e2 po unq sa ENGLISH unq iba po summarize paSte nu po sa MICROSOFT Aaus po ian kasaMa tittle :D . -THE TELEPHONE My happiness depends on an electric appliance And I do not mind giving it so much credit With life in this city being what it is Each person separated from friends By a tangle of subways and buses Yes my telephone is my joy It tells me that I am in the world and wanted It rings and I am alerted to love or gossip I go comb my hair which begins to sparkle Without it I was like a bear in a cave Drowsing through a shadowy winter It rings and spring has come I stretch and amble out into the sunshine Hungry again as I pick up the receiver For the human voice and the good news of friends Driving miss Daissy Although friendship between two unlikely persons—an elderly, wealthy, white Jewish widow and her black chauffeur—is the predominant theme of the play, race relations, human dignity, integrity, and trust are other important themes in the play. It takes a man of great personal integrity like Hoke to lessen and eventually to eliminate the subconscious prejudice harbored by Miss Daisy. Although Miss Daisy compares African Americans to little children and makes snide remarks about Christians, she asserts to Boolie throughout the play that she is not prejudiced and he knows it. Miss Daisy’s subconscious bigotry is also depicted in her expression of utter displeasure at her daughter-in-law’s elaborate Christmas decorations and her socializing with Episcopalians. Hoke, honest and protective of Miss Daisy but never subservient, is also not free from prejudice. He successfully negotiates a raise with Boolie while at the same time making a disparaging comment about Jeanette Harris, Boolie’s cousin’s wife, who tried to hire him away from the Werthans as her chauffeur. “Now what you think I am? I ain’ studyin’ workin’ for no trashy somethin’ like her.” When Miss Daisy extends a backhanded invitation to Hoke for the Martin Luther King Day celebration, the audience can see that her prejudice is ebbing but is still present. Hoke establishes his integrity and personal dignity when he responds to the invitation, “Nevermind baby, next time you ask me someplace, ask me regular.” It is only after Hoke cautiously and lovingly talks to her during her lapse into senile dementia that she brings herself to say, “You are my best friend, Hoke.” The personal drama of Miss Daisy and Hoke draws its sustenance from the larger context of changing race relations in Atlanta, Georgia, and throughout the United States. Sporadic allusions to segregated bathrooms, Boolie Werthan’s hesitation to attend the Martin Luther King dinner for fear of being branded as “Martin Luther Werthan” behind his back and subsequently losing his business contacts, and Hoke’s granddaughter teaching biology at Spelman College are examples of the lack of progression in transforming the racial landscape. It is Uhry’s brevity and the suggestion of the possibilities of multicultural friendships that lend the play its full meaning and save it from being a sappy melodrama. Romeo and Juliet The play begins with a large fight between the Capulets and the Montagues, two prestigious families in Verona, Italy. These families have been fighting for quite some time, and the Prince declares that their next public brawl will be punished by death. When the fight is over, Romeo’s cousin Benvolio tries to cheer him of his melancholy. Romeo reveals that he is in love with a woman named Rosaline, but she has chosen to live a life of chastity. Romeo and Benvolio are accidentally invited to their enemy’s party; Benvolio convinces Romeo to go. At the party, Romeo locks eyes with a young woman named Juliet. They instantly fall in love, but they do not realize that their families are mortal enemies. When they realize each other’s identities, they are devastated, but they cannot help the way that they feel. Romeo sneaks into Juliet’s yard after the party and proclaims his love for her. She returns his sentiments and the two decide to marry. The next day, Romeo and Juliet are married by Friar Lawrence; an event witnessed by Juliet’s Nurse and Romeo’s loyal servant, Balthasar. They plan to meet in Juliet’s chambers that night. Romeo visits his best friend Mercutio and his cousin Benvolio but his good mood is curtailed. Juliet’s cousin, Tybalt, starts a verbal quarrel with Romeo, which soon turns into a duel with Mercutio. Romeo tries to stop the fight but it is too late: Tybalt kills Mercutio. Romeo, enraged, retaliates by killing Tybalt. Once Romeo realizes the consequences of his actions, he hides at Friar Lawrence’s cell. Friar Lawrence informs Romeo that he has been banished from Verona and will be killed if he stays. The Friar suggests Romeo spend the night with Juliet, then leave for Mantua in the morning. He tells Romeo that he will attempt to settle the Capulet and Montague dispute so Romeo can later return to a united family. Romeo takes his advice, spending one night with Juliet before fleeing Verona. Juliet’s mother, completely unaware of her daughters secret marriage to Romeo, informs Juliet that she will marry a man named Paris in a few days. Juliet, outraged, refuses to comply. Her parents tell her that she must marry Paris and the Nurse agrees with them. Juliet asks Friar Lawrence for advice, insisting she would rather die than marry Paris. Fr. Lawrence gives Juliet a potion which will make her appear dead and tells her to take it the night before the wedding. He promises to send word to Romeo - intending the two lovers be reunited in the Capulet vault. Juliet drinks the potion and everybody assumes that she is dead — including Balthasar, who immediately tells Romeo. Friar Lawrence’s letter fails to reach Romeo, so he assumes that his wife is dead. He rushes to Juliet’s tomb and, in deep grief, drinks a vial of poison. Moments later, Juliet wakes to find Romeo dead and kills herself due to grief. Once the families discover what happened, they finally end their bitter feud. Thus the youngsters deaths bring the families together. Romeo And Juliet is a true tragedy in the literary sense because the families gather sufficient self-knowledge to correct their behaviour but not until it is too late to save the situation. Promptly at the beginning of twilight, came again to that quiet corner of that quiet, small park the girl in gray. She sat upon a bench and read a book, for there was yet to come a half hour in which print could be accomplished. To repeat: Her dress was gray, and plain enough to mask its impeccancy of style and fit. A large-meshed veil imprisoned her turban hat and a face that shone through it with a calm and unconscious beauty. She had come there at the same hour on the day previous, and on the day before that; and there was one who knew it. The young man who knew it hovered near, relying upon burnt sacrifices to the great joss, Luck. His piety was rewarded, for, in turning a page, her book slipped from her fingers and bounded from the bench a full yard away. The young man pounced upon it with instant avidity, returning it to its owner with that air that seems to flourish in parks and public places--a compound of gallantry and hope, tempered with respect for the policeman on the beat. In a pleasant voice, he risked an inconsequent remark upon the weather--that introductory topic responsible for so much of the worlds unhappiness--and stood poised for a moment, awaiting his fate. The girl looked him over leisurely; at his ordinary, neat dress and his features distinguished by nothing particular in the way of expression. You may sit down, if you like, she said, in a full, deliberate contralto. Really, I would like to have you do so. The light is too bad for reading. I would prefer to talk. The vassal of Luck slid upon the seat by her side with complaisance. Do you know, he said, speaking the formula with which park chairmen open their meetings, that you are quite the stunningest girl I have seen in a long time? I had my eye on you yesterday. Didnt know somebody was bowled over by those pretty lamps of yours, did you, honeysuckle? Whoever you are, said the girl, in icy tones, you must remember that I am a lady. I will excuse the remark you have just made because the mistake was, doubtless, not an unnatural one--in your circle. I asked you to sit down; if the invitation must constitute me your honeysuckle, consider it withdrawn. I earnestly beg your pardon, pleaded the young ran. His expression of satisfaction had changed to one of penitence and humility. It was my fault, you know--I mean, there are girls in parks, you know--that is, of course, you dont know, but-- Abandon the subject, if you please. Of course I know. Now, tell me about these people passing and crowding, each way, along these paths. Where are they going? Why do they hurry so? Are they happy? The young man had promptly abandoned his air of coquetry. His cue was now for a waiting part; he could not guess the role he would be expected to play. It IS interesting to watch them, he replied, postulating her mood. It is the wonderful drama of life. Some are going to supper and some to--er--other places. One wonders what their histories are. I do not, said the girl; I am not so inquisitive. I come here to sit because here, only, can I be near the great, common, throbbing heart of humanity. My part in life is cast where its beats are never felt. Can you surmise why I spoke to you, Mr.--? Parkenstacker, supplied the young man. Then he looked eager and hopeful. No, said the girl, holding up a slender finger, and smiling slightly. You would recognize it immediately. It is impossible to keep ones name out of print. Or even ones portrait. This veil and this hat of my maid furnish me with an _incog_. You should have seen the chauffeur stare at it when he thought I did not see. Candidly, there are five or six names that belong in the holy of holies, and mine, by the accident of birth, is one of them. I spoke to you, Mr. Stackenpot-- Parkenstacker, corrected the young man, modestly. --Mr. Parkenstacker, because I wanted to talk, for once, with a natural man--one unspoiled by the despicable gloss of wealth and supposed social superiority. Oh! you do not know how weary I am of it--money, money, money! And of the men who surround me, dancing like little marionettes all cut by the same pattern. I am sick of pleasure, of jewels, of travel, of society, of luxuries of all kinds. I always had an idea, ventured the young man, hesitatingly, that money must be a pretty good thing. While the Auto Waits A competence is to be desired. But when you have so many millions that--! She concluded the sentence with a gesture of despair. It is the monotony of it, she continued, that palls. Drives, dinners, theatres, balls, suppers, with the gilding of superfluous wealth over it all. Sometimes the very tinkle of the ice in my champagne glass nearly drives me mad. Mr. Parkenstacker looked ingenuously interested. I have always liked, he said, to read and hear about the ways of wealthy and fashionable folks. I suppose I am a bit of a snob. But I like to have my information accurate. Now, I had formed the opinion that champagn is cooled in the bottle and not by placing ice in the glass. The girl gave a musical laugh of genuine amusement. You should know, she explained, in an indulgent tone, that we of the non-useful class depend for our amusement upon departure from precedent. Just now it is a fad to put ice in champagne. The idea was originated by a visiting Prince of Tartary while dining at the Waldorf. It will soon give way to some other whim. Just as at a dinner party this week on Madison Avenue a green kid glove was laid by the plate of each guest to be put on and used while eating olives. I see, admitted the young man, humbly. These special diversions of the inner circle do not become familiar to the common public. Sometimes, continued the girl, acknowledging his confession of error by a slight bow, I have thought that if I ever should love a man it would be one of lowly station. One who is a worker and not a drone. But, doubtless, the claims of caste and wealth will prove stronger than my inclination. Just now I am besieged by two. One is a Grand Duke of a German principality. I think he has, or has had, a wife, somewhere, driven mad by his intemperance and cruelty. The other is an English Marquis, so cold and mercenary that I even prefer the diabolism of the Duke. What is it that impels me to tell you these things, Mr. Packenstacker? Parkenstacker, breathed the young man. Indeed, you cannot know how much I appreciate your confidences. The girl contemplated him with the calm, impersonal regard that befitted the difference in their stations. What is your line of business, Mr. Parkenstacker? she asked. A very humble one. But I hope to rise in the world. Were you really in earnest when you said that you could love a man of lowly position? Indeed I was. But I said might. There is the Grand Duke and the Marquis, you know. Yes; no calling could be too humble were the man what I would wish him to be. I work, declared Mr. Parkenstacker, in a restaurant. The girl shrank slightly. Not as a waiter? she said, a little imploringly. Labor is noble, but personal attendance, you know--valets and-- I am not a waiter. I am cashier in--on the street they faced that bounded the opposite side of the park was the brilliant electric sign RESTAURANT--I am cashier in that restaurant you see there. The girl consulted a tiny watch set in a bracelet of rich design upon her left wrist, and rose, hurriedly. She thrust her book into a glittering reticule suspended from her waist, for which, however, the book was too large. Why are you not at work? she asked. I am on the night turn, said the young man; it is yet an hour before my period begins. May I not hope to see you again? I do not know. Perhaps--but the whim may not seize me again. I must go quickly now. There is a dinner, and a box at the play--and, oh! the same old round. Perhaps you noticed an automobile at the upper corner of the park as you came. One with a white body. And red running gear? asked the young man, knitting his brows reflectively. Yes. I always come in that. Pierre waits for me there. He supposes me to be shopping in the department store across the square. Conceive of the bondage of the life wherein we must deceive even our chauffeurs. Good-night. But it is dark now, said Mr. Parkenstacker, and the park is full of rude men. May I not walk-- If you have the slightest regard for my wishes, said the girl, firmly, you will remain at this bench for ten minutes after I have left. I do not mean to accuse you, but you are probably aware that autos generally bear the monogram of their owner. Again, good-night. Swift and stately she moved away through the dusk. The young man watched her graceful form as she reached the pavement at the parks edge, and turned up along it toward the corner where stood the automobile. Then he treacherously and unhesitatingly began to dodge and skim among the park trees and shrubbery in a course parallel to her route, keeping her well in sight. When she reached the corner she turned her head to glance at the motor car, and then passed it, continuing on across the street. Sheltered behind a convenient standing cab, the young man followed her movements closely with his eyes. Passing down the sidewalk of the street opposite the park, she entered the restaurant with the blazing sign. The place was one of those frankly glaring establishments, all white paint and glass, where one may dine cheaply and conspicuously. The girl penetrated the restaurant to some retreat at its rear, whence she quickly emerged without her hat and veil. The cashiers desk was well to the front. A red-haired girl an the stool climbed down, glancing pointedly at the clock as she did so. The girl in gray mounted in her place. The young man thrust his hands into his pockets and walked slowly back along the sidewalk. At the corner his foot struck a small, paper-covered volume lying there, sending it sliding to the edge of the turf. By its picturesque cover he recognized it as the book the girl had been reading. He picked it up carelessly, and saw that its title was New Arabian Nights, the author being of the name of Stevenson. He dropped it again upon the grass, and lounged, irresolute, for a minute. Then he stepped into the automobile, reclined upon the cushions, and said two words to the chauffeur: Club, Henri. PLOT SUMMARY Fletchers Sorry, Wrong Number begins with directions for the one and only act and scene of the play. The stage is to be divided into three sections. In the center is a large bed. This is where the main character, Mrs. Stevenson, will remain throughout the play. The other characters, who appear only briefly and play minor roles, will be seen on either side of the bed in the separated sections. Mrs. Stevenson interacts with these characters (except for the murderer) indirectly, while she is talking on the phone. Mrs. Stevenson (whom the playwright refers to as a querulous, self-centered neurotic,) is attempting to make a phone call. She slams the receiver down in frustration. She is trying to call her husband, who is supposed to be working late. But every time she dials the number, she receives a busy signal. After calling her husband for almost an hour, Mrs. Stevenson dials the operator. She requests that the operator try the number, hoping the operator will be able to get through. When the operator is successful, Mrs. Stevenson does not recognize the man who answers. She repeatedly asks who the man is then asks for her husband, but the man does not hear her. Instead, the man begins a conversation with a second male, who is also not Mrs. Stevensons husband. In the course of the conversation, Mrs. Stevenson learns that the second mans name is George. As the dialogue between the two men continues, Mrs. Stevenson learns much more. The first man tells George that their client has told him that the coast is clear for tonight. The first man then gives George instructions about what he needs to do. The pertinent details are the time that the guard who patrols the neighborhood leaves his post to get a drink, which is at eleven in the evening. Exactly fifteen minutes later, a subway train crosses a bridge nearby, which the first man states will cover any noises the woman might make should she scream. The murder, the man says, should be done quickly and with as little blood as possible. Their client does not want the woman to suffer long. The man then tells George to steal the womans jewelry. He tells George exactly where the jewelry is located, then explains that this will make the act look like a robbery. Mrs. Stevenson, who listens to the entire phone conversation, is completely distraught. She is convinced that she must save this anonymous woman who is about to be killed. She calls the operator again and becomes frustrated when the operator tells her that it is impossible to trace the phone call Mrs. Stevenson had been mistakenly connected to. Mrs. Stevenson replies by calling the operator stupid. The operator redials the same number that Mrs. Stevenson had previously requested, but the line is once again busy. Mrs. Stevenson tells the operator that of course the line is busy. It has been busy for over an hour. The operator must have mistakenly dialed a different number when Mrs. Stevenson overheard the conversation about the murder. She wants the operator to try to call the wrong number again. The operator does not know how to do this and Mrs. Stevenson is turned over to the chief operator. When the chief operator comes to the phone, Mrs. Stevenson repeats her story of how she has overheard a murder plot, but she can provide no names nor can she tell the operator the number where these men can be called. Despite this, Mrs. Stevenson demands that the chief operator trace the phone call. When the chief operator discovers that Mrs. Stevenson has no official police or government title, that she is just an ordinary private citizen, she tells Mrs. …
Posted on: Sun, 19 Oct 2014 08:01:28 +0000
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