JULIET asks ROMEOto be calm and SHE HOPES that her love for ROMEO will grow larger when SHE meets him the next time
Explanation: the scene is said 129 this bud of love, by summer ripening breath
Answer:People are horrible at keeping secrets. As in, really, really bad at it (no matter what anyone may tell you to the contrary). And you know what? We’re right to be. Just like the two Rhesus Macaques in the picture above, we have an urge to spill the beans when we know we shouldn’t—and that urge is a remarkably healthy one. Resist it, and you may find yourself in worse shape than you’d bargained for. And the secreter the secret, the worse the backlash on your psyche will likely be.
I never much cared for Nathaniel Hawthorne. I first dreaded him when my older sister came home with a miserable face and a 100-pound version of The House of the Seven Gables. I felt my anxiety mount when she declared the same hefty tome unreadable and said she would rather fail the test than finish the slog. And I had a near panic attack when I, now in high school myself, was handed my own first copy of the dreaded Mr. H.
Now, I’ve never been one to judge books by size. I read War and Peace cover to cover long before Hawthorne crossed my path and finished A Tale of Two Cities (in that same high school classroom) in no time flat. But it was something about him that just didn’t sit right. With trepidation bordering on the kind of dread I’d only ever felt when staring down a snake that I had mistaken for a tree branch, I flipped open the cover.
Luckily for me, what I found sitting on my desk in tenth grade was not my sister’s old nemesis but The Scarlet Letter. And you know what? I survived. It’s not that the book became a favorite. It didn’t. And it’s not that I began to judge Hawthorne less harshly. After trying my hand at Seven Gables—I just couldn’t stay away, could I; I think it was forcibly foisted on all Massachusetts school children, since the house in question was only a short field trip away—I couldn’t. And it’s not that I changed my mind about the writing—actually, having reread parts now to write this column, I’m surprised that I managed to finish at all (sincere apologies to all Hawthorne fans). I didn’t.
But despite everything, The Scarlet Letter gets one thing so incredibly right that it almost—almost—makes up for everything it gets wrong: it’s not healthy to keep a secret.
I remember how struck I was when I finally understood the story behind the letter – and how shocked at the incredibly physical toll that keeping it secret took on the fair Reverend Dimmesdale. It seemed somehow almost too much. A secret couldn’t actually do that to someone, could it?
Explanation:
I'll show you how the sentences look like without conjunctions..
A. The director told him do not never stop acting.
B. The director told him never to stop acting.
C. The directing told him do not not ever stop acting.
D. The director told him not to never stop acting.
All are wrong except B. The director told him never to stop acting.
So B is your answer =)
is bad for your health and
I would choose option A for this very subjective question, as "handiness" would capture the suitability of form and ease of access. Which are features present in the construction of the birds nest, that represent its perfect convenience, along with beauty and contexture. And not only the form.
But taking the answer given, and assuming that the whole Montaigne piece focuses in the material aspects of nature´s creations, not the functional aspects, "Suitability of form" is the right answer, as it already relates to the next example of nature´s perfection: the spider web.
