Cuneiform And Hieroglyphics Essay Example for Free

Cuneiform And Hieroglyphics Essay The invention of writing was an important part of the development of Sumer and Egypt. There are many similarities and differences to the writings of each of these civilizations. The Sumerians developed a writing called cuneiform. Cuneiform is the oldest written language in existence. Each picture represents a living or nonliving thing. Cuneiform was written on clay tablets with a wedge-shaped instrument called a stylus. Henry Creswicke Rawlinson was the first person to decipher the meanings of cuneiform. He did so in 1846. Cuneiform eventually spread throughout the region and was adopted by many other early civilizations. The Egyptians developed a writing that they named hieroglyphics. The word hieroglyphic means ?sacred inscriptions? because they were often written on the walls of temples. Hieroglyphics were created about 5000 years ago. There are not any vowels, only consonants. There is also no punctuation. In 1799, the Rosetta Stone was discovered. The Rosetta Stone was the secret to discovering the meanings of hieroglyphics. On the Rosetta Stone there were three sections of print, each saying the same thing but in different languages. At the top, the paragraph was written in hieroglyphics. Second, it was written in Demotic. Lastly the paragraph was written in Ancient Greek. By reading the ancient Greek word and names, the other paragraphs could be deciphered. Twenty-three years after it?s discovery, Jean-FranVois Champollion figured out what the hieroglyphics meant. Hieroglyphics are pictures that represent a letter. In both civilizations, mostly only scribes knew how to read and write. Being a scribe was a very honorable profession. People who were to become scribes went to school for many years starting at a young age. The profession of being a scribe was passed down through families; if a boy?s father was a scribe, he would become one also. Because children needed to be taught to read and write when they were to  become scribes, schools were created. Eventually, these schools became more than centers of just learning the art of reading and writing, but they also became centers of learning of botany, astronomy, medicine, and mathematics. People becoming more literate and more knowledgeable helped greatly in the development of the civilizations. Both writings, cuneiform and hieroglyphics, were invented to improve the record keeping of the civilization. By having a written language, Egypt and Sumer could kept records, draw up contracts and official documents, record laws and legal judgments, and record sales. As time went on, being able to write also enabled people to write down formulas, procedures, legends, prayers, and hymns. Even though there were many differences between cuneiform and hieroglyphics, there were many similarities. These similarities caused writing to be important in the growth of Sumer and Egypt.

The Crystal Palace Essay -- essays papers

The Crystal Palace During the 1800’s Great Britain’s empire stretched around the world, and with raw materials easily available to them this way, they inevitably began refining and manufacturing all stages of many new machines and other goods, distributing locally and globally. However, despite being the central ‘workshop of the world,’ Britain was not producing the highest quality of merchandise. When comparing factory-made products made in England to surrounding countries, most notably France, those products could not compare as far as craftsmanship and sometimes, simply innovation. It was suggested by Prince Albert that England host a sort of free-for-all technological exposition to bring in outside crafts into the country and also show their national pride. These planners supported free trade, thinking that if local business was exposed to foreign-made goods, they could incorporate those new ideas into their own goods, increasing their worth. Though originally intending to invite only neighboring countries to this exposition, the plan soon escalated to include the global environment. As organization and sponsorship was planned out, the matter of where to host such a large and ongoing event arose. Ideally, it was to take place in London, to sort of show off the best of the country and impress in-coming visitors. The problem was that London was already built up and filled in, and little open space remained for the needed time period. It was decided soon that a portio...

The Return: Nightfall Chapter 13

Much later that night, Elena couldn't sleep. She didn't want to be hemmed in inside the Tall Room, she said. Secretly, Stefan worried that she wanted to go outside and track the malach that had attacked the car. But he didn't think she was able to lie, now, and she kept bumping against the shut window, chiming to him that she just wanted air. Outside air. â€Å"We should put some clothes on you.† But Elena was bewildered – and stubborn.It's Night†¦. This is my Night Gown, she said.You didn't like my Day Gown. Then she bumped the window again. Her â€Å"Day Gown† had been his blue shirt, which, belted, made a sort of very short chemise on her, coming to the middle of her thighs. Right now what she wanted fit in with his own desires so completely that he felt†¦a bit guilty over the prospect. But he allowed himself to be persuaded. They drifted, hand in hand, Elena like a ghost or angel in her white nightgown, Stefan all in black, feeling himself almost disappear where the trees obscured the moonlight. Somehow they ended up in the Old Wood, where skeletons of trees mixed with the living branches. Stefan stretched his newly improved senses to the widest but could only find the normal inhabitants of the forest, slowly and hesitantly returning after being frightened off by Damon's lash of Power. Hedgehogs. Deer. Dog-foxes, and one poor vixen with twin kits, who hadn't been able to run because of her children. Birds. All the animals that helped to make the forest the wondrous place it was. Nothing that felt like malach or seemed as if it could do any harm. He began to wonder if Damon had simply invented the creature that influenced him. Damon was a tremendously convincing liar. He was telling the truth, Elena chimed.But either it's invisible or it's gone now. Because of you. Your Power. He looked at her and found her looking at him with a mixture of pride and another emotion that was easily identified – but startling to see out of doors. She tilted her face up, its classic lines pure and pale in the moonlight. Her cheeks were rose pink with blushing, and her lips were slightly pursed. Oh†¦hell, Stefan thought wildly. â€Å"After all you've been through,† he began, and made his first mistake. He took hold of her arms. There, some sort of synergy between his Power and hers started to bring them, in a very slow spiral, upward. And he could feel the warmth of her. The sweet softness of her body. She still was waiting, eyes closed, for her kiss. We can start all over again,she suggested hopefully. And that was true enough. He wanted to give back to her the feelings she had given to him in his room. He wanted to hold her hard; he wanted to kiss her until she trembled. He wanted to make her melt and swoon with it. He could do it, too. Not just because you learned a thing or two about women when you were a vampire, but because he knew Elena. They were really one at heart, one soul. Please?Elena chimed. But she was so young now, so vulnerable in her pure white nightgown, with her creamy skin flushing pink in anticipation. It couldn't be right to take advantage of someone like that. Elena opened her violet-blue eyes, silvered by the moonlight, and looked right at him. Do you want†¦She said it with sobriety in the mouth but mischief in her eyes†¦.to see how many times you can make me say please? God, no. But that sounded so grown-up that Stefan helplessly took her into his arms. He kissed the top of her silky head. He kissed downward from there, only avoiding the little rosebud mouth that was still puckered in lonely supplication.I love you. I love you. He found that he was almost crushing her ribs and tried to let go, but Elena held on as tightly as she could, holding his arms to her. Do you want – the chime was the same, innocent and ingenuous – to see how many times I can make yousay please? Stefan stared at her for a moment. Then, with a sort of wildness in his heart, he fell on the little rosebud mouth and kissed it breathless, kissed it until he himself was so dizzy that he had to let her go, just an inch or two. Then he looked into her eyes again. A person could lose themselves in eyes like that, could fall forever into their starry violet depths. He wanted to. But more than that, he wanted something else. â€Å"I want to kiss you,† he whispered, right at the portal of her right ear, nipping it. Yes.She was definite about that. â€Å"Until you faint in my arms.† He felt the shiver go through her body. He saw the violet eyes go misty, half closing. But to his surprise he got back an immediate, if slightly breathless, â€Å"Yes,† from Elena out loud. And so he did. Just short of swooning, with little shivers going through her, and little cries that he tried to stop with his own mouth, he kissed her. And then, because it was Time, and because the shivers were starting to have a painful edge to them, and Elena's breath was coming so quick and hard when he let her breathe that he really was afraid that she might pass out, he solemnly used his own fingernail to open a vein in his neck for her. And Elena, who once had been only human, and would have been horrified by the idea of drinking another person's blood, clasped herself to him with a small choked sound of joy. And then he could feel her mouth warm, warm against the flesh of his neck, and he felt her shudder hard, and he felt the heady sensation of having his blood drawn out by the one he loved. He wanted to pour his entire being out in front of Elena, to give her everything that he was, or ever would be. And he knew that this was the way she had felt, letting him drink her blood. That was the sacred bond they shared. It made him feel that they had been lovers since the beginning of the universe, since the very first dawning of the very first star out of the darkness. It was something very primitive, and very deeply ingrained in him. When he first felt the flow of blood into her mouth, he had to stifle a cry against her hair. And then he was whispering to her, fierce, involuntary things about how he loved her and how they could never be parted, and endearments and absurdities wrenched from him in a dozen different languages. And then there were no more words, only feelings. And so they slowly spiraled up in the moonlight, the white nightgown sometimes wrapping itself around his black-clad legs, until they reached the top of the trees, living and standing but dead. It was a very solemn, very private ceremony of their own, and they were far too lost in joy to look out for any danger. But Stefan had already checked for that, and he knew that Elena had, too. There was no danger; there was only the two of them, drifting and bobbing with the moon shining down like a benediction. One of the most useful things Damon had learned lately – more useful than flying, although that had been something of a kick – was to shield his presence absolutely. He had to drop all his barriers, of course. They would show up even in a casual scan. But that didn't matter, because if no one could see him, no one could find him. And therefore he was safe. Q.E.D. But tonight, after walking out of the boardinghouse, he had gone out to the Old Wood to find himself a tree to sulk in. It wasn't that he minded what human trash thought of him, he thought venomously. It would be like worrying what a chicken thought of him just before he wrung its neck. And, of all things he caredleast about, his brother's opinion was number one. But Elena had been there. And even if she had understood – had made efforts to get the others to understand – it was just too humiliating, being thrown out in front of her. And so he had retired, he thought bitterly, into the only retreat he could call home. Although that was a little ridiculous, since he could have spent the night in Fell's Church's best hotel (its only hotel) or with any number of sweet young girls who might invite a weary traveler in for a drink†¦of water. A wave of Power to put the parents to sleep, and he could have had shelter, as well as a warm and willing snack, until morning. But he was in a vicious mood, and he just wanted to be alone. He was a little afraid to hunt. He wouldn't be able to control himself with a panicked animal in his present state of mind. All he could think of was ripping and tearing and making somebody very, very unhappy. The animals were coming back, though, he noticed, careful to use only ordinary senses and nothing that would betray his presence. The night of horror was over for them, and they tended to have very short memories. Then, just as he had been reclining on a branch, wishing that Mutt, at least, had sustained some sort of painful and lasting injury,they had appeared. Out of nowhere, seemingly. Stefan and Elena, hand in hand, floating like a pair of happy wingd Shakespearean lovers, as if the forest wastheir home. He hadn't been able to believe it at first. And then, just as he was about to call down thunder and sarcasm on them, they had started their love scene. Right in front of his eyes. Even floating up to his level, as if to rub it in. They'd begun kissing and caressing and†¦more. They'd made an unwilling voyeur out of him, although he'd become more angry and less unwilling as time passed and their caresses had become more passionate. He'd had to grind his teeth, when Stefan had offered Elena his blood. Had wanted to scream that there had been a time when this girl had been his for the taking, when he could have drained her dry and she would have died happily in his arms, when she had obeyed the sound of his voice instinctively and the taste of his blood would make her reach heaven in his arms. As she obviously was in Stefan's. That had been the worst. He'd had to dig his nails into his palms when Elena had wrapped herself around Stefan like a long, graceful snake and had fastened her mouth against his neck, as Stefan's face had tipped toward the sky, with his eyes shut. For the love of all the demons in hell, why couldn't they just get done with it? Thatwas when he noticed that he wasn't alone in his well-chosen, commodious tree. There was someone else there, sitting calmly right beside him on the big branch. They must have appeared while he was engrossed in the love scene and his own fury, but still, that made them very, very good. No one had snuck up on him like that in over two centuries. Three, perhaps. The shock of it had sent him tumbling off the branch – without turning on his vampire ability to float. A long lean arm reached out to catch him, to haul him to safety, and Damon found himself gazing into a pair of laughing golden eyes. Who thehellare you? he sent. He didn't worry about it being picked up by the lovers in the moonlight. Nothing short of a dragon or an atomic bomb would catch their attention now. I'm the hell Shinichi,the other boy replied. His hair was the strangest Damon had seen in a while. It was smooth and shiny and black everywhere except for a fringe of uneven dark red at the tips. The bangs he tossed carelessly out of his eyes ended in crimson and so did the little wisps all round his collar – for he wore it slightly long. It looked as if tongues of dancing, flaring flame were licking at the ends of it, and gave singular emphasis to his answer:I'm the hell Shinichi. If anyone could pass as a devil come up straight from Hell, this boy could. On the other hand, his eyes were the pure golden eyes of an angel.Most people just call me Shinichi alone , he added soberly to Damon, letting those eyes crinkle a little to show that it was a joke.Now you know my name. Who are you? Damon simply looked at him in silence.

A Reading Of Myself By Walt Whitman - 849 Words

A reading of â€Å"Song of Myself† â€Å"Song of myself† is one of Walt Whitman’s excellent poetry of the Leaves of Grass. Referring to the word â€Å"myself† from title, it is presumable that the poem is talking about Whitman himself. Moreover, in this poem, he uses several times the word â€Å"you†. To some extents, â€Å"you† can be referred to his beloved readers. This poem is like a conversation between the speaker and the readers. He tells the readers about his passion to the world and asks us to find him. In addition, to other degrees, â€Å"you† also can be regarded as American people. In the poem, he addresses his passion to his nation, to American people. He wants them to read his poem and it will bring them benefits. Overall, this is a poem to praise Whitman himself, to set free his human passion and to address his beloved readers. In the first stanza, Whitman tells us that he sees a hawk â€Å"accuses† and â€Å"com plains† him. His response is to feel immensely humbled as he sees elements of himself in the hawk. In particular, the comparison between himself and the hawk is based on the elemental power within it and the fact that his voice is untranslatable and described as a barbaric yawp†, which leaves us with an echo in the air. He uses similes to make himself be a hawk, to show his confidence and unruly voice. He is under no restraint whatever. Then, he started to say goodbye. The day seems to wait for him to get ready to move on and it leadsShow MoreRelatedEssay about Walt Whitman as a Voice for the People1185 Words   |  5 PagesWalt Whitman as a Voice for the People The proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as much as he absorbs his country. This brilliant quote from Walt Whitman thus ends his preface to Leaves of Grass, and thereafter begins the poem Song of Myself. To many, upon their first reading, this was a crude, shocking and distasteful piece of work. but to me...this was a celebration of life. And not just a celebration of his own life, but of every life, of the American life. WaltRead MoreSong of Myself by Walt Whitmas Essay1045 Words   |  5 Pagesbecome one with it. By all means, these few can be called ‘idle city men’ or, according to Charles Baudelaire’s 1863 essay â€Å"The Painter of Modern Life†, they are flà ¢neurs. I believe a worthy example of a man such as this, is the persona in Walt Whitman’s â€Å"Song of Myself†. He is a flà ¢neur in all ways but one. In â€Å"The Painter of Modern Life†, Baudelaire gives a very extensive and profound description of what aspects one needs in order be considered or labeled a flà ¢neur. For example, he explains how theRead MoreWalt Whitman s Life That Changed The Way Of Life1690 Words   |  7 Pages Corey Haldiman Goulette Research Paper Walt Whitman Walt used creativity, personal experiences and different ideas in his writing. He moved various times through his childhood, and that may have moved his personality to become slightly neurotic. He has done a lot of things in his life that has changed the way that future poets will write. Walt Whitman entered this world on May thirty-first, eighteen-nineteen in West Hills, New York. He was the second son among nine other children inRead More walt whitman Essay1383 Words   |  6 Pages nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Walt Whitman nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp; nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;Walt Whitman was a follower of the two Transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. He believed in Emerson and Thoreau’s Trascendentalist beliefs. Whitman believed that individualism stems from listening to one’s inner voice and that one’s life is guided by one’s intuition. The Transcendentalist centered on the divinity of each individual; but this divinity could be self-discoveredRead MoreThe Song Of Myself By Walt Whitman And Howl1353 Words   |  6 PagesBoth â€Å"Song of Myself† by Walt Whitman and â€Å"Howl† by Allen Ginsberg are important pieces of American poetry. â€Å"Song of Myself† was written in the 1850’s and â€Å"Howl† was written about a century later. Both poets were part of groups that wanted to change America – the Transcendentalists and the Beats. Transcendentalists believed in the goodness of people and nature. They believe that people are at their best when they are truly independent. The Beats rejected standard values and materialism. They experimentedRead MoreLeaves of Grass by Walt Whitman Essay1248 Words   |  5 PagesLeaves of Grass by Walt Whitman In the twentieth century, the name Walt Whitman has been synonymous with poetry. Whitmans most celebrated work, Leaves of Grass, was the only book he ever wrote, and he took a lifetime to write it. A large assortment of poems, it is one of the most widely criticized works in literature, and one of the most loved works as well. Whitman was unmarried and childless, and it has been noted that Leaves of Grass consumed him greatly; James E. Miller Jr. writes: #8230;heRead More References to Homosexuality in Walt Whitmans Song of Myself1210 Words   |  5 PagesReferences to Homosexuality in Walt Whitmans Song of Myself WHITMAN WAS MORE MAN THAN YOULL EVER BE, said a student of Louisiana State University. When asked questions of your sexual preference or thoughts on the issue of sex, I would venture to say it makes most people uncomfortable. This is an age-old topic that people know about, yet do not want to talk about. He was particularly reticent about his issues regarding sex and his particular sexual preference. In fact, of WhitmansRead MoreSong Of Myself By Walt Whitman1795 Words   |  8 Pagesduring sex and eating. In his gutsy poem to America, Song of Myself, Walt Whitman uses repetition to make music that will bring pleasure to his readers and also shape how they perceive the world. Whitman begins his poem by boldly stating that he celebrates himself. Like the chorus to a song he repeats the word â€Å"I† throughout the entirety of the poem. The meaning of the word transitions from â€Å"I† being Whitman himself, to the people reading his book, and then ending with the reader realizing that â€Å"I†Read MoreEzra Pound, Whitman, And Crudity1081 Words   |  5 Pages Pound, Whitman, and Crudity Walt Whitman was born in 1819 in Long Island but moved to live in New Jersey where he spent most of his life. He was known as an American poet and journalist. He expressed himself in poetry by describing his life and American lives as a poem. His first published poem was Leaves of Grass in 1855, which later became known as Song of Myself. Ezra Pound was born in 1885 and died in Venice Italy, 1972. He was an American poet that criticized other poems and worked with otherRead MoreUnity Of The American Culture Essay2018 Words   |  9 Pagesfound in coming together. American Poet, Walt Whitman captures the strength in the unity of the American people. Through Walt Whitman’s â€Å"Song of Myself,† he demonstrates the value of unity in the American culture. He celebrates the individuals who make up the United States, whether they are the common worker or the very rich. †Song of Myself† invites readers to see the hope and praise he had for all people in the Ameri can Culture. Walt Whitman’s â€Å"Song of Myself† shows the unity of people found in the