The Factors That Contribute to the Restriction in Freedom...

CHAPTER 1 THE FACTORS THAT CONTRIBUTE TO THE RESTRICTION IN FREEDOM OF SPEECH AND INFORMATION IN MALAYSIA TOWARDS IUKLS LOCAL STUDENTS 1.1 Introduction Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers. (The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Article 19, 1948). Freedom of speech and information is the one of the rights to every people in the civilized nation. Freedom of speech and information can be describe as the freedom of each of the citizen to voice out their opinion in the appropriate way and gain the access to the useful information without any†¦show more content†¦Sociological: The un-expose to the information and knowledge has made the students unaware about the importance of the freedom of speech. Thus influence the interaction among them in their daily life. Duttons 2004 say: This publication argues for a fresh approach that moves beyond the limitations of the ‘information society concept that has been the most common way of signifying the broad, interconnected range of social and economic changes tied to ICTs. Rethinking access in the way proposed here opens a broader understanding of the term access in relation to ICTs than the traditional definition that referred primarily to physical access to ICT infrastructures, systems, and devices. It also widens the object of that access from information, as implied by the term ‘information society, to include people, services, and technologies. (p. 22) The restriction to the access of information has made the student unaware about the right to the freedom of speech and information. Thus, they will not make this as one of the topics of conversation in their daily life interactions. Legal: The restriction in term of laws and legislation for the freedom of speech and information among the students. All the treaties about human rights allow limitations on freedom of expression when national security is discussed. Again in almost all states where freedom of information is being

An Explanation of the Ideal Gas Law

The Ideal Gas Law is one of the Equations of State. Although the law describes the behavior of an ideal gas, the equation is applicable to real gases under many conditions, so it is a useful equation to learn to use. The Ideal Gas Law may be expressed as: PV NkT where:P absolute pressure in atmospheresV volume (usually in liters)n number of particles of gask Boltzmanns constant (1.38Â ·10−23 JÂ ·K−1)T temperature in Kelvin The Ideal Gas Law may be expressed in SI units where pressure is in pascals, volume is in cubic meters, N becomes n and is expressed as moles, and k is replaced by R, the Gas Constant (8.314 JÂ ·K−1Â ·mol−1): PV nRT Ideal Gases Versus Real Gases The Ideal Gas Law applies to ideal gases. An ideal gas contains molecules of a negligible size that have an average molar kinetic energy that depends only on temperature. Intermolecular forces and molecular size are not considered by the Ideal Gas Law. The Ideal Gas Law applies best to monoatomic gases at low pressure and high temperature. Lower pressure is best because then the average distance between molecules is much greater than the molecular size. Increasing the temperature helps because of the kinetic energy of the molecules increases, making the effect of intermolecular attraction less significant. Derivation of the Ideal Gas Law There are a couple of different ways to derive the Ideal as Law. A simple way to understand the law is to view it as a combination of Avogadros Law and the Combined Gas Law. The Combined Gas Law may be expressed as: PV / T C where C is a constant that is directly proportional to the quantity of the gas or number of moles of gas, n. This is Avogadros Law: C nR where R is the universal gas constant or proportionality factor. Combining the laws: PV / T nRMultiplying both sides by T yields:PV nRT Ideal Gas Law - Worked Example Problems Ideal vs Non-Ideal Gas ProblemsIdeal Gas Law - Constant VolumeIdeal Gas Law - Partial PressureIdeal Gas Law - Calculating MolesIdeal Gas Law - Solving for PressureIdeal Gas Law - Solving for Temperature Ideal Gas Equation for Thermodynamic Processes Process(Constant) KnownRatio P2 V2 T2 Isobaric(P) V2/V1T2/T1 P2=P1P2=P1 V2=V1(V2/V1)V2=V1(T2/T1) T2=T1(V2/V1)T2=T1(T2/T1) Isochoric(V) P2/P1T2/T1 P2=P1(P2/P1)P2=P1(T2/T1) V2=V1V2=V1 T2=T1(P2/P1)T2=T1(T2/T1) Isothermal(T) P2/P1V2/V1 P2=P1(P2/P1)P2=P1/(V2/V1) V2=V1/(P2/P1)V2=V1(V2/V1) T2=T1T2=T1 isoentropicreversibleadiabatic(entropy) P2/P1V2/V1T2/T1 P2=P1(P2/P1)P2=P1(V2/V1)−Î ³P2=P1(T2/T1)ÃŽ ³/(ÃŽ ³ − 1) V2=V1(P2/P1)(−1/ÃŽ ³)V2=V1(V2/V1)V2=V1(T2/T1)1/(1 − ÃŽ ³) T2=T1(P2/P1)(1 − 1/ÃŽ ³)T2=T1(V2/V1)(1 − ÃŽ ³)T2=T1(T2/T1) polytropic(PVn) P2/P1V2/V1T2/T1 P2=P1(P2/P1)P2=P1(V2/V1)−nP2=P1(T2/T1)n/(n − 1) V2=V1(P2/P1)(-1/n)V2=V1(V2/V1)V2=V1(T2/T1)1/(1 − n) T2=T1(P2/P1)(1 - 1/n)T2=T1(V2/V1)(1−n)T2=T1(T2/T1)

A Sorrowful Woman by Gayle Godwin Free Essays

â€Å"A Sorrowful Woman† by Gayle Godwin Once upon a time there was a wife and mother one too many times One winter evening she looked at them: the husband durable, receptive, gentle; the child a tender golden three. The sight of them made her so sad and sick she did not want to see them ever again. She told the husband these thoughts. We will write a custom essay sample on A Sorrowful Woman by Gayle Godwin or any similar topic only for you Order Now He was attuned to her; he understood such things. He said he understood. What would she like him to do? â€Å"If you could put the boy to bed and read him the story about the monkey who ate too many bananas, I would be grateful. † â€Å"Of course,† he said. Why, that’s a pleasure. † And he sent her off to bed. The next night it happened again. Putting the warm dishes away in the cupboard, she turned and saw the child’s grey eyes approving her movements. In the next room was the man, his chin sunk in the open collar of his favorite wool shirt. He was dozing after her good supper. The shirt was the grey of the child’s trusting gaze. She began yelping without tears, retching in between. The man woke in alarm and carried her in his arms to bed. The boy followed them up the stairs, saying, â€Å"It’s all right, Mommy,† but this made her scream. Mommy is sick,† the father said, â€Å"go and wait for me in your room. †    The husband undressed her, abandoning her only long enough to root beneath the eiderdown for her flannel gown. She stood naked except for her bra, which hung by one strap down the side of her body; she had not the impetus to shrug it of. She looked down at the right nipple, shriveled with chill, and thought, How absurd, a vertical bra. â€Å"If only there were instant sleep,† she said, hiccupping, and the husband bundled her into the gown and went out and came back with a sleeping draught guaranteed swift. She was to drink a little glass of cognac followed by a big glass of dark liquid and afterwards there was just time to say Thank you and could you get him a clean pair of pajamas out of the laundry, it came back today. The next day was Sunday and the husband brought her breakfast in bed and let her sleep until it grew dark again. He took the child for a walk, and when they returned, red-cheeked and boisterous, the father made supper. She heard them laughing in the kitchen. He brought her up a tray of buttered toast, celery sticks and black bean soup. â€Å"I am the luckiest woman,† she said, crying real tears. Nonsense,† he said. â€Å"You need a rest from us,† and went to prepare the sleeping draught, and the child’s pajamas, select the story for the night. She got up on Monday and moved about the house till noon. The boy, delighted to have her back, pretended he was a vicious tiger and followed her from room to room, growling and scratching. Whenever she came close, he would growl and scratch at her. One of his sharp little claws ripped her flesh, just above the wrist, and together they paused to watch a thin red line materialize on the inside of her pale arm and spill over in little beads. Go away,† she said. She got herself upstairs and locked the door. She called the husband’s office and said. â€Å"I’ve locked myself away from him. I’m afraid. † The husband told her in his richest voice to lie down, take it easy and he was already on the phone to call one of the babysitters they often employed. Shortly after, she heard the girl let herself in, heard the girl coaxing the frightened child to come and play. And now the sleeping draught was a nightly thing, she did not have to ask. He went down to the kitchen to mix it, he set it nightly beside her bed. The little glass and the big one, amber and deep rich brown, the flannel gown and the eiderdown. After supper several nights later, she hit the child. She had known she was going to do it when the father would see. â€Å"I’m sorry† she said, collapsing on the floor. The weeping child had run to hide. â€Å"What has happened to me. I’m not myself anymore. † The man picked her tenderly from the floor and looked at her with much concern. â€Å"Would it help if we got, you know, a girl in? We could fix the room downstairs. I want you to feel freer,† he said, understanding these things. We have the money for a girl. I want you to think about it. †Ã‚   The man put out the word and found the perfect girl. She was young, dynamic and not pretty. â€Å"Don’t bother with the room. I’ll fix it up myself. † Laughing, she employed her thousand energies. She painted the room white, fed the child lunch, read edifying books, raced the boy to the mailbox, hung her own watercolors on the fresh-painted walls, made spinach souffle, cleaned a spot from the mother’s coat, made them all laugh, danced in stocking feet to music in the white room after reading the child to sleep. She knitted dresses for herself and played chess with the husband. She washed and set the mother’s soft ash-blonde hair and gave her neck rubs, offered to. The girl brought the child in twice a day, once in the later afternoon when he would tell of his day, all of it tumbling out quickly because there was not much time, and before he went to bed. Often now, the man took his wife to dinner. He made a courtship ceremony of it, inviting her beforehand so she could get used to the idea. They dressed and were beautiful together again and went out into the frosty night. Over candlelight he would say, â€Å"l think you are better, you know. † â€Å"Perhaps I am,† she would murmur. â€Å"You look. . . like a cloistered queen,† he said once, his voice breaking curiously. One afternoon the girl brought the child into the bedroom. â€Å"We’ve been out playing in the park. He found something he wants to give you, a surprise. † The little boy approached her, smiling mysteriously. He placed his cupped hands in hers and left a live dry thing that spat brown juice in her palm and leapt away. She screamed and wrung her hands to be rid of the brown juice. â€Å"Oh, it was only a grasshopper. said the girl. Nimbly she crept to the edge of a curtain, did a quick knee bend and reclaimed the creature, led the boy competently from the room. â€Å"The girl upsets me,† said the woman to her husband. He sat frowning on the side of the bed he had not entered for so long. â€Å"I’m sorry, but there it is. † The hus band stroked his creased brow and said he was sorry too. He really did not know what they would do without that treasure of a girl. â€Å"Why don’t you stay here with me in bed,† the woman said. Next morning she fired the girl who cried and said, â€Å"l loved the little boy, what will become of him now? But the mother turned away her face and the girl took down the watercolors from the walls, sheathed the records she had danced to and went away. â€Å"I don’t know what we’ll do. It’s all my fault. I know I’m such a burden, I know that. †    â€Å"Let me think. I’ll think of something. † (Still understanding these things. )    â€Å"I know you will. You always do,† she said. With great care he rearranged his life. He got up hours early, did the shopping, cooked the breakfast, took the boy to nursery school. â€Å"We will manage,† he said, â€Å"until you’re better, however long that is. He did his work, collected the boy from the school, came home and made the supper, washed the dishes, got the child to bed. He managed everything. One evening, just as she was on the verge of swallowing her draught, there was a timid knock on her door. The little boy came in wearing his pajamas. â€Å"Daddy has fallen asleep o n my bed and I can’t get in. There’s not room. †    Very sedately she left her bed and went to the child’s room. Things were much changed. Books were rearranged, toys. He’d done some new drawings. She came as a visitor to her son’s room, wakened the father and helped him to bed. Ah, he shouldn’t have bothered you,† said the man, leaning on his wife. â€Å"I’ve told him not to. † He dropped into his own bed and fell asleep with a moan. Meticulously she undressed him. She folded and hung his clothes. She covered his body with the bedclothes. She clicked off the light that shone in his face. The next day she moved her things into the girl’s white room. She put her hairbrush on the dresser; she put a note pad and pen beside the bed. She stocked the little room with cigarettes, books, bread and cheese. She didn’t need much. At first the husband was dismayed. But he was receptive to her needs. He understood these things. â€Å"Perhaps the best thing is for you to follow it through. † he said. â€Å"I want to be big enough to contain whatever you must do. †    The woman now spent her winter afternoons in the big bedroom. She made a fire in the hearth and put on slacks and an old sweater she had loved at school, and sat in the big chair and stared out the window at snow-ridden branches, or went away into long novels about other people moving through other winters. All day long she stayed in the white room. She was a young queen, a virgin in a tower; she was the previous inhabitant, the girl with all the energies. She tried these personalities on like costumes, then discarded them. The room had a new view of streets she’d never seen that way before. The sun hit the room in late afternoon and she took to brushing her hair in the sun. One day she decided to write a poem. â€Å"Perhaps a sonnet. † She took up her pen and pad and began working from words that had lately lain in her mind. She had choices for the sonnet, ABAB or ABBA for a start. She pondered these possibilities until she tottered into a larger choice: she did not have to write a sonnet. Her poem could be six, eight, ten, thirteen lines, it could be any number of lines, and it did not even have to rhyme. She put down the pen on top of the pad. In the evenings, very briefly she saw the two of them. They knocked on her door, a big knock and a little, and she would call Come in, and the husband would smile though he looked a bit tired, yet somehow this tiredness suited him. He would put her sleeping draught on the bedside table and say, â€Å"The boy and I have done all right today,† and the child would kiss her. One night she tasted for the first time the power of his baby spit. I don’t think I can see him anymore,† she whispered sadly to the man. And the husband turned away but recovered admirably and said, â€Å"Of course, I see. †    So the husband came alone. â€Å"I have explained to the boy,† he said. â€Å"And we are doing fine. We are managing. † He squeezed his wife’s pale arm and put the two glasses on her tab le. After he had gone, she sat looking at the arm. â€Å"I’m afraid it’s come to that,† she said. â€Å"Just push the notes under the door; I’ll read them. And don’t forget to leave the draught outside. †    The man sat for a long time with his head in his hands. Then he rose and went away from her. She heard him in the kitchen where he mixed the draught in batches now to last a week at a time, storing it in a corner of the cupboard. She heard him come back, leave the big glass and the little one outside on the door. Outside her window the snow was melting from the branches, there were more people on the streets. She brushed her hair a lot and seldom read anymore. She sat in her window and brushed her hair for hours, and saw a boy fall off his new bicycle again and again, a dog chasing a squirrel, an old woman peek slyly over her shoulder and then extract a parcel from a garbage can. In the evening she read the notes they slipped under her door. The child could not write, so he drew and sometimes painted his. The notes were painstaking at first; the man and boy offering the final strength of their day to her. But sometimes, when they seemed to have had a bad day there were only hurried scrawls. One night, when the husband’s note had been extremely short, loving but short, and there had been nothing from the boy, she stole out of her room as she often did to get more supplies, but crept upstairs instead and stood outside their doors, listening to the regular breathing of the man and boy asleep. She hurried back to her room and drank the draught. She woke earlier now. It was spring, there were birds. She listened for sounds of the man and the boy eating breakfast; she listened for the roar of the motor when they drove away. One beautiful noon, she went out to look at her kitchen in the daylight. Things were changed. He had bought some new dish towels. Had the old ones worn out? The canisters seemed closer to the sink. She inspected the cupboard and saw new things among the old. She got out flour, baking powder, salt, milk (he ought a different brand of butter), and baked a loaf of bread and left it cooling on the table. The force of the two joyful notes slipped under her door that evening pressed her into the corner of the little room; she had hardly space to breathe. As soon as possible, she drank the draught. Now the days were too short. She was always busy. She woke with the first bird. Worked till the sun set. No time for hair brushing. Her fingers raced the hours. Final ly, in the nick of time, it was finished one late afternoon. Her veins pumped and her forehead sparkled. She went to the cupboard, took what was hers, closed herself into the little white room and brushed her hair for awhile. The man and boy came home and found five loaves of warm bread, a roast stuffed turkey, a glazed ham, three pies of different fillings, eight molds of the boy’s favorite custard, two weeks supply of fresh-laundered sheets and shirts and towels, two hand-knitted sweaters (both of the same grey color), a sheath of marvelous watercolor beasts accompanied by mad and fanciful stories nobody could ever make up again, and a tablet full of love sonnets addressed to the man. The house smelled redolently of renewal and spring. The man ran to the little room, could not contain himself to knock, flung back the door. â€Å"Look, Mommy is sleeping,† said the boy. â€Å"She’s tired from doing all our things again. † He dawdled in a stream of the last sun for that day and watched his father roll tenderly back her eyelids, lay his ear softly to her breast, test the delicate bones of her wrist. The father put down his face into her fresh-washed hair. â€Å"Can we eat the turkey for supper? † the boy asked. How to cite A Sorrowful Woman by Gayle Godwin, Essay examples

A Sorrowful Woman by Gayle Godwin Free Essays

â€Å"A Sorrowful Woman† by Gayle Godwin Once upon a time there was a wife and mother one too many times One winter evening she looked at them: the husband durable, receptive, gentle; the child a tender golden three. The sight of them made her so sad and sick she did not want to see them ever again. She told the husband these thoughts. We will write a custom essay sample on A Sorrowful Woman by Gayle Godwin or any similar topic only for you Order Now He was attuned to her; he understood such things. He said he understood. What would she like him to do? â€Å"If you could put the boy to bed and read him the story about the monkey who ate too many bananas, I would be grateful. † â€Å"Of course,† he said. Why, that’s a pleasure. † And he sent her off to bed. The next night it happened again. Putting the warm dishes away in the cupboard, she turned and saw the child’s grey eyes approving her movements. In the next room was the man, his chin sunk in the open collar of his favorite wool shirt. He was dozing after her good supper. The shirt was the grey of the child’s trusting gaze. She began yelping without tears, retching in between. The man woke in alarm and carried her in his arms to bed. The boy followed them up the stairs, saying, â€Å"It’s all right, Mommy,† but this made her scream. Mommy is sick,† the father said, â€Å"go and wait for me in your room. †    The husband undressed her, abandoning her only long enough to root beneath the eiderdown for her flannel gown. She stood naked except for her bra, which hung by one strap down the side of her body; she had not the impetus to shrug it of. She looked down at the right nipple, shriveled with chill, and thought, How absurd, a vertical bra. â€Å"If only there were instant sleep,† she said, hiccupping, and the husband bundled her into the gown and went out and came back with a sleeping draught guaranteed swift. She was to drink a little glass of cognac followed by a big glass of dark liquid and afterwards there was just time to say Thank you and could you get him a clean pair of pajamas out of the laundry, it came back today. The next day was Sunday and the husband brought her breakfast in bed and let her sleep until it grew dark again. He took the child for a walk, and when they returned, red-cheeked and boisterous, the father made supper. She heard them laughing in the kitchen. He brought her up a tray of buttered toast, celery sticks and black bean soup. â€Å"I am the luckiest woman,† she said, crying real tears. Nonsense,† he said. â€Å"You need a rest from us,† and went to prepare the sleeping draught, and the child’s pajamas, select the story for the night. She got up on Monday and moved about the house till noon. The boy, delighted to have her back, pretended he was a vicious tiger and followed her from room to room, growling and scratching. Whenever she came close, he would growl and scratch at her. One of his sharp little claws ripped her flesh, just above the wrist, and together they paused to watch a thin red line materialize on the inside of her pale arm and spill over in little beads. Go away,† she said. She got herself upstairs and locked the door. She called the husband’s office and said. â€Å"I’ve locked myself away from him. I’m afraid. † The husband told her in his richest voice to lie down, take it easy and he was already on the phone to call one of the babysitters they often employed. Shortly after, she heard the girl let herself in, heard the girl coaxing the frightened child to come and play. And now the sleeping draught was a nightly thing, she did not have to ask. He went down to the kitchen to mix it, he set it nightly beside her bed. The little glass and the big one, amber and deep rich brown, the flannel gown and the eiderdown. After supper several nights later, she hit the child. She had known she was going to do it when the father would see. â€Å"I’m sorry† she said, collapsing on the floor. The weeping child had run to hide. â€Å"What has happened to me. I’m not myself anymore. † The man picked her tenderly from the floor and looked at her with much concern. â€Å"Would it help if we got, you know, a girl in? We could fix the room downstairs. I want you to feel freer,† he said, understanding these things. We have the money for a girl. I want you to think about it. †Ã‚   The man put out the word and found the perfect girl. She was young, dynamic and not pretty. â€Å"Don’t bother with the room. I’ll fix it up myself. † Laughing, she employed her thousand energies. She painted the room white, fed the child lunch, read edifying books, raced the boy to the mailbox, hung her own watercolors on the fresh-painted walls, made spinach souffle, cleaned a spot from the mother’s coat, made them all laugh, danced in stocking feet to music in the white room after reading the child to sleep. She knitted dresses for herself and played chess with the husband. She washed and set the mother’s soft ash-blonde hair and gave her neck rubs, offered to. The girl brought the child in twice a day, once in the later afternoon when he would tell of his day, all of it tumbling out quickly because there was not much time, and before he went to bed. Often now, the man took his wife to dinner. He made a courtship ceremony of it, inviting her beforehand so she could get used to the idea. They dressed and were beautiful together again and went out into the frosty night. Over candlelight he would say, â€Å"l think you are better, you know. † â€Å"Perhaps I am,† she would murmur. â€Å"You look. . . like a cloistered queen,† he said once, his voice breaking curiously. One afternoon the girl brought the child into the bedroom. â€Å"We’ve been out playing in the park. He found something he wants to give you, a surprise. † The little boy approached her, smiling mysteriously. He placed his cupped hands in hers and left a live dry thing that spat brown juice in her palm and leapt away. She screamed and wrung her hands to be rid of the brown juice. â€Å"Oh, it was only a grasshopper. said the girl. Nimbly she crept to the edge of a curtain, did a quick knee bend and reclaimed the creature, led the boy competently from the room. â€Å"The girl upsets me,† said the woman to her husband. He sat frowning on the side of the bed he had not entered for so long. â€Å"I’m sorry, but there it is. † The hus band stroked his creased brow and said he was sorry too. He really did not know what they would do without that treasure of a girl. â€Å"Why don’t you stay here with me in bed,† the woman said. Next morning she fired the girl who cried and said, â€Å"l loved the little boy, what will become of him now? But the mother turned away her face and the girl took down the watercolors from the walls, sheathed the records she had danced to and went away. â€Å"I don’t know what we’ll do. It’s all my fault. I know I’m such a burden, I know that. †    â€Å"Let me think. I’ll think of something. † (Still understanding these things. )    â€Å"I know you will. You always do,† she said. With great care he rearranged his life. He got up hours early, did the shopping, cooked the breakfast, took the boy to nursery school. â€Å"We will manage,† he said, â€Å"until you’re better, however long that is. He did his work, collected the boy from the school, came home and made the supper, washed the dishes, got the child to bed. He managed everything. One evening, just as she was on the verge of swallowing her draught, there was a timid knock on her door. The little boy came in wearing his pajamas. â€Å"Daddy has fallen asleep o n my bed and I can’t get in. There’s not room. †    Very sedately she left her bed and went to the child’s room. Things were much changed. Books were rearranged, toys. He’d done some new drawings. She came as a visitor to her son’s room, wakened the father and helped him to bed. Ah, he shouldn’t have bothered you,† said the man, leaning on his wife. â€Å"I’ve told him not to. † He dropped into his own bed and fell asleep with a moan. Meticulously she undressed him. She folded and hung his clothes. She covered his body with the bedclothes. She clicked off the light that shone in his face. The next day she moved her things into the girl’s white room. She put her hairbrush on the dresser; she put a note pad and pen beside the bed. She stocked the little room with cigarettes, books, bread and cheese. She didn’t need much. At first the husband was dismayed. But he was receptive to her needs. He understood these things. â€Å"Perhaps the best thing is for you to follow it through. † he said. â€Å"I want to be big enough to contain whatever you must do. †    The woman now spent her winter afternoons in the big bedroom. She made a fire in the hearth and put on slacks and an old sweater she had loved at school, and sat in the big chair and stared out the window at snow-ridden branches, or went away into long novels about other people moving through other winters. All day long she stayed in the white room. She was a young queen, a virgin in a tower; she was the previous inhabitant, the girl with all the energies. She tried these personalities on like costumes, then discarded them. The room had a new view of streets she’d never seen that way before. The sun hit the room in late afternoon and she took to brushing her hair in the sun. One day she decided to write a poem. â€Å"Perhaps a sonnet. † She took up her pen and pad and began working from words that had lately lain in her mind. She had choices for the sonnet, ABAB or ABBA for a start. She pondered these possibilities until she tottered into a larger choice: she did not have to write a sonnet. Her poem could be six, eight, ten, thirteen lines, it could be any number of lines, and it did not even have to rhyme. She put down the pen on top of the pad. In the evenings, very briefly she saw the two of them. They knocked on her door, a big knock and a little, and she would call Come in, and the husband would smile though he looked a bit tired, yet somehow this tiredness suited him. He would put her sleeping draught on the bedside table and say, â€Å"The boy and I have done all right today,† and the child would kiss her. One night she tasted for the first time the power of his baby spit. I don’t think I can see him anymore,† she whispered sadly to the man. And the husband turned away but recovered admirably and said, â€Å"Of course, I see. †    So the husband came alone. â€Å"I have explained to the boy,† he said. â€Å"And we are doing fine. We are managing. † He squeezed his wife’s pale arm and put the two glasses on her tab le. After he had gone, she sat looking at the arm. â€Å"I’m afraid it’s come to that,† she said. â€Å"Just push the notes under the door; I’ll read them. And don’t forget to leave the draught outside. †    The man sat for a long time with his head in his hands. Then he rose and went away from her. She heard him in the kitchen where he mixed the draught in batches now to last a week at a time, storing it in a corner of the cupboard. She heard him come back, leave the big glass and the little one outside on the door. Outside her window the snow was melting from the branches, there were more people on the streets. She brushed her hair a lot and seldom read anymore. She sat in her window and brushed her hair for hours, and saw a boy fall off his new bicycle again and again, a dog chasing a squirrel, an old woman peek slyly over her shoulder and then extract a parcel from a garbage can. In the evening she read the notes they slipped under her door. The child could not write, so he drew and sometimes painted his. The notes were painstaking at first; the man and boy offering the final strength of their day to her. But sometimes, when they seemed to have had a bad day there were only hurried scrawls. One night, when the husband’s note had been extremely short, loving but short, and there had been nothing from the boy, she stole out of her room as she often did to get more supplies, but crept upstairs instead and stood outside their doors, listening to the regular breathing of the man and boy asleep. She hurried back to her room and drank the draught. She woke earlier now. It was spring, there were birds. She listened for sounds of the man and the boy eating breakfast; she listened for the roar of the motor when they drove away. One beautiful noon, she went out to look at her kitchen in the daylight. Things were changed. He had bought some new dish towels. Had the old ones worn out? The canisters seemed closer to the sink. She inspected the cupboard and saw new things among the old. She got out flour, baking powder, salt, milk (he ought a different brand of butter), and baked a loaf of bread and left it cooling on the table. The force of the two joyful notes slipped under her door that evening pressed her into the corner of the little room; she had hardly space to breathe. As soon as possible, she drank the draught. Now the days were too short. She was always busy. She woke with the first bird. Worked till the sun set. No time for hair brushing. Her fingers raced the hours. Final ly, in the nick of time, it was finished one late afternoon. Her veins pumped and her forehead sparkled. She went to the cupboard, took what was hers, closed herself into the little white room and brushed her hair for awhile. The man and boy came home and found five loaves of warm bread, a roast stuffed turkey, a glazed ham, three pies of different fillings, eight molds of the boy’s favorite custard, two weeks supply of fresh-laundered sheets and shirts and towels, two hand-knitted sweaters (both of the same grey color), a sheath of marvelous watercolor beasts accompanied by mad and fanciful stories nobody could ever make up again, and a tablet full of love sonnets addressed to the man. The house smelled redolently of renewal and spring. The man ran to the little room, could not contain himself to knock, flung back the door. â€Å"Look, Mommy is sleeping,† said the boy. â€Å"She’s tired from doing all our things again. † He dawdled in a stream of the last sun for that day and watched his father roll tenderly back her eyelids, lay his ear softly to her breast, test the delicate bones of her wrist. The father put down his face into her fresh-washed hair. â€Å"Can we eat the turkey for supper? † the boy asked. How to cite A Sorrowful Woman by Gayle Godwin, Essay examples

The Life Times of Alexander the Great Essay Example For Students

The Life Times of Alexander the Great Essay iii Introduction Alexander the great made an impact on world history that few individuals can profess to have done. He ruled all of the known world, and one of the largest empires ever. His men were the first westerners to encounter tales of the Yeti. They even discovered and classified new types of flora and fauna, such as the red mold that grew on their bread while they were in Asia, and made it appear as if it were bleeding. He expanded the Hellenist sphere of influence to the farthest reaches of the globe. When the king of Greece visited the British colony of India around the turn of the century, the colonial government had some native Indian dances displayed for him. He was shocked when he immediately recognized the dances as the same harvest dances that his fellow Greeks performed near Thessalonika. This was the breadth of Alexanders influence on hundreds of different cultures around the world. Throughout the whole of Europe, Asia, and North Africa, stories of this great man have been handed down from generation to generation throughout the centuries. In many cases Alexander has even taken on a superhuman aura, and many unbelievable legends have been based on his life. When Julius Caesar visited Alexandria, he asked to see the body of the greatest warrior of all time- Alexander the Great. Such was Alexanders reputation, able to impress even the powerful Caesar. He was, without a doubt, one of the most remarkable men that ever walked the face of this Earth. And this is the story of his life. 1 The Life and Times of Alexander the Great The story of Alexander the Great is one of courage, genius, and great accomplishment; but it is also somewhat of a bittersweet one, ending with his tragic death during the prime of his life, at thirty-two. Alexander was born to Philip II of Macedon and Olympias, his principal wife, in 356 BCE, mpic Games. Just three years earlier, Philip had ascended to the throne after the death of his older brother, Perdikkas1, and named the city of Philipi after himself. Shortly thereafter, at the age of twenty, he met Olympias at a religious ceremony on the island of Samothrace. Olympias was of the Mystery Religions, and was initiated at an early age. She spent her time at wild orgies during which snakes were wrapped around the worshippers limbs. She kept this custom of sleeping with snakes throughout her marriage to Philip. In addition, she sacrificed thousand of animals to her particular god or goddess each year. Interestingly enough, she had a cruel streak normally common only to the Greek men of her time. Throughout her career she was no slower than her male rivals to kill off enemies who seemed to threaten her. Olympias, believing that she was descended from Achilles, and being of royal Epeirosian blood herself, thought that she was rightly entitled to respect from Philip as his queen. For this reason Olympias was constantly upset at Philips long stays away from home. This anger was especially directed towards his torrid affairs with the nearest nubile 2 waif. At the time of Alexanders birth, Philip was involved in a campaign to defeat the Illyrian provinces in battle and incorporate them into the Greek empire that he was building for himself. In that month, Philip received three messages bearing good in quick succession: his victory over the Illyrians, Alexanders birth, and Macedonian victory in the Olympic races. Alexander resembled his mother more than his father. It was in memory of Macedonias greatest king, Alexander I, that Alexander was named. Philip, currently engaged in a plan for the conquest of Greece and eventually parts of Asia, had high hopes for his firstborn son to eventually continue in his footsteps. In the following year Alexanders only sibling, a sister named Cleopatra, was born. Alexander probably had no recollection of his father having both of his eyes, because Philip lost his eye storming an Athenian fortress. During Alexanders early years, he was watched over by a man named Leonidas2. .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 , .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 .postImageUrl , .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 , .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90:hover , .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90:visited , .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90:active { border:0!important; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90:active , .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90 .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .u9e9952b6069d983c46493f67e040af90:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: Poem Analysisi Essay Leonidas saw to all of Alexanders education and tutelage in many varied subjects including: writing, geometry, reading, arithmetic, music, archery, horseback riding, javelin, and other types of athletics. Alexanders nursemaid was an endearing gentleman whose name was Lysimachos, who won Alexanders heart at an early age by playing imagination games with Alexander and his playmates: Ptolemy, Harpalos, Nearchos, Hephaistion, and Erigyios. When Alexander reached the ripe old age of thirteen, Philip decided it was time for Alexander to receive a higher education better befitting his young heir. Searching throughout his empire, Philip was lucky enough to find .