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.

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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) 

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The Last Leaf


by: O. Henry

In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!

So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."

At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.

That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."

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The Lady or the Tiger?

by: Frank R. Stockton

In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of distant Latin neighbors, were still large, florid, and untrammeled, as became the half of him which was barbaric. He was a man of exuberant fancy, and, withal, of an authority so irresistible that, at his will, he turned his varied fancies into facts. He was greatly given to self-communing, and, when he and himself agreed upon anything, the thing was done. When every member of his domestic and political systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his nature was bland and genial; but, whenever there was a little hitch, and some of his orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial still, for nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight and crush down uneven places.

     Among the borrowed notions by which his barbarism had become semified was that of the public arena, in which, by exhibitions of manly and beastly valor, the minds of his subjects were refined and cultured.

     But even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy asserted itself. The arena of the king was built, not to give the people an opportunity of hearing the rhapsodies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them to view the inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop the mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheater, with its encircling galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages, was an agent of poetic justice, in which crime was punished, or virtue rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial and incorruptible chance.

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My Last Duchess

Molly, Duchess Of Nona Maurice Howlett Little Novel Of Italy
by: Robert Browning

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
looking as if she were alive. I call
that piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf’s hands
worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said
“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read
strangers like you that pictured countenance,
the depth and passion of its earnest glance,
but to myself they turned (since none puts by
the curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
and seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
how such a glance came there; so, not the first
are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not
her husband’s presence only, called that spot
of joy into the Duchess’ cheek: perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say “Her mantle laps
over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint
must never hope to reproduce the faint
half-flush that dies along her throat”: such stuff
was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
for calling up that spot of joy. She had

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Meeting at Night

by: Robert Browning

The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.

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Sampaguita

by: Francis C. Macasantos

It would be nice to have a house
with a yard big enough to put a garden in.
In front of the house, of course, facing the sunrise.
I suppose they must have gardens and gardens of these
out there in the country, where they came from...
So early in the morning yet, yes?
Jeepload of them I hear.
Only, I never get to wake up that early.
It must be nice to have a job like that...
Just pick them at early dawn
and you've got room and board, yes?
It would be nice to put them under the pillow-cover
and let their sweet perfume put you to sleep.
But how would I know where they end up
before I get to sleep, somewhere?
The poor things... they gey wilted and dusty
at the end of the day. But my customers don't complain.
Mommy says to smile and offer up the garland
Until the fellow bends. Ha! Ha! Then you can see his scalp!
But you must gently shake your head if he dig for some coins.

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Mending Wall

by: Robert Frost

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.

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Letter to Pedro, U.S. Citizen, also called Pete

by: Rene Estrella Amper

Pete, old friend;
there isn't really much change
in our hometown since you left.

This morning I couldn't find anymore
the grave of Simeona, the cat we buried
at the foot of Miguel's Mango tree,
when we were in grade four,
after she was hit by a truck while crossing
the street. The bulldozer has messed it up
while making the feeder road into the mountains
to reach the hearts of the farmers.
The farmers come down every Sunday
to sell their agony and their sweat for
a few pesos, lose in the cockpit or get
drunk on the way home.

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Defying Gravity

I realized that I haven't really written anything yet regarding the ending of the past two relationships I had last year. The writing of this is necessary of course for when I become old and wrinkled, and my memories fail me, I can read this and have a good laugh. And weird though it may seem but I find myself grinning when I recall them now.

To begin with, the first one just disappeared. Oh yes, we were happy together one weekend but the week after that, he was nowhere to be found. (I think this was triggered when he accompanied me to a christening of Ann and Edwin's daughter at Springland and some of my team mates in SFC were there. Anyway, this is only guesswork since that was the last time we were together). We are friends now of course and I do know some of the happenings in his life but for the record, he has never yet explained to me the reason for his cold feet. Although I don't need one already, but a lot of my friends said that he chickened out on me and realized that he couldn't cope up with "my" standard. Why? Because according to them, I was way superior to him in all aspects - in the brain department, the status in life, and the wide social circle. Dixie said that it seemed to her as if I was a "dream" for him and that when he realized that he couldn't match up to his "dream", he became inferior and so disappeared. Some said that he couldn't get over his being a "striker" of my father and still somehow thinks that he is merely a servant.

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Wedding Dance

Written by Amador Daguio, I first read this during 3rd year college in our Short Story subject with Ma'am Linda Espinosa, then our Department Head. Since then, this has become my favorite short story by a Filipino writer.

Awiyao reached for the upper horizontal log which served as the edge of the headhigh threshold. Clinging to the log, he lifted himself with one bound that carried him across to the narrow door. He slid back the cover, stepped inside, then pushed the cover back in place. After some moments during which he seemed to wait, he talked to the listening darkness.

“I’m sorry this had to be done. I am really sorry. But neither of us can help it.”

The sound of the gangsas beat through the walls of the dark house like muffled roars of falling waters. The woman who had moved with a start when the sliding door opened had been hearing the gangsas for she did not know how long. There was a sudden rush of fire in her. She gave no sign that she heard Awiyao, but continued to sit unmoving in the darkness.

But Awiyao knew that she heard him and his heart pitied her. He crawled on all fours to the middle of the room; he knew exactly where the stove was. With bare fingers he stirred the covered smoldering embers, and blew into the stove. When the coals began to glow, Awiyao put pieces of pine on them, then full round logs as his arms. The room brightened.

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Top 5 Regrets of the Dying

By Bronnie Ware on November 30, 2011

For many years I worked in palliative care. My patients were those who had gone home to die. Some incredibly special times were shared. I was with them for the last three to twelve weeks of their lives.


People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality. I learnt never to underestimate someone's capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected, denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them.

When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

This was the most common regret of all. When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.

It is very important to try and honour at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.

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Word of God Speak

This says it all...


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Scarborough Fair


For years now, I have been so curious of the meaning of this song by Simon and Garfunkel that finally I did a research on the internet. It turned out, this was an old English Ballad that could date back to the 1600  and is similar to the Elfin Knight tale. So many versions have already been made to this tale that it is quite hard to know which is the original (if ever the original version could be traced).

Compared with the popular song we know today, I find this version, published in 1889, more beautiful because of the exchange of conversation between the two lovers with each one demanding some impossible task to be performed by the other. Although love for them is conditional and will greatly depend on the task being carried out, yet somehow the reader knows that the lovers will be able to perform them. And although both show hesitancy in giving their hearts to the other, yet the reader also knows that they are madly in love with each other but is just being coy and coquettish thus, making the dialogue graceful and witty.

As to Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme, I have always interpreted them as representing a season of the year and that the lovers, no matter when, will always love each other. However, upon research, it turned out that none of them matched my interpretation  and the one which I liked was that Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme are ingredients for a love potion and that the repetition is necessary in order for the concoction to be more stronger. The reader now then is given an image of a witch (a beautiful one I should say) in a hut chanting and dancing while mixing a potion in a big steaming cauldron.

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The Lorax


At the far end of town, where the Grickle-grass grows
and the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blows
and no birds ever sing excepting old crows...
is the Street of the Lifted Lorax.

And deep in the Grickle-grass, some people say,
if you look deep enough you can still see, today,
where the Lorax once stood, just as long as it could
before somebody lifted the Lorax away.

What WAS the Lorax? And why was it there?
And why was it lifted and taken somewhere
from the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows?
The old Once-ler still lives here.
Ask him. HE knows.

You wont see the Once-ler. Dont knock at his door.
He stays in his Lerkim on top of his store.
He lurks in his Lerkim, cold under the roof,
where he makes his own clothes
out of miff-muffered moof.

And on special dank midnights in August,
he peeks out of the shutters
and sometimes he speaks
and tells how the Lorax was lifted away.
He'll tell you, perhaps...
if you're willing to pay.

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Lessons in Life

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.

4. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

5. Pay off your credit cards every month.

6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.

7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.

8. It's okay to get angry with God. He can take it.

9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.

10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

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Dear Mr. God


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Courageous Surrender

          
          13 Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from         Jerusalem. 14 They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. 15 As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; 16 but they were kept from recognizing him.
          17 He asked them, “What are you discussing together as you walk along?” They stood still, their faces downcast. 18 One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, “Are you the only one visiting Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?”
          19 “What things?” he asked. “About Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. “He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. 20 The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; 21 but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place.22 In addition, some of our women amazed us. They went to the tomb early this morning23 but didn’t find his body. They came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive. 24 Then some of our companions went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see Jesus.”

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Ecclesiastes 3


There is a time for everything,
   and a season for every activity under the heavens:
 a time to be born and a time to die,
   a time to plant and a time to uproot,
 a time to kill and a time to heal,
   a time to tear down and a time to build,
 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
   a time to mourn and a time to dance,
 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
   a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
 a time to search and a time to give up,
   a time to keep and a time to throw away,
 a time to tear and a time to mend,
   a time to be silent and a time to speak,
 a time to love and a time to hate,
   a time for war and a time for peace.

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Psalm 23

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Word of God Speak



I'm finding myself at a loss for words  
And the funny thing is it's okay  
The last thing I need is to be heard 
But to hear what You would say
 
Word of God speak  
Would You pour down like rain  
Washing my eyes to see Your majesty
To be still and know  
That You're in this place 
Please let me stay and rest 
In Your holiness  
Word of God speak

I'm finding myself in the midst of You  
Beyond the music, beyond the noise 
All that I need is to be with You 
And in the quiet hear Your voice

Word of God speak  
Would You pour down like rain  
Washing my eyes to see Your majesty
To be still and know  
That You're in this place  
Please let me stay and rest 
In Your holiness  
Word of God speak

Word of God speak  
Would You pour down like rain  
Washing my eyes to see Your majesty
To be still and know  
That You're in this place  
Please let me stay and rest 
In Your holiness  
Word of God speak
 
I'm finding myself at a loss for words  
And the funny thing is it's okay

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Still Thoughts

                                                         October 16, 2005

To Lea,
       For meditation... and for guidance toward a more beautiful and fulfilling life.

                                                         Linda Cababa- Espinosa


Still Thoughts by Master Shih Cheng-Yen
        .....moments of meditation and inspiration. A positive guide for loving and appreciating our lives.

  1. The sunlight is bright; our parents' love is great, a gentleman's forbearance is strong, a person who lacks moral cultivation is arrogant.
  2. Say good words, have good thoughts, and do good deeds.
  3. To forgive others is to be good to oneself.
  4. Success is bringing into full play one's good points; failure is the accumulation of one's weak points.
  5. Do not underestimate yourself, because everyone has boundless potential.
  6. Palm facing down is to help people, palm facing up is to ask for help; helping brings happiness while begging brings pain.
  7. The more you do, the more you gain; the less you do, the more you lose.
  8. Be willing to do, be happy to bear.
  9. Always bear in mind the following virtues: understanding, forgiving, gratitude, contentment, and treasuring one's blessings.
  10. To do whatever should be done is wisdom; to do whatever should not be done is ignorance.
  11. If one has a bad temper and a foul mouth, then no matter how good one's heart is, one is still not considered a good person.
  12. Only when knowledge is truly contemplated and reflected upon can it become your true wisdom.
  13. Love is not asking from others, but is giving of oneself.
  14. Our greatest enemy is not others but more likely ourselves.
  15. Let us compete on who is more likely ourselves.

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Growing Up

Wrote this a month after I came home to Pagadian from college. There were many realizations, and this was one. This is specially dedicated to my true friends- May, Sha, Carol, Steph, Jenie, Nino and Vincent.

I have been staring at the wall for a couple of minutes now and I can't seem to find or decide on what to write. I feel so many emotions in my heart and I think about a lot of things to make me undecided on a certain topic.It seem queer to finally understand and realize that a friend of yours for years now is really very different from you. And I have made that realization with my true friends.

When we were still in High School, life seemed to be very smooth and worries were nothing at all. Our friendship was as strong as steel and whenever one cries, the others empathize. We didn't have arguments because we were of the same mind. There were no misunderstandings because each one perfectly understands the other. All have the same, if similar likes and dislikes.

But how wrong I was to think that! It takes years, distance, experience, and environment to make you realize that you are completely different from your friends, no matter how true and tested they are.

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Jewels of the Pauper

Was scanning my files from college and memories came flooding through me: stories, poems and notes that I wrote during the lecture or when I was studying  that specific subject. In order that they don't get lost and so as not to forget them, I decided that I will write them all here in a special label called Notes.

This one specifically was a rhetorical piece I recited in my 2nd year Public Speaking class. Of course, as I was a very good student, I delivered the piece wonderfully and got high grades. (By the way, this was my model when I wrote Mi Ciudad De Zamboanga.)

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Missing You

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.  I miss you like hell.  ~Edna St Vincent Millay

Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated.  ~Lamartine

All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee to me.
~William Shakespeare, "Sonnet XLIII"

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
~William Shakespeare, "Sonnet XCVII"

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My Heart Will Trust

This year, this song says it all. Guide me Jesus...

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