Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
More handpicked essays just for you.
City life compared with rural life
Urban life vs Rural life
Urban life vs Rural life
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: City life compared with rural life
1942 - Shillington, PA Dear Diary, New Book and Discoveries Mother bought me a book today. A mystery titled The Case of the Drowning Duck. It’s a new one, by my all-time favorite Author, Erle Stanley Gardener ("John Updike Bio-1”). I was able to start reading my new book on top of Mt. Penn at the pagoda, earlier today. I particularly enjoyed seeing the views of Reading, PA down below. I discovered that the irritable red patches on my arms are psoriasis ("John Updike Bio-1”). Just another issue I’ll have to deal with, in addition to the fat-headed Gillette boys down the street, mouthing off about my stammer. Its times like this, I wish I had an older brother that could put those wise guys in their place. Later this evening, grandpa asked me to help fix that old jalopy. She’s running on her last leg. Hopefully she pulls through or else he’ll have to buy a new one. After dinner I read more chapters of my book. I really think I’m going to enjoy this one! Until next time, John 1945 - Plowville, PA Dear Diary, Move to Plowville My family just moved 11 miles from Shillington to Plowville. This is the town where my mother was born. Mother says’ she wants to get back to her roots (John Updike Bio-1”). We live in an old but very cozy stone house on a huge 80-acre farm. I am really enjoying living here now. I love listening to the animals and birds at sunset, and reading out in the old barn. (Liukknen) My mother seems to like the space; it was pretty cramped over at my grandparents’ house. It’s been a few months since we moved and my mother is still getting our new home cleaned. New pictures and paintings appear on the walls during the day only to be moved to another room or put back into a storage box. I’m happy that I can continue g... ... middle of paper ... ...and fantasies and small discoveries dark marks on paper which become handsomely reproducible many times over still seems to me, after nearly 30 years concerned with the making of books, a magical act, and a delightful technical process. To distribute oneself thus, as a kind of confetti shower falling upon the heads and shoulders of mankind out of bookstores and the pages of magazines is surely a great privilege and a defiance of the usual earthbound laws whereby human beings make themselves known to one another.”("John Updike>Quotes) “I have tried to plug along on the theory that I can still do it and still get published and that a professional writer is what I set out to be when I was an adolescent and I have been fortunate enough, in this increasingly rare profession to have been able to make a go of it.”(De Wilde) In Loving Memory of John Hoyer Updike 1932-2009
As a child, Ray Bradbury loved to read fantasy novels. Inspired by his favorite writers, he longed to become a fantasy writer himself. Bradbury lived during the Great Depression with very little money, therefore he could not put himself through school. Instead, Bradbury went to the library every other day for ten years. During this time, he realized that he wanted to pursue his dream of becoming a writer. To get money, Bradbury started publishing his works in a newspaper. Because he wanted practice, he used several pseudonyms to make it look like he had several authors publishing their stories in his newspaper, but in fact, it was written entirely by Bradbury himself. “Bradbury uses [his] stories not only to entertain, but to cause readers to think about their own lives” (Clark, Tracy). He focused more on the message of his story than the popularity of it. “When ask...
Upon renovating the quaint little house on the hill with my mom, my own feelings toward the house changed dramatically. Before the project took off, I hesitated to step foot inside the building. The odor and dim lighting made it difficult to envision a successful result, but once we finished I was tempted to move in myself. This is the goal. Taking on this second project, I’d do my best to make the house one I’d love to live in while not allowing myself to implement my personal style preferences. The result is a home both move-in ready and open for visitors.
3.Walle, Alf H.: Hack writing vs. belle letters: the strategic implications of literary achievement, Journal of Popular Culture, Blackwell Publishers Ltd., 1996
A sense of privacy is an important characteristic of a home-like environment. As Cristofetti, Gennai, and Rodeschini describe it, “The home has always represented and symbolized the passage from the external world to the internal world, from the public sphere to the private one” (2011). The décor a person fills one’s house with makes it their home, as their personality and choices are intertwined with the space (Cristofetti, Gennai, & Rodeschini, 2011). By building small homes where residents can have real privacy and can decorate their own rooms, the Green Houses provide nursing home spaces that are truly home-like, rather than
The Holocaust was a time of sadness for many people. However, one story that took place during the Holocaust was truly inspiring and impacted the lives of many people around the world. This was the story of Anne Frank and her family. Anne Frank was one of over one million Jews who died in the Holocaust (Anne Frank 1). In September 1939, when World War II began, more than one and a half million Jews lived in countries occupied, or soon to be occupied by Hitler (Lee 1). Because of this many families were forced into concentration camps due to Hitler during this time. However, Anne’s family decided to try and avoid the brutal camps by going into hiding in the secret annex. Anne Frank and her family are famously known for Anne’s diary that was found by Miep Gies in the secret annex (Anne Frank 1). Not long after the diary was found, Anne’s story was known all around the world. Anne Frank impacted the lives of many by showing people an insight of what life was really like for Jews under Hitler’s control and being someone who people can look up to. Therefore, Anne Frank impacted the lives of many people around the world and has become a “famous symbol for the lost promise of the children who died in the Holocaust” (Anne Frank 1).
The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning to the four-story walk up I inhabited for the majority of my young life. Instead of the pavement surrounding my former building, the final turn of our seemingly endless journey revealed the sprawling grass expanse of a baseball field directly across from an unfamiliar driveway sloping in front of the red brick walls that eventually came to be know as home.
“When I sit down to write a book, I do not say to myself ‘I am going to produce a work of art.’ I write because there is some lie I want to expose and some fact I want to draw attention to…”
The shrill cries of my alarm echo across vermilion painted walls, stirring my consciousness into an aware state. It is precisely eight o’clock on a warm summer Monday; the distant cries of mockingbirds can be heard above the soft whirring of cars passing our genteel residential street. My ears scan the house; it is quiet – barely a sound other than the tinkling of tags as our pets navigate the living room. The still morning air brought realization, with no children running around Mother must have already left for work. Never leaving my lax position I stretch and sigh, it is nice to not have to baby-sit my sister’s kids – my nieces and nephew – but I do miss the mornings where my mother would still kiss me goodbye.
My family and I live about four hours away from Price, but that still doesn't stop us from going to visit as often as possible. The drive there is rather boring, but it's worth being able to see the familiar landscape of my past. After driving through a small town known as Wellington, I know that I am within minutes of being able to glance at my second home. I wait with anxiety as the car makes its way ever closer to the bridge that crosses the river, which runs right by the property of my Grandpa. Ahead I can see the old house and all the rickety, old buildings and corrals surrounding it. The excitement mounts inside as I let myself out of the car and make my way up toward the front porch. As I gently touch the cold, handmade iron railings that line the wooden steps, I know I've reached my destination.
As I look back on my childhood a great number of memories hide in my mind; sleepovers with friends, hanging upside down on the monkey bars, eating ice cream are but a few. The one memory that doesn't hide is of the postcard perfect house that I love and adore. From the hearty cattails and rose brown apple trees to the grilled cheese, this place reminds me of my childhood fun but also the love that my whole family shared. The red brick house and its surroundings will keep my memories forever.
Once upon a time, I saw the world like I thought everyone should see it, the way I thought the world should be. I saw a place where there were endless trials, where you could try again and again, to do the things that you really meant to do. But it was Jeffy that changed all of that for me. If you break a pencil in half, no matter how much tape you try to put on it, it'll never be the same pencil again. Second chances were always second chances. No matter what you did the next time, the first time would always be there, and you could never erase that. There were so many pencils that I never meant to break, so many things I wish I had never said, wish I had never done. Most of them were small, little things, things that you could try to glue back together, and that would be good enough. Some of them were different though, when you broke the pencil, the lead inside it fell out, and broke too, so that no matter which way you tried to arrange it, they would never fit together and become whole again. Jeff would have thought so too. For he was the one that made me see what the world really was. He made the world into a fairy tale, but only where your happy endings were what you had to make, what you had to become to write the words, happily ever after. But ever since I was three, I remember wishing I knew what the real story was.
The air is really fresh, and the wind is comfortable. Grandma usually opened the window during the daytime; I still remembered that feeling when the sunshine came in house and scatter. I walking among those numerous grand trees and admire colored leaves on the trees and on the ground. I miss that feeling of calmness and stability of the world around. I wish I could return the reality of those feelings once more. Memories in mind and never forget about happiness of staying in my grandmother’s house. Grandparent’s time-honored gift to their grandchildren is their unconditional love, unfettered by schedules, routines or commitments. They reinforced their grandchildren’s sense of security and self-value.
When reminiscing about my childhood a home is hard to recall. It seemed common for others to have a place called home. Moving from house to house was not the problem, but the empty feeling. Home to me was my grandparent’s house. I spent nearly all of my childhood there. My grandparents bought the one story house with two bedrooms in the early seventies. From the spacious bedroom, to the kitchen with endless possibilities and the way I spent my time this house defined my character.
I never really thought about where my life was going. I always believed life took me where I wanted to go, I never thought that I was the one who took myself were I wanted to go. Once I entered high school I changed the way I thought. This is why I chose to go to college. I believe that college will give me the keys to unlock the doors of life. This way I can choose for myself where I go instead of someone choosing for me.
I love journals and have been keeping one on and off since I was eight. Keeping a journal, or diary as many have called it, can help clarify your thoughts, ideas, notions and problems. It can help manage those overwhelming emotions and reduce anxiety and stress. The ability is there to gain perspective on your thoughts and feelings. A journal can be profoundly personal and something tangible to go back to to relive parts of your life. Your life based on a true story, spread out over time. It is a place to record whatever you wish. Be it your darkest secrets, your first crush, your innermost feelings, how events made you feel or changed your life. It is a friend that is always nonjudgmental and always