Eleanor Roosevelt Essay -- biography biographies bio

I. Introduction William Jay Jacobs, the author of â€Å"Eleanor Roosevelt†, was born in 1933. He has written many biographies of people like Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill, ad Eleanor Roosevelt. Jacobs especially admired Eleanor Roosevelt. He described her as a â€Å"woman of courage† who was able to â€Å"turn her pain into strength†. Jacobs says that by this biography and others, he is able to â€Å"reach a very special audience: young people searching for role models, trying to understand themselves†. Jacobs has written many biographies of different people because he hopes that his young readers can draw inspiration from â€Å"the great reservoirs of recorded history† The element of â€Å"Eleanor Roosevelt† is biography. The author, William Jay Jacobs, used primary sources to write about another person’s life, making it a biography. Jacobs also used third-person point of view. He used words like â€Å"she† and â€Å"her† indicating that it was someone else who was telling the story. If Eleanor were writing it, then the story would have contained words like â€Å"I† and â€Å"me†. This would have shown that the story is an autobiography since Eleanor was writing about herself† The story also displays the element of biography when the author’s purpose of the story was to inform the reader about the true account of the subject’s life. The topic of this story is self-esteem and dignity. In the American Heritage Dictionary, self-esteem is described as â€Å"confidence, self-respect to oneself† and dignity is defined as â€Å"the quality or state of being worthy of esteem or respect†. To me, having self-esteem and dignity means to be proud of yourself and your abilities. This relates to â€Å"Eleanor Roosevelt† because Eleanor learned that when she became more proud and confi... ...n better told if it was Eleanor who was writing the story. She would have described her thoughts and feelings more accurately if she was the writer of the story. I would highly recommend this story to all middle-school age students. Eleanor Roosevelt is a good role model for all students to follow. From Eleanor, students can learn many things such as compassion, determination, and perseverance. Students can learn to work hard for their goals even if obstacles are in their way. Eleanor Roosevelt also teaches compassion when she worked hard at the war effort and said special words to each of the wounded soldiers. In this way, Eleanor brought comfort to the battle-hardened men. Students can also learn the most important theme throughout the story: â€Å"Even with all the pain ad misery in the world, you can turn then into strength and achieve your goals.

The Assassin – Creative Writing

He stood alone in the dilapidated old home. The shadows were gathered and the man in the moon was screaming in agony. His face was expressionless, with eyes as sharp as a spinning needle, His skin was pasty white. The television emitted a soft glow upon his face, highlighting his pupils. In his hand, was as blade, long and sharp, The very point was shimmering as he slid the cloth up and down the side of the machete-like knife, he pulled his slimy, greasy lips back over his yellow stained teeth and smiled. He sat in his armchair in front of the television and slid the knife into the holder around his waist. Then a loud ringing pierced the silence, He picked up the receiver and a shadowed, scratchy voice began to give him details; â€Å"11:45, Elm Street,† He carried on, â€Å"He's a â€Å"6'2†³ft dark haired guy; He will be wearing a suit and will be carrying a gun†. He was waiting for one last detail â€Å"à ¯Ã‚ ¿Ã‚ ½16,000†. Then he dropped the phone and looked at the clock, â€Å"10:55pm† He left for Elm Street. The night was cold; snow fell gently, giving the road a smooth, white blanket. The car engine purred as he sat waiting and watching. The victim was seen, the engine was stopped. He stepped out of the car and began to walk to where the victim's car was parked. Both men were headed to the parked car. The victim was a middle-aged man, shivering in the cold. When they both reached the car, the Assassin walked up to the victim from behind. There was a flash of steel, a blood boiling scream and a final splash of blood. Then there was silence. 6 Weeks later. Punchenello's hotel. It was old and beaten up. Most of the guests were drug addicts, drug dealers or prostitutes. On the top floor were two men; the first was Mr.Punchenello and the other was one of his men, Jack Finito, † He took out Louie, cut a great hole n his back.† â€Å"We gotta get this guy boss† Louie Punchenello was getting frustrated, â€Å"Ok, ok, ok! I know just the guy to pop him, leave it to me† Punchenello sounded confident that his man would take care of business. Back at the Assassins home, he was shining his blade when he received a letter that read. Dear Mr.Payne I know of your recent doings. 6 weeks ago you did a little job for someone, now I need you to do a job for me. Come to Punchenello's hotel tonight at eleven if your not there, we will come find you. We need your skills Max, 11'o clock. Yours Jack Finito The letter sounded fishy so Max would have to have a little more firepower, just in case. Max went to see a man called Alex Gigoni A.K.A â€Å"Ammo† he supplied Max with more than a knife. A colt commando, pump-action shotgun and a few Molotov Cocktails. The clock hit 10'o clock and Max was preparing his weapons, shining his blade. The time flew by and it was soon â€Å"10:35† and Max was on his way. The car engine died and he stepped out, In front of the hotel. He knocked firmly on the door and Jack Finito opened it â€Å"Come in Mr.Payne, your late†. The room was suddenly filled with men, all armed and pointing their guns towards Max. Reacting almost immediately Max dived out of the room while hurling a Molotov Cocktail into the room. The bottle hit the floor with a crack and a burst of flames flooded the room, it was like a bottle of fire had been opened. Max stood at the door of the blazing inferno, pulled out dual Berrettas waiting for men trying to get out of the smoke; there were no survivors. Max had been set a trap, but he hadn't taken the cheese, so he was going after the rat, Punchenello at the top floor of the hotel. The elevator obviously hadn't been used in years and there were at least 6 floors. He would have to climb the stairs without being spotted by more of Punchenello's men. Max flew up the stairs and standing there was Finito, Jack jumped out of skin, â€Å"MAX PAYNE! How the hell did you survive that?!?† â€Å"Lets just say an angel was watching over me† â€Å"Your Finito, Finito† and with that Max pulled the trigger on his handgun and blew Jack away. He carried on flying up the stairs still holding his guns firmly between his sweaty palm and fingers, he came to the penthouse door he could hear heavy breathing on the other side of the door. He smashed the door open and saw Punchinello on the phone. Punchinello jumped out of his seat and reached for his gun. â€Å"I wouldn't do that if I were you† Max said in a cocky voice. Punchinello smiled I think that tables have already turned Max. Max felt a guns barrel stick into the back of his head leading him into a chair in front of Punchenello's desk. Max saw him, he was 7ft tall and built like an Ox still pointing his gun straight as Max's forehead. â€Å"Hello Max† He said, Max hid his guns around his back waiting for his back to be turned. Punchenello began to speak to Max about how not to cross paths with serious men † We are dangerous Max, please don't think about making any more business around these parts. We own this town now and we wouldn't think twice about disposing of you†. The large man in front of him pulled the gun away from Max, and Max sighed a sigh of relief. Punchenello carried on talking, but Max wasn't listening he was figuring out how to kill both of them so quickly that no sound could be heard†¦ then Max remembered his blade†¦ with his knife in one hand and his handgun in the other. Max jumped out of his seat and drove the 8-inch knife deep into the hired Assassins back killing him instantly. Max rolled on the floor and jumped up, pumping Punchenello full of lead he could use his finger as a pencil. Someone must of heard the gunshots because the whaling of sirens could be heard in the distance.. Max jumped down the fire escape and ran into the night†¦ then he pulled his slimy, greasy lips over his stained yellow teeth and smiled. The Assassin – Creative Writing Engulfing his surroundings, as it crept out from the opening of his mouth, the smoke slowly drifted away from his lips. He leant back onto the damp wall, creating a haze of thick opaque smog and slowly tilted his head backwards in ecstasy. He gently exhaled into the cold bitter air of the night. Frequently he would be startled by the wail of police sirens, but they became increasingly fainter as they moved further and further away, the occasional barking of a dog and the rustling of leaves through the alleyway in which he was standing were the only other sounds that could be heard. The adrenaline surged throughout his body and he was left fidgeting in anxiety. The potent smell of marijuana was vivid in the depths of the alley where he gripped a neatly rolled and tightly packed cannabis joint; he inhaled deeply and was breathing with deep satisfaction. As the THC floated through his bloodstream and as the dopamine was released in his brain, he suddenly felt tranquilized and more relaxed. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his nerves and he swayed uneasily for a second, before shaking his head and regaining control. The darkness of the early morning was menacing; few stars glittered in the night sky and the subtle glow of the moon was partly concealed by the passing clouds, where black faded into hues of dark blues and deep, daunting violets. The gloom was still surrounding him and the frosty mist shrouded everything wanting to be seen. His shifty eyes watched in anticipation from the corner of an alley way for any kind of living being, while he clenched the revolver that was held in his right hand. The rubber soles of his sneakers were damp from the dew. From his still position, he could see the door of the apartment from the light of a street lamp. He was trying to remain hidden to maintain his stealth. The rest of the scenery was unfocused in his vision, as he stared at the door in expectancy. There was no one to be seen in the empty street. The only breathing creatures around were a few alleyway rats, shuffling around near the dustbins. The sight of marshy greens and soiled browns merged together to create the outlook of a risky situation. He became slightly excited as a midnight blue BMW M3 coupi was approaching from a distance; roaring from afar, before breaking quickly causing a loud screech leaving visible skid marks on the tarmac, the car slid to stop outside the apartment door where it knocked three dustbins over. He noticed the scratch on the driver's side door and the damaged bumper from the collision. Even though the thought of his mission was driving him; he knew it had to be done with care. He kept calm and composed still with the cannabis joint hanging from the tip of his lips. It began to drizzle with rain; he lifted up his hood and placed it over his head to conceal his face. He pushed away from the wall, concentrating on his assignment. He dropped the joint as all of the contents had burnt away and stamped it out. Desperately trying to make as little noise as possible, he stood up straight and prepared himself with not even a prayer in mind, for the sin he was about to commit. A tall middle-aged man emerged from the vehicle; the man looked well off with pinstriped trousers, a white shirt that became drenched instantly due to the precipitation, a colourful tie and a blazer that he slung over his shoulder. He slammed his car door in a manner which made it obvious he was agitated due to his collision with the dustbins. He sighed loudly with disappointment as he observed the damage to the bumper and the scratch. The rain turned from a light drizzle to a heavy shower, the victim walked a couple of paces through the large puddles towards the building. Little did this man know that he was being closely watched, were these the last breaths of his life? He paused at the door while he searched for his keys. As he established the pocket in which his keys were, before he had the chance to reach them, the loud sound of a gunshot echoed through the neighbourhood. A 9mm bullet penetrated through his head like a key in a lock, knocking him to the ground instantly. Within a second, his mind departed the scene of flesh, blood and bones. Tearing his soul away from him, like pulling cotton through a bush of thick thorns. The victim lay there, the most stupid of people would be able to realise that this man was dead. It was a disturbing sight but the assassin still stood in the same position in which he had fired the weapon, with no mercy or reconciliation. The assassin slowly brought the gun back down to his side. He tucked the weapon into the back of his jeans. The assassin withdrew a cigarette from his a box of twenty Silk Cut. He lit it and took a deep draw and exhaled in a way of relief. He poked his head out of the alleyway to check if anyone was in sight, yet nobody but a stray cat was there. The surroundings were still; the atmosphere was damp, depressing and dead. The corpse was lying frozen by the curb. In a cavalier fashion, he walked out of the back alley with his shoulders shrugged in chilliness; his head low in cautiousness, and took a sharp left into a side street towards his carbon black Mercedes SLR. Unexpectedly, the wailing of a distant police siren grabbed his attention. The sound grew louder and louder and it seemed to be coming closer. A single drop of sweat began to form above his brow. What if he had been seen? What if for the first time, he had blown his cover? At that moment, a white police car rapidly passed by as he stood in panic. He sighed in relief and continued towards his automobile, uncaringly rattling his keys in his hand. His firm, steady footsteps represented his attitude, hard, harsh and heartless. He entered his car; seated himself, wedged the key in the ignition, turned on the engine. He took one last look at the scene through his rear view mirror and drove away never to return.

Analysis Of Daron Acemoglu And James A. Robinson s Novel...

In Daron Acemoglu and James A. Robinson’s novel Why Nations Fail, they describe the two different types of institutions in which a government correlates, inclusive and extractive. Inclusive nations are exceedingly democratic and create legislation to benefit the majority, while extractive institutions are authoritative and limit the benefits to a small minority (84-89). A country’s political institution affects the accessibility to digital literature because of the improvement it enables. Digital literature provides an accessible form of education that allows for people to not only research, but it also makes it easier to come upon a sense of self-identity. Additionally, it sets a foundation for the use of new technology and provides room for change. An education, an enlightening encounter where one gains information they had not known prior to the experience, is ordinarily associated with receiving a degree from a university. However, during the modern era a breakthro ugh resource has been brought to life, one that allows for the massive consumption of wisdom without the consternation that comes with spending thousands of dollars, the World Wide Web. The popularization and practicality of the Internet has thus inevitably coined the present period the Information Age. Among the different elements of the Internet, digital literature, which consists of works that take advantage of the proficiencies a computer and other sources of digital media offer, continues to become more