"Shut up," said Ralph absently. He lifted the conch. "Seems to me we ought to have a chief to decide things."
"A chief! A chief!"
"I ought to be chief," said Jack with simple arrogance, "because I'm chapter chorister and head boy. I can sing C sharp." (1.229-231)
The suffusion drained away from Jack's face. Ralph waved again for silence.
"Jack's in charge of the choir. They can be—what do you want them be?"
"Hunters."
Jack and Ralph smiled at each other with shy liking. The rest began to talk eagerly. (1.254-257)
“You're no good on a job like this.”
“All the same –”
“We don’t want you,” said Jack, flatly. “Three’s enough.” (1.274-276)
"A fire! Make a fire!"
At once half the boys were on their feet. Jack clamored among them, the conch forgotten.
"Come on! Follow me!"
The space under the palm trees was full of noise and movement. Ralph was on his feet too, shouting for quiet, but no one heard him. All at once the crowd swayed toward the island and was gone—following Jack. (2.120-123)
Jack's face swam near him.
"And you shut up! Who are you, anyway? Sitting there telling people what to do. You can't hunt, you can't sing—"
"I'm chief. I was chosen."
"Why should choosing make any difference? Just giving orders that don't make any sense—" (5.238-241)
“Who thinks Ralph oughtn’t to be chief?”
He looked expectantly at the boys ranged around, who had frozen. Under the palms there was deadly silence.
“Hands up?” said Jack strongly, “whoever wants Ralph not to be chief?”
The silence continued, breathless and heavy and full of shame. Slowly the red drained from Jack’s cheeks, then came back with a painful rush. He licked his lips and turned his head at an angle, so that his gaze avoided the embarrassment of linking with another’s eye.
“How many think –”
His voice trailed off. The hands that held the conch shook. He cleared his throat, and spoke loudly.
“All right then.”
He laid the conch with great care in the grass at his feet. The humiliating tears were running from the corner of each eye.
“I’m not going to play any longer. Not with you.” (8.67-75)
A prefix is an affix which is before the word, so "ir" is the prefix of irresponsible.
The topic of affection as resistance to authority is transformed and amplified within the lyric poetry of John Donne and Robert Herrick.
In work filled with a experience of the fragility and shortness of lifestyles, those poets contribute to an ethos that has end up acknowledged by way of the name carpe diem, a word made well-known by Horace,
“who in Ode, I. xi, tells his mistress that life is short, so they should ‘enjoy the day’, for they do not recognise if there can be a tomorrow”.1 Horace’s line
and all who've observed due to the fact that, to live now, and love now, due to the fact each second of scruple, doubt, and delay brings women and men in the direction of a demise this is non-negotiable and everlasting. In poetry, and in life, the idea of death becomes love’s greatest ally in its struggle in opposition to the demands of authority, conference, and regulation.
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Okay fyi.. i didnt use google translate.. soo..
