MY FATHER’S Legacy of Hard Work Jordan Evans This is an excellent paper. Ms. Collins John Phillips Marquand once said, “ It is worthwhile for anyone to have behind him a few generations of honest hard-working ancestry.” That is one of the reasons I cherish my dad. He has exemplified what it is to be an honest, hard-working man, and he has inspired me through his actions and words. My dad is a hard-worker. He is also not a quitter like most people who give up in life. He works hard to put food on our table. My dad has never been fired from his job his whole life. When he was sixteen he wanted a car.His mom told him, “If you want a car you have to get a job.” The next day, he found a job, and he has been working there for twenty-three years now. I want to become an man like my dad. I want to do something with my life. I would like to find a good job that I can stick with until I get a better one. I would like to get a good steady job that pays good money so I could start a new life. As I get older , I am starting to think like my dad. I just want to become successful like my farther .When he started he was making six dollars an hour.Now he is making about thirty dollars now. My farther is the person I admire because he is successful an that’s what I want to be--SUCCESSFUL!!!
Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature's law is wrong it learned to walk with out having feet. Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams, it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else ever cared. Written by Tupac Shakur (1971-1996)
When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an attic, Gatherings of days too few. Baubles of stolen kisses. Trinkets of borrowed loves. Trunks of secret words, I CRY.
Les sanglots longs Des violons De l'automne Blessent mon coeur D'une langueur Monotone. Tout suffocant Et blême, quand Sonne l'heure, Je me souviens Des jours anciens Et je pleure Et je m'en vais Au vent mauvais Qui m'emporte Deçà, delà, Pareil à la Feuille morte.
Fall Song The long sobs Of the violins Of autumn Wound my heart With a languor Monotonous. All suffocating And pale when The hour strikes I remember The old days And weep And I go away In the ill wind that carries me off This side and beyond Like the Dead leaf.
Vinieras y te fueras dulcemente, de otro camino a otro camino. Verte, y ya otra vez no verte. Pasar por un puente a otro puente. —El pie breve, la luz vencida alegre—. Muchacho que sería yo mirando aguas abajo la corriente, y en el espejo tu pasaje fluir, desvanecerse.
I keep on dying again. Veins collapse, opening like the Small fists of sleeping Children. Memory of old tombs, Rotting flesh and worms do Not convince me against The challenge. The years And cold defeat live deep in Lines along my face. They dull my eyes, yet I keep on dying, Because I love to live.
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong. Tomorrow, I'll be at the table When company comes. Nobody'll dare Say to me, "Eat in the kitchen," Then. Besides, They'll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed-- I, too, am America
Carpe Diem O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O stay and hear! your true-love's coming That can sing both high and low; Trip no further, pretty sweeting, Journey's end in lovers' meeting-- Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty,-- Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. William Shakespeare
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset. I've known rivers: Ancient, dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
XLIII. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year. Oh, gives us pleasure in the orchard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night; And make us happy in the happy bees, The swarm dilating round the perfect trees. And make us happing in the darting bird Tha suddenly above the bees is heard, The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill, And off a blossom in mid-air stands still. For this is love and nothing else is love, The which it is reversed for God above To sanctify to what far ends He will, But which it only needs that wee fulfill.
If you had come away with me into another state we had been quiet together. But there the sun coming up out of the nothing beyond the lake was too low in the sky, there was too great a pushing against him, too much of sumac buds, pink in the head with the clear gum upon them, too many opening hearts of lilac leaves, too many, too many swollen limp poplar tassels on the bare branches! It was too strong in the air. I had no rest against that springtime! The pounding of the hoofs on the raw sods stayed with me half through the night. I awoke smiling but tired.
Bear In There from the book "A Light in the Attic" (1981) There's a Polar Bear In our Frigidaire-- He likes it 'cause it's cold in there. With his seat in the meat And his face in the fish And his big hairy paws In the buttery dish, He's nibbling the noodles, He's munching the rice, He's slurping the soda, He's licking the ice. And he lets out a roar If you open the door. And it gives me a scare To know he's in there-- That Polary Bear In our Fridgitydaire.
The Loser from the book "Where the Sidewalk Ends" (1974) Mama said I'd lose my head if it wasn't fastened on. Today I guess it wasn't 'cause while playing with my cousin it fell off and rolled away and now it's gone. And I can't look for it 'cause my eyes are in it, and I can't call to it 'cause my mouth is on it (couldn't hear me anyway 'cause my ears are on it), can't even think about it 'cause my brain is in it. So I guess I'll sit down on this rock and rest for just a minute...