ellauri006.html on line 1667: Forget about your sin -
ellauri022.html on line 309: Forget awhile your Woman´s Rights,
ellauri028.html on line 198: Apparently man is a selfish prick that can't think for himself and relies on "outside influences". He is a chameleon. He is nothing but a mere machine. Well, at least according to Twain. Man is a fraud and only lives for himself. He is really driving home this point that everyone is selfish and acts out of selfish needs (big surprise?), even if viewed (publicly and personally) as a self-sacrificing person. My question is; who cares? If the end result is the same, what does the actions matter. Let's say, saving a woman from a burning house. Twain says you do this out of making yourself feel good and avoiding the pain of not saving the woman, nothing else; the woman comes second to your own need of feeling good. But regardless of how it makes you feel, you still saved the woman in the end. The good is still done, even though you did it for yourself. Forget how the action was achieved. What does it matter if we refer to this as "self sacrificing" or "selfishness". Answer me this question, Twain! THE ACTION REMAINS THE SAME!!!.... I feel this must have been written during a time when everyone was going around smugly proclaiming to be self-sacrificing do-gooders and self-proclaimed religious nuts while really being shitty people; which had to be the most annoying thing ever. I guess it feels a bit outdated and I think people who naively go around claiming that they are "self-sacrificing do-gooders" are simply laughed at in our post modern times as smug assholes who need to get off their high horse (high horse? who owns a fucking horse nowadays, anyways?). I feel it is pretty accepted now that those who do good are doing them for their own selfish gains and the view of acceptance by others, at least I think this is the case. I don't know cause I don't know do-gooders, everyone I know (including myself) are dicks and more concerned with their celluar phones and creating social dating websites on the internet in vain attempts to pick up chicks only to drink alone and desperately spend several hours harassing women on social dating sites until one, out of pity, decides to respond to your 50 private messages, which then they foolishly decides to set up a date with you; only for you to be disappointed and stood up; which results in more drinking and paying a "dancer" to give you a hand job behind the goodwill on a Saturday night....
ellauri062.html on line 106: ☑ Forgetting names of familiar people and places
ellauri062.html on line 108: ☑ Forgetting events or appointments and not remembering them later
ellauri073.html on line 275: Quickly on your attacks on Wallace's writing style, I will mention that -- contrary to your rather baffling notions -- people did enjoy Infinite Jest and other works of his. They will continue to do so for decades. Listen Fartey: his work will live on. People recognize great writing wherever it materializes. Forget your distaste of footnotes, or your struggle in understanding the themes and ideals his work encompasses. His audience is clearly beyond you, so try to see that not everyone feels the same as you. You don't have to like his writing, but when you detract from it it makes it even more apparent that you are the lesser man. Your comments on Foster's writing ability led me to some of your other articles, and to be completely honest, it wasn't all bad. I genuinely enjoyed your "Fucking vs. Making Love" poetry bit, although it did seem like a cheap knockoff of Black Coffee Blues. Regardless, I can still acknowledge that the piece had its moments. However (and this is where I want you to pay attention you tub of lard), the piece can also be slammed in several areas. This is highly important, as we can see the parallels between this aspect of "Fucking vs. Making Love" and anything David Foster Wallace wrote. When it comes down to it, your writing can be criticized stylistically and formatically just like his can; the only difference is that there are few that actually give a shit about your writing, whereas Wallace's work is meaningful to the point where people have legitimate incentive to think critically about it. So defile it with your petty blog posts all you want, but at the end of the day you're the one who's only making yourself look bad, and as a heavily obese man based in Europe you are surely having few problems achieving this in the status quo, since Europeans are notably fatist.
ellauri098.html on line 364: "An idea has no worth at all without believable characters to implement it; a plot without characters is like a tennis court without players. Daffy Duck is to a Buck Rogers story what John McEnroe was to tennis. Personality. That is the key, the drum, the fife. Forget the plot."
ellauri107.html on line 250: Billy is first the victim of Claggart’s closet, one with similarities to the Roy Cohn and J. Edgar Hoover kinds that project self-loathing onto their targets. Vere’s condition, on the other hand, while containing degrees of benevolence, ultimately emerges as more deadly than Claggart’s. Associating his heart with his hated feminine side, Vere crushes down his capacity for love and compassion with a thoroughly brutal, Night-of-the-Long-Knives sort of intolerance. He, who would never have initiated Billy’s demise, will not permit his own ardor to soften his inflexible judgment, as that would evidently equate with irresolution and weakness. After all, he might rationalize, he is the Captain and the Captain has an image to uphold – right? Forget justice; forget humane treatment; maintaining machismo holds precedence over all! And the tragic result: mindless, meaningless, totally unnecessary suffering and loss on the altar of nothing less than evil itself!
ellauri143.html on line 285: Forgetting them hath even higher praise.
ellauri153.html on line 353: win as Leviathan is defeated, there are no undefeated challenges and Job lives a happy life. Forget the 7 senselessly killed monkey pups and some 10K dead slaves and other animals who nobody cared a shit about anyway.
ellauri155.html on line 921: I Would I Might Forget That I Am I Ettekö tiedä kuka minä olen
ellauri164.html on line 379: I wanted to like this book so much more than I did. I actually found it incredibly difficult to understand. Some of it, I think, was that it was poorly translated. I read a 1962 edition that doesn't even cite a translator -- so many of the sentences were so convoluted as to be utterly obtuse. Poor translation or witless reader? I never could figure out why Mlle Chantal was such an angry bitch and why she insisted on tormenting the priest. What was her secret? Was the priest an alcoholic or just terminally sick? Gay? Why did M le Comte come to hate the priest? These are just some of the basic narrative issues I couldn't figure out. Forget the whole spiritual aspect--much of what the priest mused on and felt was incomprehensible to me as he described it. I can't help wondering if I'd have understood it if I had read it in French. Or maybe I'm just so spiritually challenged (in a God believing, Catholic way) that I can't comprehend it when it's described. All of that said, there were profoundly moving passages here and there, but over all I don't begin to know what I read. It's rather embarrassing actually--I feel so simple! (less)
ellauri197.html on line 112: Readers who enjoyed ‘Down By the Salley Gardens’ should also consider readings some of Yeats’ other love-based poems. For instance, a good way to go on are ‘He Wishes His Beloved Were Dead’ and ‘Never Give All the Heart’. Other similar poems by other poets about love include ‘How Happy I Was If I Could Forget’ by Emily Dickinson and ‘Love’s Organ's Growth’ by John Donne. Lady readers might also be interested in ‘Memory’ by Christina Rossetti and ‘In Memory of a Happy Day in February’ by Anne Brontë.
ellauri197.html on line 273: How Happy I Was If I Could Forget Mä olin tosi iloinen jos voisin unohtaa
ellauri197.html on line 289: Poem analysis of How Happy I Was If I Could Forget by Emily Dickinson
ellauri197.html on line 291: ‘How Happy I Was If I Could Forget’ by Emily Dickinson contains a narrator’s confused thoughts and experiences. She uses complex transformational generative grammar and imagery to convey it further.
ellauri197.html on line 293: ‘How Happy I Was If I Could Forget’ is a two-stanza work where the narrator takes the reader through a series of confusing verb tenses and language choices to represent the overall lack of clarity she has for the memory that she wishes she “could forget.” The cyclical state of the stanzas’ disorganization, additionally, reflects that the narrator feels trapped in her confused loop from the memory, and the reader could finish ‘How Happy I Was If I Could Forget’ without knowing what the troubling memory is. This is yet another method of revealing the narrator’s confusion over the memory. Just as she does not know how to treat the memory, the reader does not know solid details about the memory. From start to finish then, this is a work that is structured perfectly to share and represent the narrator’s confusion.
ellauri197.html on line 295: The shift in verb tenses is remarkable in this first stanza to address the narrator’s unclear thoughts that are connected to whatever memory she wishes to “forget.” Within the first two lines of ‘How Happy I Was If I Could Forget’, the reader encounters past tense in “was” and the subjunctive imagined prospect of “if I could forget.” This “if” indicates that this is only a wish the narrator has, meaning it is not past, present, or future because it has not happened and will not definitively ever happen. From there, the narrator turns to the present tense by saying, “how sad I am.” There is no clear way that all of these verb tenses senspibly link up, and this grammatic confusion mirrors how uncertain and shaken the narrator is from this memory’s lingering presence.
ellauri197.html on line 315: Furthermore in ‘How Happy I Was If I Could Forget’, she claims to “[l]ose [her] way like a little Child [a]nd perish of the cold,” and this concept is loaded with possible meaning. For one thing, the capitalization of the word, “Child,” could indicate that perhaps she has lost a baby and is grieving that “Child.” This would clarify why she would treat the memory simultaneously as a pain and a beauty since she would treasure the “Child” itself, but abhor the pain attached to the grief. This, however, is the only speculation since it could mean that the helplessness she feels is significant enough, like a “Child” who needs care, to merit capitalization.
ellauri197.html on line 321: Overall in ‘How Happy I Was If I Could Forget’, the lack of clear details about what has happened to affect the narrator so, in addition to the confusion of verb tenses, subjects, and figurative language, creates an unclear work that perfectly depicts how unclear the narrator herself feels about her memory. Does she hate it? Does she want to keep it? Was it good? Was it bad? She does not seem to know, just as the reader cannot know the memory’s most vivid details.
ellauri213.html on line 169: Senior staff writer and thriller author. Her novel, Forget Her, is available on Shop Catalog.
ellauri308.html on line 253: Viime vuonna opetin synagogassani juutalaisen kirjallisuuden luokkaa lukiolaisille. Oletettavasti holokausti tuli esiin useimmissa tarkastelemissamme kirjallisissa teoksissa. Joka kerta kun "H-sana" mainittiin, lapset alkoivat valittaa ja voihkia. "Ughh... Pitääkö meidän jatkaa puhumista holokaustista?" Selviytyneiden tyttärentytärnä en usko, että olen koskaan kyllästynyt puhumaan holokaustista, mutta opiskelijani olivat siihen kyllästyneitä! Diagnoosin heille akuutin "holokaustiväsymyksen". Heitä oli lyöty yli päähän "Never Forget" -lauseella, ja sen seurauksena holokaustista oli tullut tylsää. Kun yhä useammat eloonjääneet kuolee ja henkilökohtaiset yhteydet holokaustiin katoavat, myös kiinnostus ottaa holokausti vakavasti vähenee.
xxx/ellauri091.html on line 518: We feel sorry for Moldova, as it’s easily Europe’s most forgotten country. Its people are also among the least happy on Earth. Even unhappier than us. Forget it.
xxx/ellauri170.html on line 172: Forget the glories he hath known, Unohtaisi ennen tuntemansa hienoudet
xxx/ellauri235.html on line 282: For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, Kenelle tyhmäksi Unohtaminen saalis,
xxx/ellauri251.html on line 3214: Forget not, nor think shame; I was thy son.
xxx/ellauri251.html on line 3240: Forget not me among you, what I did
27