“Hills Like White Elephants” calls to mind the “A Game of Chess” section of T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land (1922); like Eliot’s masterpiece‚ Hemingway’s story deals with the sterility and vacuity of the modern world. The boredom of the man and the desperation of the girl reveal the emptiness of the postwar generation and the crucial necessity of taking responsibility for the quality of one’s own life. Hemingway’s characters seem to live in a world without a God‚ without traditions or clear and established
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wishes with revising your paper! Hi‚ Gregory! I am Kobe F.‚ and I am happy to read and comment on your work today. I like your choice of Jimmy Cross for your discussion because he suffers the most important conflict between desire and duty in O’Brien’s story. Below I suggest some improvements to your thesis statement‚ conclusion‚ and comma use to help you enhance your paper. The ERF and embedded comments include the draft being on topic and grammatically correct as in “Help Requested.” So here we go!
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friend I’ve ever had. She supported me through everything. They had been together since Grade 7 and now in Grade 9. Angelina’s heart broke apart to think she would never see her best friend again. Chapter 2 There I was sitting on the porch in my backyard looking at the picture of me and Siline. It was taken last summer yet it brought me the ripe memories of the beautiful moments left behind. It all started off with both of them meeting each other on the first day of grade 7. Angelina was being
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the air. I was vaguely aware of the murmurs and rustlings of the other mourners as they took their seats. I dabbed my eyes with the hanker-chief as the deeply moving and melancholy chords of “Amazing Grace” began to filter through the stony walls. Ahead of the pews the mahogany casket was polished to a glossy shine and adorned with pale pink and white roses. Inside laid the body of my grandmother. Her life ended not tragically but inevitably. It was a day that I had anticipated with a sense of dread
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One by one‚ the raindrops fell onto my head as I looked out onto the front yard‚ eagerly waiting for the postman to make his delivery. Feeling my hair drenched and frizzing up didn’t make me flinch as it usually did. There was only one thing that could summon that feeling. In the distance I could start to hear the grumble of the postman’s bike. As my ears twitched to the nearing of the roaring sound‚ I immediately got up off the veranda and paced towards the front gate. It was only a minute later
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bond maybe. Polluted‚ that word struck my head‚ what can it be? Thinking as I was strolling through the corridor until I approached a steel door called stage 3 with a sign saying “no entrance” hanging on. Thoughtlessly I sneak inside and start wandering with anxiety looking at all of these tubes‚ hearing some murmuring here and there. A hand pulls me to the side behind a set of tubes. “shhh‚ don’t say a single word” this old man puts his hand on my mouth. He takes me into this small chamber
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It was a beautiful fall weekend; the sunlight shined enough to provide just the right amount of warmth to make it the perfect picnic day. I was on my way to meet my parents for the annual South Florida Police and Fire bar-b-que. I knew that there was a chance that he would be there since a good part of his family is fire fighters. I have been organizing‚ planning‚ helping‚ running‚ and attending this event ever since I can remember‚ and there had only been a few times that he showed up because the
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back on the sail boat and told Nabarun what happened. “When I jumped off the boat‚ I think the GPS fell out because I remember it being inside my pocket.” “What!? Now what are we going to do? We don’t know where to go‚ we’re lost! Why would you do something like that Paandu?” Nabarun yelled. “I’m sorry‚ I just wasn’t thinking. I was bored out of my mind.” Paandu replied softly. As a result Nabarun had no choice but to steer the sailboat toward the closest Island where they could see not far
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Letter to my Father is a letter that is set in Cork‚ during the winter months of 1995‚ which was five years after Eamon Patrick Keane died (the father). This account was written as a way of remembering his father and how life was like with him before he died. The tone in which it is written conveys a sense of resentment and disapproval of the fathers lifestyle and this is clearly shown through various aspects which are touched upon throughout the passage. The passage uses several literary techniques
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small boy‚ around the age of eight or so‚ my grandfather presented me with a gift. It was a place that I was able to go when I needed an escape from the uphill struggle of my childhood; a place where I found serenity‚ peace and comfort. I was born in 1939‚ in the small town of Cherrywood Village‚ KY. My parents were young when they received the news that they were going to be having a son; me. This made my father‚ who was so much in love with my mother and the thought of becoming a first
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