English 212 Weeks 3 and 4 Study Guide
English 212 Weeks 3 and 4 Study Guide Engl 212
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This 4 page Study Guide was uploaded by randomchic12 on Thursday April 7, 2016. The Study Guide belongs to Engl 212 at Louisiana Tech University taught by Dr. Robert Rudnicki in Spring 2016. Since its upload, it has received 60 views. For similar materials see Introduction to American Literature in Foreign Language at Louisiana Tech University.
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Date Created: 04/07/16
1 English 212 Weeks 3 & 4 Study Guide Week Three: William Cullen Bryant: “Thanatopsis” 1. Yet a few days, and thee/ The allbeholding sun shall see no more/ In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, / Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, / Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist/ Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim/ Thy growth, to be resolv’d to earth again;/ And, lost each human trace, surrend’ring up/ Thine individual being, shalt thou go/ To mix forever with the elements, / To be a brother to th’ insensible rock/ And to the sluggish clod… 2. Save his own dashings – yet – the dead are there, / And millions in those solitudes, since first/ The flight of years began, have laid them down/ In their last sleep – the dead reign there alone. / So shalt thou rest – and what if thou shall fall/ Unnoticed by the living – and no friend/ Take note of thy departure? All that breathe/ Will share thy destiny. Ralph Wald Emerson: “The American Scholar,” 1. The next great influence into the spirit of the scholar, is, the mind of the Past, in whatever form, whether of literature, of art, of institutions, that mind is inscribed. Books are the best type of influence of the past, and perhaps we shall get at the truth – learn the amount of this influence more conveniently – by considering their value alone. 2. Thinking is a partial act. Let the grandeur of justice shine in his affairs. Let the beauty of affection cheer his lowly roof. Those “far from fame” who dwell and act with him, will feel the force of his constitution in the doings and passages of the day better than it can be measured by any public and designed display. Time shall teach him that the scholar loses no hour which the man lives. Herein he unfolds the sacred germ of his instinct screened from influence. What is lost in seemliness is gained in strength. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: “My Lost Youth” 1. A boy’s will is the wind’s will, / And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts 2. Often I think of the beautiful town/ That is seated by the sea; / Often in thought go up and down/ The pleasant streets of that dear old town, / And my youth comes back to me. John Greenleaf Whittier: “SnowBound: A Winter Idyl” 1. O Time and Change! – with hair as gray/ As was my sire’s that winter day, / How strange it seems, with so much gone/ Of life and love, to still live on!/ Ah, brother! Only I 2 and thou/ Are left of all that circle now, / The dear home faces where upon/ That fitful firelight paled and shone. 2. Yet, haply, in some lull of life, / Some Truce of God which breaks its strife, / The worldling’s eyes shall gather dew, / Dreaming in throngful city ways/ Of winter joys his boyhood knew… Henry David Thoreau: “Walden” – “Where I Lived, and What I Lived For”, “Conclusion” 1. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand; instead of a million count half a dozen, and keep your accounts on your thumb nail. 2. Simply, simplify. Instead of three meals a day, if it be necessary eat but one; instead of a hundred dishes, five; and reduce other things in proportion. Walt Whitman: “Song of Myself” 1. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven…or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic…And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. 2. The mechanist rolls up his sleeves, the policeman travels his beat, the gatekeeper marks who pass…And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, And such as it is to be of these more or less I am, And of these one and all I weave the song of myself. Week Four: Nathaniel Hawthorne: “The BirthMark” 1. But, seeing her otherwise so perfect, he found this one defect grow more and more intolerable, with every moment of their united lives. 2. The fatal Hand had grappled with the mystery of life, and was the bond by which an angelic spirit kept itself in union with a mortal frame. As the last crimson tint of the birth mark – that sole token of human imperfection – faded from her cheek, the parting breath of the now perfect woman passed into the atmosphere, and her soul, lingering a moment near her husband, took its heavenly flight. Edgar Allan Poe: “The Fall of the House of Usher” 1. Beyond this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of the tarn. 3 2. While I gazed, this fissure rapidly widened – there came a fierce breath of the whirlwind – the entire orb of the satellite burst at once upon my sight – my brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder – there was a long tumultuous shouting sound like the voice of a thousand waters – and the deep and dank tarn at my feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the “House of Usher”. Margaret Fuller: “The Great Lawsuit” 1. The other form, of intellectual companionship, has become more and more frequent. Men engaged in public life, literary men, and artists have often found in their wives companions and confidant in thought no less than in feeling. 2. Male and female represent the two sides of the great radical dualism. But, in fact, they are perpetually passing into one another. Fluid hardens to solid, solid rushes to fluid. There is no wholly masculine man, no purely feminine woman. Harriet Beecher Stowe: Uncle Tom’s Cabin: Chapter VII: “The Mother’s Struggle” 1. For there was no rest. As a fire in her bones, the thought of the pursuer urged her on; and she gazed with longing eyes on the sullen, surging waters that lay between her and liberty. 2. If it were your Harry, mother, or your Willie, that were going to be torn from you by a brutal trader, tomorrow morning, if you had seen the man, and heard that the papers were signed and delivered, and you had only from twelve o’clock till morning to make good your escape, how fast could you walk? How many miles could you make in those few brief hours, with the darling at your bosom, the little sleepy head on your shoulder, the small, soft arms trustingly holding on to your neck? Harriet Jacobs: “Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl” 1. I was born a slave; but I never knew it till six years of happy childhood had passed away. 2. Why does the slave ever love? Why allow the tendrils of the heart to twine around objects which may at any moment be wrenched away by the hand of violence? Frederick Douglass: Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written by Himself 1. A want of information concerning my own was a source of unhappiness to me even during my childhood. 2. Whether this prophecy is ever fulfilled or not, it is nevertheless plain that a very differentlooking class of people are springing up at the south, and are now held in 4 slavery, from those originally brought to this country from Africa; and if their increase will do no other good, it will do away the force of the argument, that God cursed Ham, and therefore American slavery is right. Herman Melville: “Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of WallStreet” 1. Dead letters! Does it not sound like dead men? Conceive a man by nature and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business seem more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these dead letters, and assorting them for the flames? 2. “I would prefer not to.” With any other man I should have flown outright into a dreadful passion, scorned all further words, and thrust him ignominiously from my presence. But there was something about Bartleby that not only strangely disarmed me, but in a wonderful manner touched and disconcerted me. I began to reason with him. Emily Dickinson: “Much Madness is divinest sense” (poem 620) 1. Much Madness is divinest Sense/ To a discerning Eye/ Much Sense – the starkest Madness/ ‘Tis the Majority 2. In this, as all, prevail/ Assent – and you are sane/ Demur – you’re straightway dangerous/ And handled with a Chain
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