Kristin Aquilina RDG 101 GA November 12th 2014 Homework #5 Night 1. Elie Wiesel wrote the novel “Night”. This novel was based on his experiences as a Jewish child during the holocaust. Wiesel was one of four children‚ he had 2 older sisters and 1 younger sister. They grew up in Romania with their mother and father. In 1940 during the war his father was invited to a meeting where they discovered the Germany army was transporting everyone in his town to ghettos. In may of 1944 the German authorities
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Brent Staples hold a Ph.D. in psychology from the University of Chicago and often writes about the African-American experience in his essays‚ which have appeared in such publications as the New York Times and has published the autobiographical Parallel Time: Growing Up in Black and White (19947) for which he won the Anisfield Wolff Book Award. Just Walk On By: A Black Man Ponder’s His Power to Alter Public Space 1 MY FIRST VICTIM WAS A WOMAN-white‚ well dressed‚ probably in her early twenties
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Mr. Enrico Mantoli found merciless death while walking on the highway of Wells. Officer Sam Woods had found Mantoli’s body lying down on the pavement motionless‚ around 2 am just last night‚ while he was on his midnight patrol. Suspect is nowhere to be found‚ our respected man Mr. Mantoli has been struck from the behind of his head by a blunt instrument‚ leaving him to his death. Mantoli was the host of the upcoming music festival‚ which many of us know and heard of. But franticly Mantoli‚ was left
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“Do you see that chimney over there? See it? Do you see those flames? ( Yes‚ we did see the flames.) Over there-- that’s where you’re going to be taken…” (Page 40) Night by Elie Wiesel‚ published in the year 1956‚ is about Elie Wiesel and his horrible experience throughout the Holocaust. The book starts with twelve year old Wiesel evacuating from his home‚ and eventually separating from everyone in his family but his father Shlomo. For a majority of the novel‚ Shlomo is Elie’s reason to keep trying
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Robert Frost’s “Acquainted With the Night” begins with the instantly recognizable scene of a man walking out into the raining night‚ without any apparent destination in mind. This cliche picture is almost universally seen as portraying someone who is depressed because they feel they have failed at something‚ or perhaps something horrible has happened to them‚ such as the loss of a family member. The speaker in this poem is afflicted with the first option. He writes of how he took a step back and
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A Moment of my Summer Nights The most relaxing and jubilant moment for me after a long‚ hot day is the family time together in the backyard after dinner. It is a good day today and not yet dark. I made the hot‚ green tea in my husband’s favorite blue and white porcelain teapot‚ and brought it out to the table on the patio. The sky was a beautiful‚ landscape blue with little clouds; the cool breeze gently blew my face and brought the smell of fresh cut grass; the birds were chirping as they
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spiritual fallouts in a typical ignorant village. Obviously the tone is satirical. Pungent yet Horatian; Subtle and biting‚ the tone is that of a wronged person who sees the futility of a protest in the face of an ignorant army. The author recounts the night‚ a scorpion driven by continuous rain hidden beneath a rice sack stung the poet’s mother and ran off after the attack. The villagers tried to search for the insect in order to immobilize it so that the poison doesn’t spread since according to their
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to immediately fall asleep and wake up to a better day. That night I dreamt of a place where the sun was always shined so bright it almost glowed‚ a place where everything there was no noise apart from the occasion sounds of nature‚ and the water was so still it could be mistaken for ice‚ a place surrounded by luscious green trees and colorful flora and when the sun set there was complete silence across the entire countryside. That night I dreamt of a place where I could feel connected and at
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The City at Night I step forward into the deep‚ soft snow and hear the sound of a muffled packing of frozen wetness. All the sounds are muffled‚ yet somehow amplified by parentheses they fall hard but slow‚ despite the weight. I look at the cloud they fall from and think how the snowflake seems like a frozen flake of a billowy cloud. Its cold and the snow that falls on my upturned face froze on my eyelashes until I blinked and now the warmth of my cheeks melts the snowflake and its
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It was a misty night. The fog was all I can see. I stumbled‚ got up and stumbled again. Fear was screaming inside my head like the menacing roar of an angry lion‚ it felt like I was trapped in a never ending nightmare where all my greatest fears came to life. Frantically I felt the ground‚ finding for some clue to where I am. Wet grass. That is what I felt. The earth below me felt like ice all of a sudden when I recalled what happened. The picture of our car crashing through the divider and the screams
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