLOGUE Only fools became starfighter pilots‚ and my mother was one of them. It is dumb to put yourself at so much risk‚ because you may end up as a flaming fireball through space. Like my mother. You would never know if the Sinats would attack‚ or ambush‚ or raid. My point is‚ piloting a starfighter is very‚ very dangerous. And of course‚ my mother happened to be one of them; a flying‚ dangerous maniac. By my fathers definition‚ she was extra stupid‚ but I always thought that flying a
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The given text is an extract from the short story “My Last Duchess” by Margaret Atwood from the anthology Moral Disorder. The story has the same title as the poem by Robert Browning. Gives tells the reader right away that the poem is central to the story they are about to read. It also tells that the writer expects the reader to know the poem before hand‚ implying that the target audience is sophisticated and educated. The story is told from the first person perspective of a charater named Nell.
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If I see that one of my friends is continuously looking off into space with a frown or looking down into their laps as if waiting for something ‘right’ to fall into it. . I make it a priority to text or talk to them about it. Usually they’ll say things like “I’m just tired.” Obviously‚ being someone who uses that excuse as if it’s the secret to life‚ I tell them it’s okay to talk about it if they need to. But‚ what about me? I mentioned I use that same ‘excuse’‚ did you catch that? Yes? Well‚ I’m
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The vile odour of disinfectant permeates the air around me. My heart is racing and my trembling‚ sweaty hands cling onto my mother’s like a sloth to its branch. Gradually‚ more doctors begin to crowd around me‚ resembling vultures hovering over their prey‚ preparing to strike. The clanging of metal instruments and beeps of various machines distract me momentarily. Looking over to my left‚ I see a stout‚ middle-aged man donned in a green surgical gown. He is wearing a big‚ red foam nose and a multi-coloured
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I was walking with my friend Liam to a birthday party. It gets really creepy at night so I had begged my mom to let him accompany me. It took about 15 minutes to walk there but that didn’t stop me. “ It’s okay Mrs.Kimberly‚ Ava’s my best friend‚ I would never let anything hurt her.” Liam said. Smiling‚ we both walked out into the cold airy night‚ not knowing what we were up for. “ A-a-an-and you are not cold at all‚” I try to get out laughing. “ To be honest‚ I am. But my brother said wearing
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Ivy will stay in my imagination“ he laughed lightly. I played dumb looking at his arm where he had a tattoo of the Ivy. He was trying to light up the mood. „You know I had that dream once that we had an intercourse and after we talked about our future. We talked about our kids. You wanted a girl named Ivy.“ He was still holding me and the tears were already ready to fall and I did not care anymore as I was dying. He tattoed a name Ivy below his heart. Not his name‚ not my name‚ not my date of birth
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walked into the barbers for my weekly shave I notice the barber sharpening his razors. The colour drains from his face‚ and though I can not see it‚ I know he’s trembling. I almost laugh‚ it’s like he wants to be caught. I begin to remove my belt‚ as it holds my gun and my cartridges‚ the weapon that killed his allies‚ and notice him eyeing it nervously. I stop myself from smiling as I hang it onto the hook in the wardrobe and rest my hat on top. As usual‚ I hung up my bullet studded belt‚ and said
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The glazed tiles reflected on my tired eyes not allowing to be opened. I slowly started blinking‚ harmfully blinking my eyes to see where I am. I scrunched my eyes at the bright shining light of the operation theatre. Imagining what all I had gone through in the past hours‚ I felt relieved. Thanking god to keep me alive‚ and letting me save the lives of those innocent people who have suffered so much. The nurse approached me and inquired about my health. It was more of a routine‚ and I was dragging
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