Is my team ploughing...?

by A. E. Housman (1859-1936)

'Is my team ploughing,
That I was used to drive
And hear the harness jingle
When I was man alive?'

Inspirational Messages

Why do we close our eyes when we sleep, when we cry, when we imagine, when we kiss? Because the most beautiful thing in the world is unseen. 

When you run so fast to get somewhere, you miss the fun of getting there. Life is not a race, so take it slower. Hear the music before the song is over.

Life is a mixture of sunshine and rain, teardrops and laughter, pleasure and pain. Just remember, there was never a cloud that the sun couldn't shine through.

Love begins with a smile, grows with a kiss, ends with a tear. 

When you born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling. Live your life so that when you die, you are the one smiling and everyone around you is crying. 

An Old Man

Guy de Maupassant

Monsieur Daron, an eighty-six-year-old-man, comes to live at the new spa in Rondelis. He believes himself to be in excellent health, as a result of "careful living." He has always had "an obsessive fear of death," and he avoids all pleasure because it may be dangerous.

In order to measure and monitor his own condition, M. Daron arranges for the doctor in charge of the springs to visit him once a week with information on the health of everyone else in the surrounding area who is over the age of eighty. When he hears that someone has died, he quickly identifies a cause that might have been avoided; the man who died of pleurisy should not have gone out in the cold, and the one who died of dysentery must have eaten the wrong food.

"The Story of An Hour"
Kate Chopin Bio

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.

It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.

Old Man at the Bridge

Ernest Hemingway, 1938

An old man with steel rimmed spectacles and very dusty clothes sat by the side of the road. There was a pontoon bridge across the river and carts, trucks, and men, women and children were crossing it. The mule-drawn carts staggered up the steep bank from the bridge with soldiers helping push against the spokes of the wheels. The trucks ground up and away heading out of it all and the peasants plodded along in the ankle deep dust. But the old man sat there without moving. He was too tired to go any farther.

It was my business to cross the bridge, explore the bridgehead beyond and find out to what point the enemy had advanced. I did this and returned over the bridge. There were not so many carts now and very few people on foot, but the old man was still there.

"Where do you come from?" I asked him.
"From San Carlos," he said, and smiled.

War

by Luigi Pirandello

همراه با ترجمه فارسی

The passengers who had left Rome by the night express had had to stop until dawn at the small station of Fabriano in order to continue their journey by the small old-fashioned local joining the main line with Sulmona.

At dawn, in a stuffy and smoky second-class carriage in which five people had already spent the night, a bulky woman in deep mourning was hosted in�almost like a shapeless bundle.  Behind her�puffing and moaning, followed her husband�a tiny man; thin and weakly, his face death-white, his eyes small and bright and looking shy and uneasy.

Having at last taken a seat he politely thanked the passengers who had helped his wife and who had made room for her; then he turned round to the woman trying to pull down the collar of her coat and politely inquired:

"Are you all right, dear?"

Death of a Salesman

by Arthur Miller

Plot summary

Willy Loman, a salesman based in New York City, returns home from a trip to Yonkers where his sons, Biff and Happy, and his wife, Linda, greet him. Biff, who had been working on a farm in Texas, talks to Happy about working outside, and how this house brings back bad memories, and boxes him in. Willy goes outside and flashes back to Biff's childhood: Biff is the star quarterback of his high school football team, and the Lomans' neighbor, Bernard, advises him to study math, but Biff and Happy ignore him and carry on playing football. Later on in the flashback, Willy goes inside, where Linda talks to him about their budget. Willy is reminded of an encounter he had with The Woman, during which he gave her some red silk stockings, with lettering along the sides that said "scarlet's dream", and when he returns from the flashback, he sees Linda mending some stockings and snatches them away in guilt. Later, he and Charley engage in a card game (casino), during which Willy is reminded of his brother Ben. Ben begins a dialogue with him, and Willy contemplates why he can't become successful. Throughout the play, Willy has these imaginary conversations with Ben, during most of which he asks Ben how he made his millions. Ben had tried to go to Alaska to find their father but ended up in Africa. In Africa, he "stumbled" upon the diamond business and became wealthy by the time Willy was old enough to care about his own career. Willy feels that he can also become successful by luck alone. However, it is made apparent that Ben never spent much time with the rest of the Lomans and gave only rudimentary descriptions of how he gained his wealth.

My Last Duchess

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said "Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart---how shall I say?---too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace---