There is nothing




I am clinging to You for I am very weak...

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

God Sees the Truth But Waits

by: Leo Tolstoy

In the town of Vladimir lived a young merchant named Ivan Dmitrich Aksionov. He had two shops and a house of his own.

Aksionov was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow, full of fun, and very fond of singing. When quite a young man he had been given to drink, and was riotous when he had had too much; but after he married he gave up drinking, except now and then.

One summer Aksionov was going to the Nizhny Fair, and as he bade good-bye to his family, his wife said to him, "Ivan Dmitrich, do not start to-day; I have had a bad dream about you."

Aksionov laughed, and said, "You are afraid that when I get to the fair I shall go on a spree."

His wife replied: "I do not know what I am afraid of; all I know is that I had a bad dream. I dreamt you returned from the town, and when you took off your cap I saw that your hair was quite grey."

Aksionov laughed. "That's a lucky sign," said he. "See if I don't sell out all my goods, and bring you some presents from the fair."

So he said good-bye to his family, and drove away.

When he had travelled half-way, he met a merchant whom he knew, and they put up at the same inn for the night. They had some tea together, and then went to bed in adjoining rooms.

It was not Aksionov's habit to sleep late, and, wishing to travel while it was still cool, he aroused his driver before dawn, and told him to put in the horses.

Then he made his way across to the landlord of the inn (who lived in a cottage at the back), paid his bill, and continued his journey.

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

New Yorker in Tondo

by: Marcelino Agana, Jr.

SCENE: The parlor of the Mendoza house in Tondo. Front door is at right. Curtained window is at left. Left side of stage is occupied by a rattan set –sofa and two chairs flanking a table. On the right side of the stage, a cabinet radio stands against a back wall. Open door-way in center, background, leads into the rest of the house.

MRS. M: (As she walks toward the door) –Visitors, always visitors. Nothing but visitors all day long. Naku, I’m beginning to feel like a society matron.
(She opens door. Tony steps in, carrying a bouquet. Tony is 26, dressed to kill, and is the suave type. Right now, however, he is feeling a trifle nervous. He starts slightly on seeing Mrs. Mendoza.)
MRS. M : Tony! I thought you were in the provinces.
TONY : (Startling) –But is that you, Aling Atang?
MRS. M : ( Laughing) --- Of course. It’s I, foolish boy. Who did you think it was
…Carmen Rosales?
TONY : You …you don’t look like Aling Atang.
MRS. M : (shyly touching her boyish bob) – I had my hair cut. Do I look
so horrible?
TONY : Oh, no, no … you look just wonderful, Aling Atang. For a moment I
thought you were your own daughter. I thought you were Kikay.
MRS. M : (Playfully slapping his cheek) --- Oh, you are as palikero as ever, Tony. But come in, come in. (She moves toward the furniture and Tony follows.) Here, sit down, Tony. How is your mother?
TONY : (As he sits down, still holding the bouquet) --- Oh, poor mother is terribly
homesick for Tondo, Aling Atang. She wants to come back here at once.
MRS. M : (Standing beside his chair, putting on an apron) – How long have you
been away?
TONY : Only three months

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

The Cask of Amontillado


by: Edgar Allan Poe


The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled --but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.

It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my in to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my to smile now was at the thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point --this Fortunato --although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; --I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.

It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening


by: Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.   
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.


(Even though he still wants to watch the woods fill up with snow, he has to go home because he still has promises to keep) 

  • Digg
  • Del.icio.us
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS