13 points!

from “the tyranny of things” by elizabeth morris

once upon a time, when i was very tired, i chanced to go away to a little house by the sea. “it is empty,” they said, “but you can easily furnish it.” empty! yes, heaven! furnish it? heaven forbid! its floors were bare, its walls were bare, its tables there were only two in the house were bare. there was nothing in the closets but books; nothing in the bureau drawers but the smell of clean, fresh wood; nothing in the kitchen but an oil stove, and a few a very few dishes; nothing in the attic but rafters and sunshine, and a view of the sea. after i had been there an hour there descended upon me a great peace, a sense of freedom, of in finite leisure. in the twilight i sat before the flickering embers of the open fire, and looked out through the open door to the sea, and asked myself, “why? ” then the answer came: i was emancipated from things. there was nothing in the house to demand care, to claim attention, to cumber my consciousness with its insistent, unchanging companionship. there was nothing but a shelter, and outside, the fields and marshes, the shore and the sea. these did not have to be taken down and put up and arranged and dusted and cared for. they were not things at all, they were powers, presences.

and so i rested. while the spell was still unbroken, i came away. for broken it would have been, i know, had i not fled first. even in this refuge the enemy would have pursued me, found me out, encompassed me.

if we could but free ourselves once for all, how simple life might become! one of my friends, who, with six young children and only one servant, keeps a spotless house and a soul serene, told me once how she did it. “my dear, once a month i give away every single thing in the house that we do not imperatively need. it sounds wasteful, but i don’t believe it really is. sometimes jeremiah mourns over missing old clothes, or back numbers of the magazines, but i tell him if he doesn’t want to be mated to a gibbering maniac he will let me do as i like.”

the old monks knew all this very well. one wonders sometimes how they got their power; but go up to fiesole, and sit a while in one of those little, bare, white-walled cells, and you will begin to understand. if there were any spiritual force in one, it would have to come out there.

i have not their courage, and i win no such freedom. i allow myself to be overwhelmed by the invading host of things, making fitful resistance, but without any real steadiness of purpose. yet never do i wholly give up the struggle, and in my heart i cherish an ideal, remotely typified by that empty little house beside the sea.

morris’s description of the little house by the sea the reader

a) see what living without things looks like

b) understand why the house is empty

c) picture how things would look in the house

d) decide whether or not to visit the house

How do pip's feelings of guilt in chapter 6 fluctuate? a. he feels both guilty and exhilarated by the opportunity to interact with a convict. b. he doesn't feel any true guilt, but rather fear that he will be caught and self-loathing that he stole. c. he feels guilty, but only until the convict is found. d. he feels guilty for lying to joe, but not for stealing from mrs. joe, because he doesn't love her.

Select the correct answer. which groups fought in the trojan war? a. mycenaeans and minoans b. greeks and trojans c. minoans and greeks d. minoans, mycenaeans, and trojans

Industrialization in europe changed the way people lived. the urban working class came into being, and with it came the drudgery of work. which two parts of this excerpt from franz kafka's the metamorphosis most closely reflect this impact of industrialization on people's lives? "what's happened to me? " he thought. it wasn't a dream. his room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. a collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table—samsa was a travelling salesman—and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame. it showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer. gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. drops of rain could be heard hitting the pane, which made him feel quite sad. "how about if i sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense," he thought, but that was something he was unable to do because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his present state couldn't get into that position. however hard he threw himself onto his right, he always rolled back to where he was. he must have tried it a hundred times, shut his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at the floundering legs, and only stopped when he began to feel a mild, dull pain there that he had never felt before. "oh, no", he thought, "what a strenuous career it is that i've chosen! travelling day in and day out. doing business like this takes much more effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of that there's the curse of travelling, worries about making train connections, bad and irregular food, contact with different people all the time so that you can never get to know anyone or become friendly with them. they can all go away! " he felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself slowly up on his back towards the headboard so that he could lift his head better; found where the itch was, and saw that it was covered with lots of little white spots which he didn't know what to make of; and when he tried to feel the place with one of his legs he drew it quickly back because as soon as he touched it he was overcome by a cold shudder. he slid back into his former position. "getting up early all the time", he thought, "it makes you stupid. you've got to get enough sleep. other travelling salesmen live a life of luxury. for instance, whenever i go back to the guest house during the morning to copy out the contract, these gentlemen are always still sitting there eating their breakfasts. i ought to just try that with my boss; i'd get kicked out on the spot. but who knows, maybe that would be the best thing for me. if i didn't have my parents to think about i'd have given in my notice a long time ago, i'd have gone up to the boss and told him just what i think, tell him everything i would, let him know just what i feel."