Racism

Racism was once the spark of a riot which killed hundreds of innocent people in Singapore some years back. I hope that people would not repeat that mistake. Although they may look different, behave differently and have different beliefs, but tolerance must be exercised to prevent another large scale riot.

I read in the newspaper about an incident when a Malay passenger(the article was written by the passenger) asked a taxi-driver about a robber. The taxi driver then replied, " Must have been a Malay or Indian." The Malay passenger, although offended, decided to let the matter rest. Tolerance is very important. In another case, if you really cannot tolerate the other race, it would be good to keep your commments to yourself.

In a case study, participants watched video clips showing faces of Chinese and Caucasian models with neutral expressions receiving either a painful (needle penetration) or non-painful (Q-tip touch) stimulation on the cheek. The participants were then asked to rate the amount of pain the model felt, as well as their own level of discomfort while watching the jabs. Race had no effect on the survey responses by either Chinese or Caucasian observers. But the same was not true in their brains.While participants watched the videos, researchers used functional MRI to scan what was going on inside their heads. The scans revealed increased activation in the brain regions that mediate the empathic neural response. But when the painful simulations were applied to subjects who shared a race with observers, the neural responses increased significantly more than when the ones being stuck with needles were of the other racial group. This proves that racism still exist but people have learnt to keep it to themselves.

Should the 5Cs be the benchmark of success in Singapore? Why or why not?

1. 
   
   

Cash, car, credit card, condominium, country club. These are the Cs that revolve around the life of an average Singaporean. When they get all the 5Cs, they are viewed as a very successful person. Being rich, a person should donate some of his money to the less fortunate. An example of someone who generously donates his money to charity is tycoon Mr Tan Kah Kee(although only C1, cash, existed at that time). He earns a lot of money, but he uses less than half of his wealth on himself and his family. Even when he died, he left all his money to build and maintain schools and did not even leave a single cent for his family. However, philanthropist like him are rare this days.

Thus, I think that the 5Cs are not the only benchmark of success. Being able to contribute to our society is also successful.People should learn from Mr Tan Kah Kee. As the chinese saying goes:" When you help people, you will feel happy." (sorry its not a very good translation). When people do good deeds, they get to experience the real meaning of life, in contrast with someone who never does good deeds and stingily keeps all the money for themselves. He may feel delighted over his wealth, but that joy is only temporary. This miser does not feel the meaning of life. However, one does not need to be rich to do his part. For example, there are many old folks homes in Singapore and those old people area abandoned by their heartless children. It would be very delightful for the elderly folk just to have someone entertaining them, such as performing magic tricks, which happens to be my sabbatical. During the sabbatical, we performed two times.The first performance was at the child care centre near the poolside cafe. The second time was at a kindergarden. Both times, we were greeted with innocent smiles and delightful screams as we approached the climax from each act. It felt very satisfying. The elder folk would be so happy to have someone entertaining them. Hence, willingness to contribute to the underprivileged or the elderly can also be counted as success.

I also think that having a happy and united family can also be counted as success. Nowadays, loving couples might have a big quarrell over something(example money) and break up overnight. On newspapers, arguments leading to divorce are rife and occasionally you even see family members killing each other. Luckily, my family is very happy and united. Couples will occasionally quarrell, otherwise one big, severe argument will break out. Hence, having a happy family is also success.

Lotteries

Lotteries can be bought at only a dollar or two, but many people buy a lot of tickets, or buy them everyday, thus wasting their hard-earned money. Most of the poor people in Singapore might be well-off once. They might have spent all their money on lotteries, thus leading them to their bankruptcy. My parents also buy some tickets, but they only buy a few and once a month. The keyword here is self-control, my parents told me. People who rely on lotteries to live will never get rich. There are also poor people who buy the lottery in the hope of winning the jackpot, so that they can escape they hopeless situation. However, this will only worsen their current situation. There are only a few people who will win the jackpot and there is a high chance it will not be them. They should just look for a job and not spend their money on lotteries. The money can then be saved. In conclusion, I condemn lotteries because it will ruin people’s life.

Poem analysis

The Son is in Secondary School by Affran Sa’at

My badge has a Latin motto
Hope for the future
The future is hope
Or something

At times black crows try to interrupt
When we sing the National Anthem

It is difficult to maintain
The whiteness of my shoes
Especially on Wednesdays

I must admit there is something quite special
About the bare thighs of hardworking scouts

The Malay chauffeurs
Who wait for my schoolmates
Sit on the car park kerb
Telling jokes to one another

Seven to the power of five is unreasonable

On Chinese New Year
Mrs Lee dressed up
In a sarong kebaya
And sang Bengawan Solo

The capital of Singapore is Singapore

My best friend did a heroic thing once
Shaded all A’s
For his Chinese Language
Multiple-choice paper

In our annual yearbook
There is a photograph of me

Pushing a wheelchair and smiling
They caught me
At the exact moment

When my eyes were actually closed

Ans:(Pushing a wheelchair and smiling)The author has finally gotten out of his wheelchair and he is feeling happy.
However, in the beginning, the poet feels that his future has no hope(the future is hope.or something).People prevent him from doing what he is proud of(black crows try to interrupt).But his shoes will get dirty meaning that he participates actively in sports(It is difficult to maintain
the whiteness of my shoes).He thinks that the scouts are special because they can move freely about(something quite special
About the bare thighs of hardworking scouts).He also wants to drive a car and tell jokes and be happy( Malay chauffeurs...Telling jokes to one another).He wants to change but he knows that he must face up to reality(the capital of Singapore is Singapore). His friend who shades all A's for his Chinese Language Paper is counted as heroic because he thinks that he will never have the guts to do anything, or strength.
But I dunno about the "seven to the power of five is unreasonable"," Mrs lee dressed up ...sang Bengawan solo". Pls help!

The poet I have chosen is Omar Khayyam.He intrigued me because in my estate, there is an avenue called"Omar Khayyam Avenue". There are also poems composed by him in the park. Omar Khayyam is born in Neyshapur, Iran.
Poem:The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted -- "Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one Knows;
But still the Vine her ancient ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!" -- the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly -- and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life kep falling one by one.
Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hatim Tai cry Supper -- heed them not.
With me along the strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot --
And Peace is Mahmud on his Golden Throne!
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, -- and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness --
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!
Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin
The Thread of present Life away to win --
What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall
Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!
Look to the Rose that blows about us -- "Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes -- or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two -- is gone.
And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two and went his way.
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter -- the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean --
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-day of past Regrets and future Fears --
To-morrow? -- Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a Couch -- for whom?
Ah, make the most of what we may yet spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie;
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and -- sans End!
Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after some To-morrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries"Fools! Your Reward is neither Here nor There!"
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Works to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown forever dies.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about; but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd --
"I came like Water and like Wind I go."
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Master-Knot of Human Fate.
There was the Door to which I found no Key:
There was the Veil through which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was -- and then no more of Thee and Me.
Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
And -- "A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.
Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd --
"While you live,Drink! -- for, once dead, you never shall return."
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And merry-make, and the cold Lip I kiss'd,
How many Kisses might it take -- and give!
For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated TongueIt murmur'd --
"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"
And has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man's successive generations roll'd
Of such a clod of saturated Earth
Cast by the Maker into Human mould?
Ah, fill the Cup: -- what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday,
Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!
A Moment's Halt -- a momentary taste
Of Being from the Well amid the Waste --
And Lo! the phantom Caravan has reach'd
The Nothing it set out from -- Oh, make haste!
Oh, plagued no more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow's tangle to itself resign,
And lose your fingers in the tresses of
The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.
Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of This and That endeavor and dispute;
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit.
You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse
I made a Second Marriage in my house;
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas -- the Grape!
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The subtle Alchemest that in a Trice
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.
Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
Blaspheme the twisted tendril as Snare?
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
And if a Curse -- why, then, Who set it there?
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
The Quarrel of the Universe let be:
And, in some corner of the Hubbub couch'd,
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.
For in and out, above, about, below,'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.
The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd
Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd,
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep,
They told their fellows, and to Sleep return'd.
Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
Is't not a shame -- Is't not a shame for him
So long in this Clay suburb to abide?
But that is but a Tent wherein may rest
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash
Strikes, and prepares it for another guest.
I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that After-life to spell:
And after many days my Soul return'd
And said, "Behold, Myself am Heav'n and Hell."
Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerg'd from, shall so soon expire.
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyam and ruby vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to Thee -- take that, and do not shrink.
And fear not lest Existence closing your
Account, should lose, or know the type no more;
The Eternal Saki from the Bowl has pour'd
Millions of Bubbls like us, and will pour.
When You and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh but the long long while the World shall last,
Which of our Coming and Departure heeds
As much as Ocean of a pebble-cast.
'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left, as strikes the Player goes;
And he that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all -- He knows -- HE knows!
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
For let Philosopher and Doctor preach
Of what they will, and what they will not -- each
Is but one Link in an eternal Chain
That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach.
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to it for help -- for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare;
To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
I tell You this -- When, starting from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul.
The Vine has struck a fiber: which about
If clings my Being -- let the Dervish flout;
Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.
And this I know: whether the one True Light,
Kindle to Love, or Wrath -- consume me quite,
One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!
What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay'd --
Sue for a Debt we never did contract,
And cannot answer -- Oh the sorry trade!
Nay, but for terror of his wrathful Face,
I swear I will not call Injustice Grace;
Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but
Would kick so poor a Coward from the place.
Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou will not with Predestin'd Evil round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of ManIs blacken'd,
Man's Forgiveness give -- and take!
Listen again. One Evening at the Close
Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.
And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others not:
And suddenly one more impatient cried --
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"
Then said another -- "Surely not in vain
My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
Should stamp me back to common Earth again."
Another said -- "Why, ne'er a peevish Boy,
would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
Shall He that made the vessel in pure Love
And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy?"
None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots he marred in making -- Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by-and-by!"
So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
The Little Moon look'd in that all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
Now for the Porter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!"
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare
Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
As not a True Believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a Song.
Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
I swore -- but was I sober when I swore?
And then, and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honor -- well,I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse -- If dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd
To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!
Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits -- and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me -- in vain!
And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in your joyous errand reach the spot
Where I made one -- turn down an empty Glass!

All the World's a Stage by William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

How are the figurative language used in the poem? Give the specific word(s), explain what type of figurative language it is and why the poet chose to use this figurative language?
Ans:"Creeping like snail".It is a simile and the poet chose to use this figurative language because he is comparing the child to a snail which shows that the child is walking slowly due to reluctance at going to school.
Why you like this poem in no less than 100 words
Ans:Because it explains very clearly the seven stages of a man's life.In stage 1 he is an baby. In stage 2 he is a child and goes to school. He is reluctant to leave the protected environment of his home.In stage 3 he is always sad because of love. And thus he ttries to express his feelings through a ballad.In stage 4 he wants to gain attention even though it might burst like a bubble.He is also very hot-headed.In stage 5, he is very experienced.In stage 6 he begins to lose his physical and mental charm due to old age.His status also shrinks.In stage 7 he is almost like a child again.No(sans)teeth,no eyes, no taste,nothing. He is dependent on others before finally dying.

Harry Pooter and the Deathly Hallows-Book review

Questions:
Pretend you are one of the characters in the book. Write a diary about the happenings in your life for two consecutive days.
Dear diary,
Kreacher still has not returned. Then Lupin came and told us that everyone was safe.He also told us that their reason for coming after me is that they want to question me about Dumbledore's death.Ridiculous!Then Lupin said that he wanted to come with us on the mission to protect us, but we need not tell him what the mission was.I considered accepting, but Hermione asked if there was anything wrong between Lupin and Tonks.Then Lupin said that Tonks is going to have a baby. I told him that my father would have wanted Lupin to stick with his own kid.He told me that his son would also become a werewolf like him.I told him that he shouldn't abandon his kid.Then I called him a coward and he pulled out his wand.The next moment, I was flying and hit the wall.Then he left.Suddenly, I heard a "crack".Kreacher was back-with Mundungus.I pointed my wand at him and asked if he took a locket.He said yes, but a women from the ministry took it.He told me she was short and looked a bit like a toad.
Diary two:
Dear diary,
Umbridge has got the locket.We are going to the Ministry to try and get it. We have been planning for weeks. Then Ron let slip that everyone from Magical Maintenance wears navy blue robes and Hermione started ranting at Ron that he should have told her earlier. I interrupted them and said,"We should do it tommorow." Those two looked shocked, but in the end I managed to convince them to do it tommorow. Then my scar hurt and I rushed to the bathroom. I succumbed to the pain and saw that Voldemort was still attempting to find out where Gregorovitch was. Then he murdered a woman and her whole family. Then I heard Ron and Hermione pounding against the door. I stood up to let them in but regretted it at once as Hermione started to give me a lesson on the importance of Occlumency and even asked me whether I liked the connection. I felt frustrated and told her whether she would like it. But luckily, Ron cut in and advised her to drop the matter. Then we went back to the kitchen and started to go through our plan until we could recite it perfectly.
Question:
Compare two of the characters in the book.
Albus Dumbledore and Aberforth Dumbledore.Albus was a very gifted wizard who prefered to settle arguments by reasoning, while Aberforth was less gifted and prefered to settle arguments by dueling.
Question:
What part would you change in the story, and why?
I would change the part where all the good people in the story die.This book's theme is that good will always triumph over evil. However, a lot of the good people who fought against the evil were killed. Thus, some people,especially children,might get the idea that if they resist the evil, they will get killed.
Question:
Tell about the most exciting part of the book.
The most exciting part of the book is when Voldemort is about to kill HArry.1st)If Harry died, all hopes to resist Voldemort will be extinguished, and while I am reading the book, I am hoping that someone will come to save him.2nd)Harry might suddenly attack Voldemort and Voldemort will die.