Better Than Revenge

In the short story “The Cask of Amontillado” by Edgar Allan Poe, readers can derive that revenge is only justified in certain situations. The narrator introduces the idea of bearing with Fortunato for a long time, “but when he ventured upon insult [he] vowed revenge” (Poe 1). The way that the narrator describes this situation makes it seem like his desire for revenge is justified. People normally seek to annoy those who bother them. Consequently, they will do something as an act of revenge to satisfy themselves. Revenge can be justified, but sometimes it goes a bit too far. While in the dungeon, the narrator forces Fortunato through a narrow niche and “began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche” (Poe). Now, the readers are aware

Do you think revenge is always misguided, or is it justified in some cases? In some cases I feel that revenge can be justified, but is usually caused by misguided care from the past. Although there are many instances where revenge is misguided, it can also be justified in some cases. The right or wrong opinion is always blind sides someone else’s side of the story which can sometime make it impossible to tell if the actions of revenge were justified or if they were a result of being misguided.

This was an enormous opportunity for Claire and her squad. Once they entered the doors of the football field, her nervousness subdued itself. Feelings of excitement overwhelmed her. All of her other emotions went away. “It was as if the thousands of people in the stands disappeared and I was the only one in that field,” Claire said; she could barely contain herself in her seat.

“The best revenge is to not become like the one who wronged you,” said Marcus Aurelius. Revenge shows an evil part of someone that may not be captured at one’s first glance. Something that must be avoided for its immense toxicity. “The Cask of Amontillado” written by Edgar Allan tells a chilling story about how a man Montresor takes revenge on Fortunato for some unknown reason. The essay “Of Revenge” written by Sir Francis Bacon shows the flaws of revenge and how revenge only causes more harm than justice. When a person is wronged, it is not acceptable for that person to take revenge. Revenge is wrong because it hurts that person even more than what that person currently is. “This is certain, that a man consumed with a desire for revenge keeps

“Alright get in.” Blaise told us. He drove Camie back to her car so she could drive there with us. We made our way out of the parking lot and close to where Josie was parked, by the soccer field. Josie was making her way out of that parking lot by the time we got there, so we followed her. Blaise kept honking at her and speeding towards her as a joke. There was music blaring throughout the whole car ride until we reached Taco Bell. When we got there, we all got out and went

She took a quick look around the last turn before the main street that led to the school. She noticed several boys and girls in the alleyways on both sides of the narrow street. It looked as if every class at her school, several young ladies and even her teacher waited for her in ambush. She ducked back before they could see her, hiked up her dress, and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her in the opposite direction of the angry mob. She didn’t stop until she had found the forest path that she needed and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard no one in pursuit. The forest surroundings felt different for some reason and it frightened her. It had a forbidding feel to it this dawn like she had never felt in the past.

My knees shivered as I walked up the huge steps onto the bus. Millions of things were running through my mind; I was nervous. There was a loud chatter throughout the bus, but it wasn’t normal chatter. Everyone was on a light edge as we were all more than aware about what we were about to face. The bus pulled up into a familiar area. Elsternwick was busy and the sun was bright. I personally am always in Elsternwick and I never knew the museum was

It was record breaking temperatures on this July 4th day. Red, white, and blue filling up the stands. Fans and umbrellas protecting spectators from the heat of the sun. It was about game time and I was getting ready to take the field for the last home game. Butterflies in my stomach, but I had to tell myself “it’s just another game”. Even though in my heart I knew it was not just another game.

When the Weeping Willow trees became abundant around every sector of the car, I knew we were getting close. Once we passed the bridge by the small, grass bank called Cypher Beach, I could barely sit still in the front seat of my grandparents truck because I knew we were about to arrive. There I sat, waiting anxiously with my size ten feet smashed into a size seven foot box because if I removed them, I affected my grandfather's ability to drive and my grandmother’s ability to sit and look pretty. Even though the flip of the coin always caused me to sit in the front, compared to the comfy back where the other four children sat, it was all worth it when we arrived to our destination. The destination was just up the road, where we turned right

We kept walking. I jumped every time I heard leaves cracking that were not ours. The wind blew harder as we walked. I suddenly wished I had brought a coat.

The ride was an uncomfortable silence, the man next to me didn’t say anything and neither did I, being the incredibly talkative person I am.The field was a dull green, similar to my mood. But with ironic splashes of colorful clothes worn by the people, contradicting the atmosphere of the field. I stepped off the cart to meet the blue eyes of a red-headed woman who would be my coach for the remaining time I was the

We were on our way to San Antonio, Texas a white minivan full of kids on their soccer uniforms ready to play on the hot summer of 2008. They had invited us to participate on a youth national tournament with soccer teams from all over the United States. At that time I was just 11 years old and didn’t knew that much about traveling, and most important without my parents. The minivan was full of kids with the enthusiasm of traveling to a new city with big buildings, famous places to visit and many attractions, where none of us had traveled before.

She stood in front of stores and admired the things in them, spending about ten minutes viewing sofas through a glass and playing back what she has been wishing for. The opportunity she has been waiting for, the reason she woke up at dawn in Tepoztlan to go up North with Candido, the comfort she wished for and everything Candido promised her was right in Canoga Park. She feels right at

I sat in silence while Louis drove. I’d glanced at the clock periodically, calculating our arrival time. We had left earlier than usual to accommodate for the impending sea of cars in the parking lot. For a small town, high school basketball against a rival school was about as big as it got. So, everybody in town was going to be there, and by everybody, I mean Katrina was going to be there.

Cruising through downtown Cleveland had sparked memories of the previous summer, specifically June. The night of 19th Gwen had been spending time with her brother, Dylan, who wasn’t that close with her. The two were at the Quicken Loans Arena, watching game 7 of the NBA finals. The crowd was roaring with excitement, since this was the closest shot Cleveland had a major sports title in 52 years. Their dad had always been a huge basketball fan. Gwen had been to many games with him. She had awoken from her daydream to see Lauren right outside her streetside apartment