Essay on My House

A spring Saturday afternoon, crazy warm and sunny, after a long painful winter leads to LOTS of people in the park. The day was so warm and fun, we both wished we had brought

The room is “shrouded”(dead people are often shrouded in a sheet) in black velvet and is decorated with black decorations>>> black is often used to symbolize death

There are so many memories of my mother that come to mind so it would be next to impossible for me to pick a favorite. When her time was growing short in those last few days she spent time with each one of us telling us how much we had meant in her life. That will go in my memory bank as one of my favorite times with her. We were lucky to have such a great mother, and even luckier that we were able to spend so much time with her at the end of her

There I was. An undersized 3rd grader, meeting with the school librarian, who was probing at my ability to read and comprehend the book I chose for that week. It was during this particular week in which I refused to join the class in their sticky hand raid, but rather, shift through my new library at home. It was the weekend prior in which my grandmother purchased a white box from a garage sale.

The piece displays a cavernous interior with a series of dark arches that recede towards some flickering flames. These huge bricks and arches make the hall resemble a sort of dungeon or a sort of oven. The palette he used is limited to solely to shades of black, and brown. White paint is used to outline the crevices and edges of the bricks. The windows are dark black, and the ceiling is pitched black. The dimly lit piece seems to be an interior space solely lit by the series of small flames, and these flames are placed at a

There was a relaxing feeling coming from the room. The colors were pretty mellow such as the cream-colored walls. Although the room gave off this aura, there was a very elegant tea set in the middle of the room. The wall contained a fireplace while the corner of the room contained a combination of both a bookshelf and a desk. The desk had a pair of golden glasses that belonged to one of the men who lived in the home (I can’t recall exactly who they belonged to). Aside from these things, the room also contained what looked like a very comfortable couch. The guide stated that all of the pieces in the house aside from one fireplace and most of the replicated sales pieces in the General Store.

When I was younger, the amount of obligations upon me fewer and less likely to affect life in the long term, it was far easier to pursue my passion for fiction. School consumed less time, and the classes were introductions to various principles rather than in depth study. The books contained within the library of my elementary school weren’t great works of literature either. They were simple stories, with simple characters and events, but I loved them anyways. These simple things made sense, a comfort blanket that I simply had to reach into a basket on a shelf to find. When library time rolled around every week, I always managed to find three or four new ones to take home, and then read them all within a day or two. I had never been a particularly athletic child; I had the time and the will to devour as many stories as I possibly could.

Throughout the cold, every home had smoke rising from the chimney in grey heaps toward the blue of sky. Voices blared throughout a house of brick, the scent of immortality dwelling in

Write my own book and get it in my school library? That would be the coolest thing ever! Now when I have to check out a book from the library every day to take home and read, I can just take mine! Hah! I don’t even have to read it, because I’ll know what it’s about, because I wrote it! An ingenious plan to get out of reading boring books my school had, and my lifelong (not very long, so far) goal, both to be completed with one task. I was living the dream.

The wallpaper that the previous owner papered in every one of the 5 rooms. It was a tan color that seemed to have many stains on it and was slowly peeling away. It was very hideous in my opinion, so surely whatever was behind it would be better than what it is now.

In the beginning, the librarians acted as the mentors to my hero. They scanned Easy Children’s Fiction, introducing me to new friends, new stories, new universes. I braved first grade with Junie B. Jones, memorized Silverstein poems, and climbed tree houses with Jack and Annie. The months went by, the years went by, and eventually,

During the first week I have learnt that language is far more than just simply a form of communication between one another, it is the growth of a common understanding on the meaning and value of something.

Ever since I was a little first grader, I loved going to the library. I adored walking down an aisle towering with books of used spines that smelled like old paper and adventure. My excitement for reading and writing has not decreased. I always put time aside for reading books and writing in my journal.

The classroom did not have a specific theme but was decorated in color. There was ? in different colors hanging from the ceiling. All the things she had hanging on the wall

Even though it was summer it was still a comfortable morning where it was hot but with a perfect cool breeze.It was a time before my mom and dad had divorced.I ran outside and played barfoot in the grass while my mom and dad fixed up and old garden we had in the corner of our yard.We lived in a small but perfectly cozy house with a basement and my best friend Sasha,Sasha was a beautiful young dog at the time.