The Life Throws At Us

The sky was always blue holding sunshine rays in her world. Her name was Rosaline Deponte, my great-grandma. The continuous smile that she showed on her face reminded us how precious life is and to not take things for granted. Cold wood floors that could easily freeze toes, single-walled construction, shut rows of jalousie windows, and the smell of warm sweet bread on the counter 24/7, that was Rosaline’s house.

And now and then in the afternoon she would burst through the door holding flowers and cookies and smelling fresh like the outdoors. She would stay for a moment or two and chat about with the children about the wonderful weather or her garden. The children would show her the pictures that they had drawn and ask her questions about their mother. Which she could never answer, but she would try.

Macbeth’s downfall is began with his inability understand how time can control every aspect in your life. Time controls every aspect of life for humans. Time determines when we wake up to go to school to how long you are able to live. In Shakespeare’s Macbeth the protagonist Macbeth deals with the constraints of time and how time persuade him into making critical decisions. During his life William Shakespeare wrote sonnet 73 a well acclaimed sonnet, dealing with death, and how time affects everyone. About the constraints of time article called “What’s Your Time Perspective?” written by Jane Collingwood discusses how time can impact decisions we make constantly and how we feel about things in our daily lives. Peter Dizikes’ article “Does Time Pass?” talks about the different ways people can perceive time and how you relate to it in your life. Dizikes is a staff writer for the well renowned MIT news and reports mainly on science, technology, and intellectual life. The relationship of humans to time is humans rely on time to plan their lives around and constantly make choices based on time.

The living room was cluttered with chairs for the guests and pressed against the left wall was a table overfilled with presents of all shapes,and sizes. I weaved my way through the sea of Lily’s family members to the kitchen where, Lily was helping her mother prepare dinner. “ Thanks for inviting me, Ms. Brooks and happy birthday Lily.” I stated with a polite smile. “ No problem, why don’t you set your gift on the table in the living room with the others; Lily show her where the table is.”

New ideas derived from self-reflection enable us to develop in ways that are spiritually linked to the future. The inexorable passage of adulthood is established by the motif of time, indicating that life is continuously moving forward. The personification of time “guiltless minute hand” suggest that time is not responsible for our future, but we are. Additionally, the dysphemistic personification of “time was killed” foreshadows the cessation of childhood. Eventually, the

The inn keeper's parlor was the best in town, they told her. His wife was wearing a heavy dress, adorned with lace and a massive broach that she raised a plump hand to touch, as if to be certain it was still there. They spoke of the massive rug, bought from Paris, and the finely crafted furniture they all sat upon. The preacher listened quietly, smiling as though their vanity wasn't a sin, while Mrs. Hartford eyed the dress with longing. Della thought that the dress was tasteless. The lace was poorly made, and the line of the bodice wasn't flattering. The fabric was an odd shade between blue and green, and the woman inside it was far less appealing. She didn't bother to mention that her own parlor had been filled with crystal, and priceless art her father had collected around the world. She didn't mention that her toys had cost more than Mrs. Johnson's gowns, or that she was mispronouncing the tea they'd been served. Not to be kind, not to be deceptive, but because did not matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. She'd given up that life to marry Ben, given up her family, given up her home and her gowns and her education.

A person’s life can be summed up within a sentence, their childhood just a word. Time has the interesting ability of warping. At the same time, it has the ability to take away sentiment from any event.

Sarah slugged through the early morning work and realized-too soon- that she needed to make a trip to the house. She made her way, clasping her arms around her for warmth in the cold November morning. Painted Girl’s borrowed sweater did not help dissipate the cold air, and neither did the lingering whiskey in her system. A light shone in the window illuminating Grandfather and Dingle, who sat at the table together eating pie. She watched as Dingle grabbed a juicy strawberry from Grandfather’s pie and nibbled at it greedily. Grandfather must have finished his hunt early, Sarah realized. She had hoped to avoid Grandfather today but nature called. There was no choice, either the woods or the house. Sarah did an about turn and went for the

It was the year 1922 and life hadn’t been this good in a while, times had taken a big change for the best. In Manhattan, New York, there were extravagant parties every weekend; the whole city shows up and doesn't leave until they see the sun. There was once this wealthy family living right in the middle of the roaring twenties. There was a mom, a dad, an older sister named Alice, and a younger sister named Anna. Alice loved to go to all of the huge parties, meet new people, and not come home until the morning. Every time Alice would get ready to go out for the night, Anna would watch her get ready as if she was picturing that was herself. Anna looked up at her sister and wanted to do everything she did. Alice had been talking about this party for a long time, and the night

The concept of time is a phenomenon that has been met with much discourse, but is also an invaluable commodity. I began to understand how much of a commodity time is when I was in seventh grade. That was the year my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I witnessed a man recovering from bankruptcy, struggling to support a family with five children, while attempting to pass his medical board exams, defeat all odds. By the end of that year all of those obstacles were no more, and with the help of my mother they were able to move us out of that socioeconomic environment. That’s when I understood what time meant to me, opportunity. After witnessing my father battle I vowed to never quit and to make the most of my time. Through medicine my

Aldous Huxley states time is modifying our way of living. We are relying on time to finish our tasks and do many other things in which time is the number one priority. Pam Houston talks about how giving time to her own life helped her to cure depression without any use of vaccination. She also said that we could conserve a lot of our valuable time and spend it on important things. Huxley’s writing helps me to understand the importance of time, give us the definition of time and Houston proved it in her own words and both of these authors have the same point of view on nature.

She stood there, a tall, thin steal gray fluffy haired figure on the top step for a second. And then looked down at the fair-haired children and smiled widely revealing a large gap between her two front teeth. She laughed cheerfully and declared, "Pay no mind to her. She's not so bad once you get to know her." Anna wondered about that. She seemed as if she were pretty good at being furious. "Come on, follow me." The lady said as she opened the door and allowed them to pass, "My name's Miss Margot. Now come along, there's no time to dawdle." She said in her sing-song voice and led them down a long, dark, narrow hallway that was lined with solid wood paneling. As we walked, she tugged at their arms to quicken their pace. Eventually she stopped and pressed on a spot in one of the boards and a door popped open. She and the children hurried into the cold, damp lopsided little basement storage area that was filled with spider webs and smelt dank. Once inside the room Anna noticed that a single light bulb on a long cord swayed from the ceiling and an old broken folding chair and a chamber pot leaned against one of the walls. And that in the back of the room there was a tiny, grimy window that permitted a sliver of evening moonlight to pass through. "That's yours." Miss Margot said and pointed her

The Superintendent walked solemnly down the dimly lit hallway. The vast walls of lockers gave him an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, eating away at his soul like acid eating away metal. The psychologically effects transmitted to his outer body, causing him to halt to an abrupt stop. Standing like a deer in headlights, his mind was instantaneously flooded with brisk images of the once flourishing hallways. He stifled a faux smile, composed himself, and erratically walked into the main office, where he prepared to apologetically deliver the final afternoon announcement of the High School’s history. Alone¬¬––later in his office, another pang of dense, impenetrable darkness suffocated him and he let out a cry of resignation. He put his chapped

The standard way of thinking about time has it that one should always use their time wisely. Therefore, they’ve been a few stories that depict and describe how to and which way to manage time. From The Tyranny of the Clock by George Woodcock, to The “Busy” Trap by Tim Kreider, and How to Live on 24 Hour a Day by Arnold Bennett, all in a way or ways describe how one can use his or her time properly. However, if one were to contrast these three stories, they would find that George Woodcock and Tim Kreider have more in common, then Arnold Bennett.

Next, a yellow cocktail music bursts as the cheers of people raised up into the air again. The crowd moved more swiftly around the garden, flowing, dissolving, and merging back into the same form again. The sky slowly turned orange –the sun was heavily sinking into the horizon – and Tom’s boutonniere enhanced its bloodiness and Daisy’s white dress dyed in an elegant yellow. As Tom looked over the crowd, all the immaculate white dresses that were dancing on the grass like fairies were soaked in the sunlight, each one in vivid, but lusterless colours. However, there was a ray of light that caught Tom’s eyes as he overlooked on the people. It was one of the house maids, sweeping the fallen leaves as her pale ring-finger gleamed a dull reflection of the sunshine. She was a woman with a roundish figure, probably in her early thirties. There were no traces of beauty in her appearances like Mary Pickford or a fashionable stylishness like Pola Nergi, but there was an immediate vitality that could be percept straightaway, just like Myrtle. No, exactly like Myrtle, Tom thought. There were no specific similarities between them, but Tom felt like a child who found a puzzle piece that he’s been looking for ages, or perhaps a fragment of a story from his favorite child