The halogen lamp heralds a royal green. The iridescent emerald looms silently in the air, holding still the fabric of time, only to be shattered by a thunderous roar. A roar produced by exasperated hydrocarbons released their fury, hurtling a box of Kevlar and carbon towards eternity. 31 kilometres. 31 kilometres of perilous journey through a treacherous land, we charge onwards like soldiers. However, the battle is only ours to fight; the mortals believe our battle is futile, they believe we fight out of juvenile foolhardiness. We forge onwards; we are headed for the holy land. This is the Col de Turini. As we spur forwards, the locals gather. They do not partake in our fight, they merely watch in awe as we charge through our colosseum. The area is steeped in tradition and locale shuts down for one cold January night. They call it the Night of the Long Knives. A fierce lance of white light spears and …show more content…
The acrid smell of burning plastic dries out the bottom of my lungs whilst brake dust stings my eyes, my throat closes and my diaphragm spasms in a vain attempt to clear the putrid fumes. The crowd watches in silence, a flaming wreck spearing through the foothills of France. A crimson red runs down my arm and my hand begins to seize, it is becoming unbearable; the finish seems futile. The motor spits and chokes, the fuel lines severed by the brutal impact. One-half of a kilometre. Our struggle intensifies; we only spur onwards at the thought of a victory, fuelled by adrenaline. We’re descending, the road falls away like a diving eagle, the pressure in my ears and my skull builds, fighting to equalise with the rest of the atmosphere. The final link, the wishbone, gives way; the front left corner ploughs into the ground. We are mercilessly close to the timing trap. The chassis buries itself into the stalwart snow that lines the stage, the rear end pendulums round and throws across the
Dallaire did exceptional when it comes to the naming of his essay, by not only simplifying the subject but maintaining the true meaning. “Cri de coeur,” also known as “A cry from the heart”, is not only heartbreaking but truthfully eye opening. Every event recounted is straight from Dallaire’s point of view, which could have made his rhetorical appeals intertwine. It is clear from reading that one appeal stood above the rest while reading, which is pathos. Dallaire decided to share something with the world that a majority have never experienced nor hopefully will ever have to. By doing so, he deliberately unleashed a handful of emotions. Using pathos allowed him to appeal to our
Castiglione's The Courtier presents a set of female and male indications for being ideal or well-rounded persons, spread across four books of what was to become a Renaissance-specific manual for achieving the human etiquette ideal. A parallel is to be traced between these precepts that were drawn five centuries ago, and the current situation.
Gioachino Rossini, like many great composers, was born in the right place at the right time. The musical firmament was still mourning the loss of Wolfgang Mozart in 1792 when Rossini was born. His parents were both gifted musicians, and young Gioachino was in a music conservatory by the age of 14. Rossini composed ten operas within the following seven years and had established himself as a gifted composer in the opera buffa style. This genre of comic opera was strikingly different from the rigorous opera seria, but it still managed to acquire some noticeable traits. Primarily, the arias in opera buffe shirk the da capo style of the seria mold. The subject matter deals frequently
[“I order you to be silent! And I issue a collective challenge! I’ll write down your names, step forward, young heroes! You’ll all have a turn; I’ll give each of you a number. Now, who wants to be at the top of the list? You sir? No? You? No? I’ll dispatch the first duelist with all the honors that are his due. All of you who want to die; hold up your hands does modestly forbid you to look at my naked sword? No names? No hands? Then I’ll get on with my business I want to see the theater curved of this boil. Otherwise I’ll lance!]
Giovanni Boccaccio's the Decameron, written in the Early Renaissance, is a sharp social commentary that reflected the ideas and themes of the Renaissance and of Renaissance Humanism. His tales of nuns and priests caught in compromising situations, corrupt clergy selling chances to see religious artifacts, and of wives cheating on their husbands show the changing ideals of the time and the corruption that was running rampant within the church and in the lives of the general populace. The Decameron speaks against this corruption and reflects the secular attitude of living as happily as possible, demoting the principals of Christian morality that had ruled daily life in the time before the Renaissance. Another concept that sprung from the
This melancholic ether, laterally with the company of death and violence, is unquestionably an equivalent to the frequently acknowledged portrayal of Hell, evoking unfluctuating “Dante’s Inferno,” as the Collective Associations gentleman escorts invitees through the machinery. His superficially insolent exploit of “running back to the hanging Chronic to rip off another trophy and tie it to his girdle,” (Kesey 89) is perceived in combatants throughout history. After overpowering an opponent, ancient warriors often devoted a vestment or ownership of the enemies to their girdle as a trophy or sign of victory. This particular presentation of victory may also allude to the power of the Combine, which our guide marks a fact to emphasize. This Hell is no further than the ward itself, the focus of mechanism, of fitting, of utter
Here and now is where this shall all begin! High above the rest of my domain in the relative comfort of my little abode in Castle Burgundy. For the first time in what seems like an eternity gone by I shall cast open the monolithic doors of my darkened halls to partake in the first legitimate event since that whole drinking incident a few decades, millennia, bah- I'm sure I'll remember more clearly once this business is concluded, yes! With an excitement and speed that not even the swiftest of demons could conjure I bolt from my fortress gates! Muffling the sounds my adorable furry friends as I focus on one solitary thing, hunting down every last peasant, brigand and mule who stole from me and putting them to the sword, or cross, whatever I
In your grievance filed at Central Unit, you claim COIII Forman denied your request for a copy of the witness statement you turned in for your disciplinary hearing. You are requesting a copy of the witness statement.
Antonio Ricci needs a bike for the job he was offered with the council of the city. His wife Maria pawned their sheets in order for Antonio to get a bike for the job. Once Antonio gots the bike for the money they got with the sheets he begins his day's work the next morning. Bruno, Antonio’s son, made a comment that the bike was dent and mistreated. His father did not care because it was a bike. Just from the beginning of the film you could tell Bruno was more detailed ordained then his father was. On the first day of work Antonio was putting up a sign and some thief stole his bike. Antonio went to report his bike stolen to the officials of the city. THe observation of Antonio and Bruno seems kind and that they love one another but the
The elven army marches to war. Their long spears and silver armor shine in the moonlight. Faces proud, stern, yet fair and tranquil show no sign of fear or embarrassment. They are ready to meet any eventuality, be it triumph or death, with honor and dignity. The swords are drawn, the bows are strung. The battle begins…
The ground was hard as ever and the thin blanket I laid on only made it feel more cold. The soft snores of men and boys alike fills my ears, I watch as the red comet passes us by ever so slowly. I wonder if it will ever fade into the black night but I’m sure it won’t since it's so bright. The Bull named it, “The Red Sword” said it is red-hot from the forge. To me, it was not a new sword for a knight to hold and stain it with the blood of others, no. It was my Lord’s father sword, “Ice”. The Valyrian steel greatsword rippled with black to show all the folding it had been through. The same sword that Ser Ilyn Payne had used to behead my father. Even if Yoren made me look away, I can see hear the crowd cheering and calling my father a traitor.
The Decameron, by Boccaccio, is a frame story written in the mid fourteenth century. There are a hundred stories told over a span of ten days. On the second day, a man tells a story about a princess, Alatiel, who was sent away to marry a king. Before Alatiel reaches her destination, she has sexual experiences with a lot of different men. Alatiel is treated like an object and allows this objectification to happen because she is so fickle and does nothing to stop the men. The fickleness of Alatiel and the treatment of her as an object is evident throughout the story.
As we marched on the city, broiling in our armour, I trembled at the thought of the barbourous men on the other side of those walls who would before long try to kill me. They would send flaming arrows through the sky, pour boiling oil from the battlements and, if it came to it, fight me one-on-one with sword and spear, attempting to disembowel me with each desperate thrust.
In the Romano Pitesti case, Tickton-Jones’ Management Team is faced with a situation that is not altogether uncommon in the business world, in that some employees feel that members of the Sales staff are being given “special” treatment by the company. Romano’s actions have probably not been as bad as what has been described to Management, but due to the fact that employees are still trying to find their place in the new, combined company, any hint of “unfairness” is immediately put under a microscope by other employees, and therefore, Management will have to take some sort of action, in order to show the other employees that their concerns are being taken seriously.
“This man with the long black hair and the pale countenance, opens to us with his violin a world which we had never imagined, except perhaps in dreams. There is in his appearance something so supernatural that one looks for a glimpse of a cloven hoof or an angel’s wing”