December 26, 2024, 11:00:45 AM

1,531,368 Posts in 46,735 Topics by 1,523 Members
› View the most recent posts on the forum.


O shit

Started by demonprince, May 13, 2007, 10:00:42 AM

previous topic - next topic

0 Members and 2 Guests are viewing this topic.

Go Down

demonprince

I have to finish an Essay by tomorrow.  navi; its like 60% of my Final Exam grade.
Im like only on the introduction paragraph which somehow became 25 sentences 

Btw Im writing the Essay about "Media Violence"  navi; IMMAH GONNA BE JACK THOMPSON JR GUYZ

superclucky

I hope you fail.  caterpie;
kewns are smelly

demonprince

Quote from: SuperClucky on May 13, 2007, 10:07:28 AM
I hope you fail.  caterpie;
I think I already am.  caterpie;

superclucky

kewns are smelly

LCK

I've got to memorize 20 lines from Romeo and Juliet by tomorrow, then recite them in  front of the class. It's about 5% of my grade. I'm already failing anyway. motherbrain;

Essay, huh. If you've got the introduction paragraph, it shouldn't be that hard. Just use the simple 5 paragraph essay format.

Samus Aran

I have to do some memorization too, LCK, but not by tomorrow. I have to remember Hamlet's famous "to be or not to be" soliloquy.

I don't really have anything I have to do by tomorrow other than finish a Psychology packet.

LCK

Quote from: Kaz on May 13, 2007, 10:42:00 AM
I have to do some memorization too, LCK, but not by tomorrow. I have to remember Hamlet's famous "to be or not to be" soliloquy.

I don't really have anything I have to do by tomorrow other than finish a Psychology packet.
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

Samus Aran

Quote from: LCK on May 13, 2007, 10:46:30 AM
Quote from: Kaz on May 13, 2007, 10:42:00 AM
I have to do some memorization too, LCK, but not by tomorrow. I have to remember Hamlet's famous "to be or not to be" soliloquy.

I don't really have anything I have to do by tomorrow other than finish a Psychology packet.
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.


We only have to remember up to the bolded word. I know most of what we have to remember already.

LCK

Quote from: Kaz on May 13, 2007, 10:48:44 AM
Quote from: LCK on May 13, 2007, 10:46:30 AM
Quote from: Kaz on May 13, 2007, 10:42:00 AM
I have to do some memorization too, LCK, but not by tomorrow. I have to remember Hamlet's famous "to be or not to be" soliloquy.

I don't really have anything I have to do by tomorrow other than finish a Psychology packet.
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.


We only have to remember up to the bolded word. I know most of what we have to remember already.

"And too soon marr'd are those so early made
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart."

That's all I have memorized out of the 20 lines that I need memorized.
Capulet. roman;

Go Up