Professional Documents
Culture Documents
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet;
A intensive way of reading a text to fully comprehend, construct meaning from, and interpret.
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet;
(Passages used for the lesson) He stood at the window of the empty cafe and watched the activites in the square and he said that it was good that God kept the truths of life from the young as they were starting out or else they'd have no heart to start at all. - Cormac McCarthy from All the Pretty Horses We really have to protect people from wrong choices. [Jonas] watched them hack the tusks from a motionless elephant on the ground and then haul them away, spattered with blood. He felt himself overwhelmed with a new perception of the color he knew as red. It was a game he had often played with the other children, a game of good guys and bad guys, a harmless pasttime that used up their contained energy and ended only when they all lay posed in freakish postures on the ground. He had never recognized it before as a game of warFeelings surged within Jonas. He found himself walking forward into the field"Don't play it anymore," Jonas pleaded"You had no way of knowing this. I didn't know it myself until recently. But it's a cruel game. (Prezi Link) http://prezi.com/pnr-lx93pmsw/?utm_campaign=share&utm_medium=copy&rc=ex0share
The Sick Rose By William Blake O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost
Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leafs a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.
http://prezi.com/haba4m16ytrf/?utm_campaign=share&utm_medium=copy
Given that
Thus
We may infer