Literature -is an enduring expression of

mans thoughts, feelings and actions in

words, well chosen, and arranged.

Poem:
Its not the things
that can be bought

that are the lifes

richest treasures,
Its just the little
heart gifts that the
money
cannot
measure A cheerful

smile,
a
friendly
word, a sympathetic
nod
Are
priceless
little
treasures from the
storehouse of our

God
They
are
the
priceless things in life
for which no one can
pay
And the giver finds

rich recompense in
giving them away
Source: Lifes Richest Treasures. Helen Steiner Rice(n.p.)

Essay:
One time, investigating in the
backyard of our house in
Temuco the tiny objects and
miniscule beings of my world, I

came upon a hole in one of the

boards of the fence. I looked
through the hole and saw the
landscape like that behind our
house, uncared for and wild. I
moved back a few steps
because I sensed vaguely that
something
was
about
to

happen. All of a sudden, a hand

appeared- a tiny hand of a boy
about my own age. By the time
I came close again, the hand
was gone, and in its place was
a marvelous white sheep.
The sheeps wool was faded.
Its wheels had escaped. All of

this only made it more

authentic. I had never seen
such a wonderful sheep. I
looked back through the hole
but the boy had disappeared. I
went into the house and
brought out a treasure of my
own: a pinecone, opened, full

of odor and resin, which I

adored. I set it down in the
same spot and went off with
the sheep.
I never saw either the hand or
the boy again. And I have never
again seen a sheep like that
either. The toy I Iost finally in

fire. But even now, in 1954,

almost
fifty
years
old,
whenever I pass by a toy shop,
I look furtively into the
window, but its no use. They
dont make sheep like that
anymore.

I have been a lucky man. To

feel the intimacy of brothers is
a marvelous thing in life. To
feel the love of people whom
we do not know. From those
unknown to us, who are
watching over our sleep and
solitude, over our dangers and

our
weaknessesthat
is
something still greater and
more beautiful, it widens out
the boundaries of our being,
and unites all living things.
Source: Childhood and Poetry. Pablo Neruda (n.p.)

Short Story:

I was content to rub my neck

with a handkerchief because
now I felt the sweat dripping
from my hair onto the nape of
my neck and that was
disagreeable. I soon gave up
rubbing myself, however, for it
didnt do any good; my

handkerchief
was
already
wringing wet and I was still
sweating. My buttocks, too,
were sweating, and my damp
trousers stuck to the bench.
Suddenly, Juan said, Youre a
doctor arent you?
Yes, said the Belgian.

Do people suffer- very long?

Oh! When? No, no, said
the Belgian, in a paternal
voice, its quickly over.
His manner was as reassuring
as if he had been answering a
paying patient.

But I Somebody, told meThey often have to fire two

volleys.
Sometimes,
said the Belgian, raising hid
head, it just happens that the
first volley doesnt hit any of
the vital organs.

So then they have to reload

their guns and aim all over
again?
Juan thought for a moment,
then added hoarsely, But that
takes time!
He was terribly afraid of
suffering. He couldnt think

about anything else, but that

went with his age. As for me, I
hardly
thought
about
it
anymore, and it certainly was
not fear of suffering that made
me perspire.
I rose and walked toward the
pile coal dust. Tom gave a start

and looked at me with a look

of hate. I irritated him because
my shoes squeaked. I wondered
if my face was as putty
colored as his. Then, I noticed
that he, too, was sweating.
The sky was magnificent; no
light at all came into our dark

corner and I had only to lift my

head to see the Big Bear.
From: The Wall, Jean- Paul Sartre.(n.p.)

Play:
MRS. LINDEN: My mother was
then alive, bedridden, and
helpless; and I had my two

younger brothers to think of. I

thought it is my duty to accept
him.
NORA: Perhaps it was. I
suppose he was rich then?
MRS. LINDEN: Very well off, I
believe. But his business was
uncertain. It fell to pieces at

his death; and there was

nothing left.
NORA: And then-?
MRS. LINDEN: then I had to
fight my way by keeping a
shop, a little school, anything I
could turn my hand to. The last
three years have been one long

struggle for me. But now its

over, Nora. My poor mother no
longer needs me; she is at rest.
And the boys are in business
and can look after themselves.
Nora: How free your life must
feel!

MRS. LINDEN: No, Nora; only

inexpressibly empty. No one to
live for.(Stands up restlessly.)
That is why I couldnt bear to
stay any longer in that out-ofthe-way corner. Here it must
be easier to find something
really worth doing-something

to occupy ones thoughts. If I

could only get some settled
employment-some office work.
NORA: But, Christina, thats so
tiring, and you look worn out
already. You should rather go to
some watering place and rest.

MRS.
LINDEN:
(going
to
window) I have no father to
give me money, Nora.
NORA:(rising) oh! Dont be
vexed with me.
MRS. LINDEN: (going toward
her) My dear Nora, dont you
be vexed with me. The worst

of a position like mine is that it

makes one bitter. You have no
one to work for, yet you have
always to be on the strain. You
must live; and so you become
selfish. When I heard of the
happy change

In you circumstances- can you

believe it?- I rejoiced more on
my own account than on yours.
From: A Dolls House, Henrik Ibsen.(n.p.)