Read GRE Literature in English (REA) Online
Authors: James S. Malek,Thomas C. Kennedy,Pauline Beard,Robert Liftig,Bernadette Brick
184.
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth;
whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul;
whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin
warehouses and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet;
and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of
me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me
from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically
knocking people's hats offâthen I account it high time
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The passage is completed with the words
Questions 185 â 186
refer to the following poem.
If the autumn would
End!! If the sweet season,
The late light in the tall trees would
End! If the fragrance, the odor of
Fallen apples, dust on the road,
Water somewhere near, the scent of
Water touching me; if this would end
I could endure the absence in the night,
The hands beyond the reach of hands, the name
Called out and never answered with my name:
The image seen but never seen with sight.
I could endure this all
If autumn ended and the cold light came.
185.
An underlying contrast is presented between
186.
The poet implies that
187.
I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
“Those breasts are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.”
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“Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,” I cried.
“My friends are gone, but that's a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart's pride.”
“A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.”
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The author indicates a belief in all of the following EXCEPT
Questions 188 â 189
refer to the following excerpts.
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188.
Which is a parody of Albert Camus?
189.
Which is a parody of Willa Cather?
By chance, blew up Perpigan Airport killing 3,000 people including my mother. It was a gloriously sunny day and if it hadn't been for the fact of stepping over the mutilated bodies the walk back to the boat would have been quite agreeable. I whistled to myself, thinking about the way I moved my tongue to vary the notes, and my benign disinterest stretched on to the limbless corpses that were strewn over the runway.
I took a pull from the bottle. The whiskey was good. It burned my mouth and felt good and warm going down my esophagus and into my stomach. From there it was digested, and went to my kidneys and my bladder and into my intestines, and was good.
I was just thinking around in my sad backyard, looking at those little drab careless starshaped clumps of crabgrass and beautiful chunks of some old bicycle crying out without words of the American Noon and half a newspaper with an ad about lotion for people with dry skins and dry souls,when my mother opened our frantic banging screen door and shouted, “Gogi Himmelman's here.”
I dropped off a Burlington train at Sweet Water one afternoon last fall to call on Marian Forrester. It was a lovely day. October stained the hills with quiet gold and russet, and scarlet as violent as the blood spilled not far away so many years ago along the banks of the Little Big Horn.
The room was hot. Glancing round, Guy sensed that all eight of his companions were strangers to each other as well as to himself. Why had he, and they, come? What was his Lordship's motive in inviting this heterogeneous assembly to Motley Hall today?
190.
In which of the following excerpts is the “I” Thomas Hardy's Jude?
I have heard that in violent fevers, men, all ignorance, have talked in ancient tongues; and that when the mystery is probed, it turns out always that in their wholly forgotten childhood those ancient tongues had been really spoken in their hearing by some lofty scholars.
I mean from henceforth to lead a life of extreme seclusion; you must not be surprised, nor must you doubt my friendship, if my door is closed to you. You must suffer me to go my own dark way. I have brought on myself a punishment and a danger that I cannot name.
I am to blameâmore than you think. I was quite aware that you did not suspect till within the last meeting or two what I was feeling about you. I admit that our meeting as strangers prevented a sense of relationship, and that it was a sort of subterfuge to avail I myself of you. But don't you think I deserve a little consideration for concealing my wrong, very wrong, sentiments, since I couldn't help having them?
I am a stranger, and have been a wanderer, sorely against my will. I have met with grievous mishaps by sea and land, and have been long held in bonds among the heathen-folk.
At first I'd a sor o' feeling come across me now and then, as if you might be changed into the gold again; for some times, turn my head which way I would, I seemed to see the gold, and I thought I should be glad if I could feel it.
191.
Stick your patent name on a signboard
brotherâall overâgoing westâyoung man
TintexâJapalacâCertain-teed Overalls ads
and land sakes! under the new playbill ripped
in the guaranteed cornerâsee Bert Williams what?
Minstrels when you steal a chicken just
save me the wing, for if it isn't
Erie it ain't for miles around a
Mazdaâand the telegraphic night coming on Thomas
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The language of this poem is an example of
Questions 192 â 193
refer to the following passage.
Had (he) written his own life, in conformity with the opinion which he has given, that every man's life may be best written by himself; had he employed in the preservation of his own history, that clearness of narration and elegance of language in which he has embalmed so many eminent persons, the world would probably have had the most perfect example of biography that was ever exhibited.
192.
Consistent with the author's established attitude toward his subject, it is most likely that he will attribute the subject's failure to write an autobiography to
193.
The author of this passage is referring to
Questions 194 â 195
refer to the following excerpt.
Meanwhile the South, rising with dabbled wings,
A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings,
That swilled more liquor than it could contain,
And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.
194.
The governing device in this excerpt is
195.
This excerpt most closely resembles a famous passage in
Questions 196 â 197
refer to the following passage.
Now she was absolutely alone. Her father had long been dead, and his armchair lay in the attic, covered with dust and lame of one leg. She got thinner and plainer, and when people met her in the street they did not look at her as they used to, and did not smile to her; evidently her best years were over and left behind, and now a new sort of life had begun for her, which did not bear thinking about. In the evening Olenka sat in the porch, and heard the band playing and the fireworks popping in the Tivoli, but now the sound stirred no response. She looked into her yard without interest, thought of nothing, wished for nothing, and afterwards, when night came on she went to bed and dreamed of her empty yard. She ate and drank as it were unwillingly.
And what was worst of all, she had no opinons of any sort. She saw the objects about her and understood what she saw, but could not form any opinion about them, and did not know what to talk about. And how awful it is not to have any opinions! One sees a bottle, for instance, or the rain, or a peasant driving in his cart, but what the bottle is for, or the rain, or the peasant, and what is the meaning of it, one can't say, and could not even for a thousand roubles. When she had Kukin, or Pustovalov, or the veterinary surgeon, Olenka could explain everything, and give her opinion about anything you like, but now there was the same emptiness in her brain and in her heart as there was in her yard outside. And it was as harsh and as bitter as wormwood in the mouth.
196.
What is the author's attitude toward Olenka?
197.
What does Chekhov imply about opinions?
Questions 198 â 199
refer to the following passage.
For, while he fascinated many, there were not a few who distrusted him. He was very nearly blackballed at a West End club of which his birth and social position fully entitled him to become a member, and it was said that on one occasion, when he was brought by a friend into the smoking-room of the Churchill, the Duke of Berwick and another gentleman got up in a market manner and went out. Curious stories became current about him after he had passed his twenty-fifth year. It was rumoured that he had been seen brawling with foreign sailors in a low den in the distant parts of Whitechapel, and that he consorted with thieves and coiners and knew the mysteries of their trade. His extraordinary absences became notorious, and, when he used to reappear again in society, men would whisper to each other in corners, or pass him with a sneer, or look at him with cold searching eyes, as though they were determined to discover his secret.
198.
The individual described above is being criticized by his contemporaries for
199.
In its fascination with “secret lives,” the author of this passage is reflecting