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Cell Respiration Introduction This guide is an introduction to the processes underlying cellular metabolism and respiration. Metabolism is the process by which living organisms acquire energy from external sources and utilize it internally in order to carry out necessary cellular activities. Respiration is a means of acquiring energy through biol ogical degradation of food molecules. In reviewing these processes, we will learn how eukaryotic animals convert ingested food into energy they can use to function. We will also learn about the essential role of molecular oxygen in the respiratory and metabolic processes. These concepts provide an understanding of how and why food and oxygen are such critical resources to most living organisms. In this introduction to the topic, we will introduce some of the key concepts in the study of cellular metabolism and respiration. 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Citric acid cycle - Also known as the Krebs Cycle; a metabolic pathway found in aerobic organisms that oxidizes acetyl coA groups to carbon dioxide and water. Coenzyme - A molecule that participates in an enzyme-catalyzed reaction and functions to transfer atoms or electrons between itself and various molecules. Elimination reaction - A reaction that involves the ejection of a specific group from a molecule, often resulting in the formation of a carbon-carbon double bond. Glycolysis - A metabolic pathway occurring in the cell *cytosol that during a series of reactions converts glucose to pyruvate and synthesizes ATP**. Isomerization - A reaction that does not change the atomic make-up of a molecule, but rather changes its geometric conformation, yielding a slightly different molecule. Lipid - An organic molecule that is insoluble in water. A main component of cell membranes. Metabolism - All the reactions occurring in an organism that participate in the acquisition or conversion of energy for use in the organism. www.forum.ysapak.com www.forum.ysapak.com Nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide - A coenzyme that participates in oxidation and reduction reactions. An important electron carrier in oxidative phosphorylation. Oxidation - A reaction that involves the overall loss of electrons from a specific m olecule or atom. Can occur with the addition of an oxygen or by the removal of a hydrogen. Oxidative phosphorylation - A process occurring in the mitochondria that results in the formation of ATP from the flow of electrons to oxygen. Photosynthesis - A process in which plants convert sunlight into energy sources that can be used inside the cell to sustain life. Phototroph - Organisms that obtain energy from sun light through photosynthesis. Protein - An essential molecule found in all cells. Composed of amino acid subunits. Reduction - A reaction that results in the overall gain of electrons to a specific molecule or atom. Can occur with the addition of a hydrogen atom or by the removal of an oxygen atom. Respiration - A process that occurs in cells in which cells breakdown food molecules to yield ATP. Can be either aerobic or anaerobic. Cellular Energy Sources The goal of cellular respiration and metabolism in animals and plants is, ultimately, the conversion of one type of energy source to another. Presumably, the original energy source comes in a form that cannot be immediately used to support cellular activities. For humans, our external energy sources are the foods we eat. Once we ingest and digest the food, our cells metabolic processes convert the energy contained within the food into a form of energy that can function in our cells. These constant conversions are what allow us to perform our day-to-day activities. Since energy is the ultimate goal of metabolism, it will be helpful to understand what these various external and internal energy sources really are. As we have mentioned, food is the external energy source for humans. Different foods are composed primarily of one of the following three macromolecules: carbohydrates (breads and pastas), lipids (fats and oils), or proteins (meats and beans). During digestion of food, when the food is first broken down internally, these large molecules are broken into subunits. Depending on their type, subunits can be metabolized in different ways and then used as internal energy sources. The distinct means of metabolizing specific subunits all have the same goal, the production of the primary cellular energy source: adenosine triphosphate. Figure %: Chemical structure of ATP www.forum.ysapak.com www.forum.ysapak.com As you can see in the figure above, ATP contains three phosphate groups. These groups are primarily responsible for ATP's role as an energy source. During metabolic reactions, these phosphate groups can be transferred from ATP to yield either adenosine diphosphate (ADP) or adenosine monophosphate (AMP). ATP -> ADP + P + energy, or ATP -> AMP + 2P + energy The release of one or more phosphate groups is energetically favorable: the reaction produces energy. ATP can also undergo a reaction with water to yield ADP or AMP to release energy. The cell can use the energy produced from the breakdown of ATP for whatever purpose is necessary. Often, the energetically favorable breakdown of ATP is often coupled with another, energetically unfavorable reaction that is designed to drive the first reaction forward through the synthesis of additional ATP. ATP synthesis is almost exactly opposite to the process by which ATP is broken down to produce energy: phosphate groups are brought in contact with either ADP or AMP. While this process is not as favorable, it is able to occur with the energy derived from metabolizing foods. In addition to ATP, there are a number of other reactive molecules that are involved in the production of cellular energy. These are called coenzymes and their role is to help transfer other chemical groups like hydrogens. Coenzymes work in conjunction with metabolic enzymes to drive metabolic reactions. Among these are nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide (NADH) and acetyl coenzyme A. We will discuss the specific roles of both these molecules more in following sections. Metabolism Basics of Metabolism Metabolism is a process of energy acquisition and conversion. It is necessary because organisms are constantly undergoing cellular changes--they are not in a state of equilibrium. Metabolism is an attempt to regulate cellular conditions by making internal changes to maintain a steady cellular state. As a general rule, nature's tendency is towards conditions of disorder. This means that disorderly conditions are energetically favorable--they release energy. Highly ordered and organized conditions are not energetically favorable and require energy to occur. As a result, the thousands of reactions that constantly occur inside us to maintain cellular organization need energy. The body produces this needed energy by breaking down ATP, and then using this energy to promote energetically unfavorable, but biologically necessary reactions. In order to begin any of these processes, cells need an external energy source. The breakdown of the external source can provide the energy that can couple to drive other reactions. Cells acquire this external energy in one of two ways. Phototrophs get their energy from the sun through photosynthesis. Plants are phototrophs. Plants use light energy to convert carbon dioxide and water into carbohydrates and oxygen. 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IND vs WI, 42nd Matc

IND vs WI, 42nd Match, Group B WI need 162 runs WI 107/2 (20) R Sarwan 3 (6) D Smith 56 (68) IND 268/10 S Raina 2-0-12-1 Y Pathan 4-0-16-0 www.tv.fysisoft.com

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IND vs WI, 42nd Matc

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ZIM vs KEN, 41st Mat

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AUS vs PAK, 40th Mat

AUS vs PAK, 40th Match, Group A Pak won by 4 wkts PAK 178/6 (41) U Akmal 44 (59) A Razzaq 20 (24) AUS 176/10 B Lee 8-1-28-4 J Krejza 10-0-44-1 www.tv.fysisoft.com

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ENG vs WI, 36th Matc

ENG vs WI, 36th Match, Group B WI need 97 runs WI 147/5 (26.5) K Pollard 22 (24) R Sarwan 9 (25) ENG 243/10 L Wright 0.5-0-1-0 R Bopara 6-2-16-2 watch live at www.tv.fysisoft.com

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Act 2, Scene 5 Origi

Act 2, Scene 5 Original Text Modern Text Enter JULIET JULIET enters. 5 10 15 JULIET The clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse. In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so. Oh, she is lame! Love’s heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun’s beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills. Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw love And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball. My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me. But old folks, many feign as they were dead, Unwieldy, slow, heavy, and pale as lead. JULIET I sent the Nurse at nine o'clock. Maybe she can’t find him. That can’t be. Oh, she’s slow! Love’s messengers should be thoughts, which fly ten times faster than sunbeams. They should be strong enough to push shadows over the dark hills. That’s the way doves carry Venus so fast, and that’s why Cupid has wings that let him fly as fast as the wind. Now it’s noon. That’s three hours since nine o'clock, but she hasn’t come back. If she was young and passionate, she’d move as fast as a ball. My words would bounce her to my sweet love, and his words would bounce her back to me. But a lot of old people act like they’re already dead—sluggish, slow, fat, and colorless, like lead. Enter NURSE and PETER The NURSE and PETER enter. O God, she comes.—O honey Nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Oh my God, here she comes! Oh sweet Nurse, what news do you bring? Have you spoken to him? Send your man away. 20 NURSE Peter, stay at the gate. NURSE Peter, wait for me at the gate. Exit PETER PETER exits. JULIET Now, good sweet Nurse— O Lord, why look’st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily. If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. JULIET Now, good sweet Nurse—Oh Lord, why do you look so sad? Even if the news is sad, tell me with a smile on your face. If the news is good, you’re ruining the sweet news by playing a trick with a sour face like that. http://htxt.it/Vgyq

Act 2, Scene 4, Page

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Act 1, Scene 5, Page

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AUS vs CAN, 35th Mat

AUS vs CAN, 35th Match, Group A Aus need 110 runs AUS 102/0 (21.5) B Haddin 53 (63) S Watson 48 (68) CAN 211/10 H Osinde 6.5-0-32-0 H Baidwan 6-1-27-0 watch live at www.tv.fysisoft.com

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Part 3 Original Text

Part 3 Original Text Modern Text “I looked at him, lost in astonishment. There he was before me, in motley, as though he had absconded from a troupe of mimes, enthusiastic, fabulous. His very existence was improbable, inexplicable, and altogether bewildering. He was an insoluble problem. It was inconceivable how he had existed, how he had succeeded in getting so far, how he had managed to remain—why he did not instantly disappear. ‘I went a little farther,’ he said, ‘then still a little farther—till I had gone so far that I don’t know how I’ll ever get back. Never mind. Plenty time. I can manage. You take Kurtz away quick—quick—I tell you.’ The glamour of youth enveloped his parti-coloured rags, his destitution, his loneliness, the essential desolation of his futile wanderings. For months—for years—his life hadn’t been worth a day’s purchase; and there he was gallantly, thoughtlessly alive, to all appearances indestructible solely by the virtue of his few years and of his unreflecting audacity. I was seduced into something like admiration—like envy. Glamour urged him on, glamour kept him unscathed. He surely wanted nothing from the wilderness but space to breathe in and to push on through. His need was to exist, and to move onwards at the greatest possible risk, and with a maximum of privation. If the absolutely pure, uncalculating, unpractical spirit of adventure had ever ruled a human being, it ruled this bepatched youth. I almost envied him the possession of this modest and clear flame. It seemed to have consumed all thought of self so completely, that even while he was talking to you, you forgot that it was he—the man before your eyes—who had gone through these things. I did not envy him his devotion to Kurtz, though. He had not meditated over it. It came to him, and he accepted it with a sort of eager fatalism. I must say that to me it appeared about the most dangerous thing in every way he had come upon so far. “I stared at him, stunned. He looked like a runaway from the circus. His existence was impossible to explain. I couldn’t believe that he had made it so far, that he was still here. ‘I went a little farther into the jungle,’ he said. ‘Then even farther, till I had gone so far that I don’t know how I’ll ever get back. Never mind. I can manage. Take Kurtz away to get help—quickly.’ He still had his youthful liveliness despite his mismatched clothes and ragged, lonely life. For months—for years—his life had been worthless, but there he was, so thoughtlessly and eagerly alive that he seemed indestructible. I had to admire the man, even envy him. Excitement urged him on, excitement kept him safe. He wanted nothing from the wilderness but space to breathe. His only need was to exist and to move onward at the greatest possible risk and with a maximum of hardship. If there was ever a person ruled by an absolutely pure spirit of adventure, it was this ragged youth. I was almost jealous of his passion. It was so intense that even while he was talking to you, you forgot that he really was the person who had gone through these things. I did not envy his devotion to Kurtz, though. He hadn’t thought it through. Rather, he accepted it like fate. I thought his devotion to Kurtz was far and away the most dangerous thing he had come upon so far. “They had come together unavoidably, like two ships becalmed near each other, and lay rubbing sides at last. I suppose Kurtz wanted an audience, because on a certain occasion, when encamped in the forest, they had talked all night, or more probably Kurtz had talked. ‘We talked of everything,’ he said, quite transported at the recollection. ‘I forgot there was such a thing as sleep. The night did not seem to last an hour. Everything! Everything!... Of love, too.’ ‘Ah, he talked to you of love!’ I said, much amused. ‘It isn’t what you think,’ he cried, almost passionately. ‘It was in general. He made me see things—things.’ “They drifted together like two ships, and they touched at last. I suppose Kurtz wanted an audience, because once they were alone together in the forest, they had talked all night. Rather, it sounded like Kurtz talked and the Russian listened. ‘We talked about everything,’ he said, losing himself in the memory. ‘I forgot about sleep. The night went by so fast. Everything! Everything! . . . Of love, too.’ ‘Ah, he talked to you about love!’ I said, laughing. ‘It isn’t what you think,’ he cried. ‘It was in general. He made me see things—things.’ “He threw his arms up. We were on deck at the time, and the headman of my wood-cutters, lounging near by, turned upon him his heavy and glittering eyes. I looked around, and I don’t know why, but I assure you that never, never before, did this land, this river, this jungle, the very arch of this blazing sky, appear to me so hopeless and so dark, so impenetrable to human thought, so pitiless to human weakness. ‘And, ever since, you have been with him, of course?’ I said. “He threw his arms up. We were on deck at the time, and one my crewmembers, lounging near by, looked at him with heavy and glittering eyes. I looked around, and I don’t know why, but I swear that the land, the river, the jungle, and even the sky had never looked so hopeless and so dark.’ And you’ve been with him ever since?’ I said. http://htxt.it/YUBa

Part 3: Page 2 Origi

Part 3: Page 2 Original Text Modern Text “On the contrary. It appears their intercourse had been very much broken by various causes. He had, as he informed me proudly, managed to nurse Kurtz through two illnesses (he alluded to it as you would to some risky feat), but as a rule Kurtz wandered alone, far in the depths of the forest. ‘Very often coming to this station, I had to wait days and days before he would turn up,’ he said. ‘Ah, it was worth waiting for!—sometimes.’ ‘What was he doing? exploring or what?’ I asked. ‘Oh, yes, of course’; he had discovered lots of villages, a lake, too—he did not know exactly in what direction; it was dangerous to inquire too much—but mostly his expeditions had been for ivory. ‘But he had no goods to trade with by that time,’ I objected. ‘There’s a good lot of cartridges left even yet,’ he answered, looking away. ‘To speak plainly, he raided the country,’ I said. He nodded. ‘Not alone, surely!’ He muttered something about the villages round that lake. ‘Kurtz got the tribe to follow him, did he?’ I suggested. He fidgeted a little. ‘They adored him,’ he said. The tone of these words was so extraordinary that I looked at him searchingly. It was curious to see his mingled eagerness and reluctance to speak of Kurtz. The man filled his life, occupied his thoughts, swayed his emotions. ‘What can you expect?’ he burst out; ‘he came to them with thunder and lightning, you know—and they had never seen anything like it—and very terrible. He could be very terrible. You can’t judge Mr. Kurtz as you would an ordinary man. No, no, no! Now—just to give you an idea—I don’t mind telling you, he wanted to shoot me, too, one day—but I don’t judge him.’ ‘Shoot you!’ I cried ‘What for?’ ‘Well, I had a small lot of ivory the chief of that village near my house gave me. You see I used to shoot game for them. Well, he wanted it, and wouldn’t hear reason. He declared he would shoot me unless I gave him the ivory and then cleared out of the country, because he could do so, and had a fancy for it, and there was nothing on earth to prevent him killing whom he jolly well pleased. And it was true, too. I gave him the ivory. What did I care! But I didn’t clear out. No, no. I couldn’t leave him. I had to be careful, of course, till we got friendly again for a time. He had his second illness then. Afterwards I had to keep out of the way; but I didn’t mind. He was living for the most part in those villages on the lake. When he came down to the river, sometimes he would take to me, and sometimes it was better for me to be careful. This man suffered too much. He hated all this, and somehow he couldn’t get away. When I had a chance I begged him to try and leave while there was time; I offered to go back with him. And he would say yes, and then he would remain; go off on another ivory hunt; disappear for weeks; forget himself amongst these people—forget himself—you know.’ ‘Why! he’s mad,’ I said. He protested indignantly. Mr. Kurtz couldn’t be mad. If I had heard him talk, only two days ago, I wouldn’t dare hint at such a thing.... I had taken up my binoculars while we talked, and was looking at the shore, sweeping the limit of the forest at each side and at the back of the house. The consciousness of there being people in that bush, so silent, so quiet—as silent and quiet as the ruined house on the hill—made me uneasy. There was no sign on the face of nature of this amazing tale that was not so much told as suggested to me in desolate exclamations, completed by shrugs, in interrupted phrases, in hints ending in deep sighs. The woods were unmoved, like a mask—heavy, like the closed door of a prison—they looked with their air of hidden knowledge, of patient expectation, of unapproachable silence. The Russian was explaining to me that it was only lately that Mr. Kurtz had come down to the river, bringing along with him all the fighting men of that lake tribe. He had been absent for several months—getting himself adored, I suppose—and had come down unexpectedly, with the intention to all appearance of making a raid either across the river or down stream. Evidently the appetite for more ivory had got the better of the—what shall I say?—less material aspirations. However he had got much worse suddenly. ‘I heard he was lying helpless, and so I came up—took my chance,’ said the Russian. ‘Oh, he is bad, very bad.’ I directed my glass to the house. There were no signs of life, but there was the ruined roof, the long mud wall peeping above the grass, with three little square window-holes, no two of the same size; all this brought within reach of my hand, as it were. And then I made a brusque movement, and one of the remaining posts of that vanished fence leaped up in the field of my glass. You remember I told you I had been struck at the distance by certain attempts at ornamentation, rather remarkable in the ruinous aspect of the place. Now I had suddenly a nearer view, and its first result was to make me throw my head back as if before a blow. Then I went carefully from post to post with my glass, and I saw my mistake. These round knobs were not ornamental but symbolic; they were expressive and puzzling, striking and disturbing—food for thought and also for vultures if there had been any looking down from the sky; but at all events for such ants as were industrious enough to ascend the pole. They would have been even more impressive, those heads on the stakes, if their faces had not been turned to the house. Only one, the first I had made out, was facing my way. I was not so shocked as you may think. The start back I had given was really nothing but a movement of surprise. I had expected to see a knob of wood there, you know. I returned deliberately to the first I had seen—and there it was, black, dried, sunken, with closed eyelids—a head that seemed to sleep at the top of that pole, and, with the shrunken dry lips showing a narrow white line of the teeth, was smiling, too, smiling continuously at some endless and jocose dream of that eternal slumber. “They hadn’t been together the whole time. They hardly saw each other. He had, he said proudly, managed to nurse Kurtz through two illnesses (he made it sound like some risky feat), but as a rule Kurtz wandered alone, deep in the forest. ‘I frequently had to wait for days for him to turn up,’ he said. ‘But it was worth waiting for . . . sometimes.’ ‘Was he exploring?’ I asked. ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ he said. Apparently Kurtz discovered many villages and even one lake, though he couldn’t say where exactly they were. It was dangerous to ask Kurtz too many questions. But mostly his expeditions had been for ivory. ‘But he didn’t have anything to trade for the ivory,’ I objected. ‘There’s a lot of ammunition still left,’ the Russian answered, looking away. ‘So Kurtz raided the country,’ I said. He nodded. ‘By himself?’ He muttered something about the villages round that lake. ‘So Kurtz got the tribe to follow him?’ I suggested. He fidgeted a little. ‘They adored him,’ he said. The tone of these words was so strange that I stared at him, waiting for an explanation. It was amazing how much he wanted to talk about Kurtz but also how afraid he was of the man. Kurtz filled his life, influencing all his feelings and thoughts. ‘What do you expect?’ he burst out. ‘They had never seen guns before. They thought he controlled thunder and lightning. He could be very terrible. You can’t judge Mr. Kurtz by the same standards as you would an ordinary man. No, no, no! Just to give you an idea of his greatness, he threatened to shoot me one day, but I don’t judge him.’ ‘Shoot you! Why?’ I cried. ‘Well, I had a little bit of ivory I got from a chief near my house. The chief gave it to me because I gave his village some meat. Well, Kurtz wanted it and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He said he would shoot me unless I gave him the ivory and left the country. He said he would do it just because he enjoyed it, and there was no one who could stop him from killing whoever he wanted. And it was true, too. I gave him the ivory. What did I care! But I didn’t leave. No, no. I couldn’t leave him. I had to be careful until we were became friends again. That was when he got sick for the second time. Afterward I had to stay away, but I didn’t mind. He spent most of his time in those villages on the lake. When he came down to the river, sometimes he was friendly and sometimes I had to stay out of his way. This man suffered too much. He hated all this, but somehow he couldn’t get away. I begged him to leave while he still could. I offered to go back with him. He would say yes, but then he would go off for weeks looking for ivory. He would forget who he was when he was with the natives.’ ‘So he’s losing his mind,’ I said. The Russian denied this angrily. Mr. Kurtz couldn’t be crazy. If I had heard him talk, just two days ago, I wouldn’t dare say such a thing. . . . I had picked up my binoculars while we talked, and was looking at the shore and the edge of the forest. Knowing that there were people out there, invisible and silent, made me nervous. The jungle gave no sign that this amazing tale the Russian had been struggling to tell was true. The woods were like a mask, revealing nothing. They hid their secrets. The Russian said that Mr. Kurtz had only recently come down to the river, bringing along with him all the warriors from that lake tribe. He had been gone for several months—getting more natives to worship him, I suppose—and had come down unexpectedly. It looked as though Kurtz was planning a raid either across the river or down stream. His appetite for more ivory apparently overwhelmed all his other desires. But then he suddenly fell ill. ‘I heard he was sick, and so I came

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Beghariat Pakistani

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Part 2: Page 12 Orig

Part 2: Page 12 Original Text Modern Text “For the moment that was the dominant thought. There was a sense of extreme disappointment, as though I had found out I had been striving after something altogether without a substance. I couldn’t have been more disgusted if I had travelled all this way for the sole purpose of talking with Mr. Kurtz. Talking with... I flung one shoe overboard, and became aware that that was exactly what I had been looking forward to—a talk with Kurtz. I made the strange discovery that I had never imagined him as doing, you know, but as discoursing. I didn’t say to myself, ‘Now I will never see him,’ or ‘Now I will never shake him by the hand,’ but, ‘Now I will never hear him.’ The man presented himself as a voice. Not of course that I did not connect him with some sort of action. Hadn’t I been told in all the tones of jealousy and admiration that he had collected, bartered, swindled, or stolen more ivory than all the other agents together? That was not the point. The point was in his being a gifted creature, and that of all his gifts the one that stood out preeminently, that carried with it a sense of real presence, was his ability to talk, his words—the gift of expression, the bewildering, the illuminating, the most exalted and the most contemptible, the pulsating stream of light, or the deceitful flow from the heart of an impenetrable darkness. “That was my dominant thought for the moment. I felt extremely disappointed, like I had just found out that what I was searching for wasn’t real. I couldn’t have been more disgusted if I had traveled all this way up the river just to talk to Kurtz. Talk with . . . I flung one shoe overboard and realized that that was exactly what I had been looking forward to—a talk with Kurtz. I hadn’t imagined him doing anything, just talking. In my mind, he was a voice, not a body. I knew, of course, that he did things. After all, everyone talked about how much ivory he collected. That wasn’t the point for me. The point was that he was someone with special gifts, and one of those gifts was his ability to talk, his ability to turn words into illuminating beams of light or deceitful shadows from the heart of darkness. “The other shoe went flying unto the devil-god of that river. I thought, ‘By Jove! it’s all over. We are too late; he has vanished—the gift has vanished, by means of some spear, arrow, or club. I will never hear that chap speak after all’—and my sorrow had a startling extravagance of emotion, even such as I had noticed in the howling sorrow of these savages in the bush. I couldn’t have felt more of lonely desolation somehow, had I been robbed of a belief or had missed my destiny in life.... Why do you sigh in this beastly way, somebody? Absurd? Well, absurd. Good Lord! mustn’t a man ever—Here, give me some tobacco.”... “I threw my other shoe into that demonic river. I thought, ‘By God, it’s all over. We’re too late. He’s gone. His gift has vanished, destroyed by a spear, a club, or an arrow. I’ll never hear him speak after all.’ I felt an intense sadness, similar to the emotion felt by the savages howling in the bush. I couldn’t have felt worse if I’d missed my life’s purpose . . . Why are you sighing? You think this is absurd? Fine, it’s absurd. Good Lord! Can’t a man—here, give me some tobacco . . .” There was a pause of profound stillness, then a match flared, and Marlow’s lean face appeared, worn, hollow, with downward folds and dropped eyelids, with an aspect of concentrated attention; and as he took vigorous draws at his pipe, it seemed to retreat and advance out of the night in the regular flicker of tiny flame. The match went out. There was a deep and silent pause. A match flared and Marlow’s face appeared for a moment. It was worn and hollow, but focused. As he lit his pipe, his face moved in and out of the darkness in the flickers of the flame. The match went out. “Absurd!” he cried. “This is the worst of trying to tell.... Here you all are, each moored with two good addresses, like a hulk with two anchors, a butcher round one corner, a policeman round another, excellent appetites, and temperature normal—you hear—normal from year’s end to year’s end. And you say, Absurd! Absurd be—exploded! Absurd! My dear boys, what can you expect from a man who out of sheer nervousness had just flung overboard a pair of new shoes! Now I think of it, it is amazing I did not shed tears. I am, upon the whole, proud of my fortitude. I was cut to the quick at the idea of having lost the inestimable privilege of listening to the gifted Kurtz. Of course I was wrong. The privilege was waiting for me. Oh, yes, I heard more than enough. And I was right, too. A voice. He was very little more than a voice. And I heard—him—it—this voice—other voices—all of them were so little more than voices—and the memory of that time itself lingers around me, impalpable, like a dying vibration of one immense jabber, silly, atrocious, sordid, savage, or simply mean, without any kind of sense. Voices, voices—even the girl herself—now—” “Absurd!” he cried. “This is the worst part of trying to tell . . . Here you all are, with safe and sound homes and good health. Everything in your life is normal every single day. And you call me absurd! What do you expect from a man who just threw a new pair of shoes overboard? It’s surprising that I wasn’t in tears. I’m proud of how well I held up. I was hurt by losing the chance to hear Kurtz. Of course I was wrong. That chance was still waiting for me. I heard more than enough, and I was right about him being a voice. He was little more than a voice. And I heard it, and other voices too, and they still shake me. Voices, voices . . . even the girl . . . now.” http://htxt.it/e4qW

Part 2: Page 8 Origi

Part 2: Page 8 Original Text Modern Text “Two pilgrims were quarrelling in hurried whispers as to which bank. ‘Left.’ ‘no, no; how can you? Right, right, of course.’ ‘It is very serious,’ said the manager’s voice behind me; ‘I would be desolated if anything should happen to Mr. Kurtz before we came up.’ I looked at him, and had not the slightest doubt he was sincere. He was just the kind of man who would wish to preserve appearances. That was his restraint. But when he muttered something about going on at once, I did not even take the trouble to answer him. I knew, and he knew, that it was impossible. Were we to let go our hold of the bottom, we would be absolutely in the air—in space. We wouldn’t be able to tell where we were going to—whether up or down stream, or across—till we fetched against one bank or the other—and then we wouldn’t know at first which it was. Of course I made no move. I had no mind for a smash-up. You couldn’t imagine a more deadly place for a shipwreck. Whether we drowned at once or not, we were sure to perish speedily in one way or another. ‘I authorize you to take all the risks,’ he said, after a short silence. ‘I refuse to take any,’ I said shortly; which was just the answer he expected, though its tone might have surprised him. ‘Well, I must defer to your judgment. You are captain,’ he said with marked civility. I turned my shoulder to him in sign of my appreciation, and looked into the fog. How long would it last? It was the most hopeless lookout. The approach to this Kurtz grubbing for ivory in the wretched bush was beset by as many dangers as though he had been an enchanted princess sleeping in a fabulous castle. ‘Will they attack, do you think?’ asked the manager, in a confidential tone. “Two agents were bickering about which bank of the river the sounds had come from. ‘Left,’ said one. ‘No, no. How can you tell? It’s the right.’ From behind me, the manager said, ‘This is very serious. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to Mr. Kurtz before we came up.’ I looked at him and didn’t have the slightest doubt about whether he was lying. He was the sort of man who wanted to keep up appearances. That was his restraint. But when he muttered something about us sailing on, I didn’t even bother answering him. Both of us knew that was impossible. If we pulled up our anchor, we would be completely lost, like we were floating in space. We wouldn’t be able to tell whether we were going upstream or downstream or across, at least until we hit something. Of course I did nothing. I wasn’t in the mood to wreck the boat. You couldn’t imagine a deadlier place for a shipwreck. Even if we didn’t drown immediately, we would certainly die. ‘I authorize you to take any risks necessary,’ he said. ‘I refuse to take any,’ I replied, which was exactly what he knew I would say. ‘Well, you’re the captain,’ he said. I turned my shoulder toward him and looked into the fog. How long would it last? It seemed completely hopeless. There were so many dangers on the way to Kurtz that it was as though he was a princess protected in a magic castle, rather than a man collecting ivory in the bush. ‘Do you think they’ll attack?’ asked the manager. “I did not think they would attack, for several obvious reasons. The thick fog was one. If they left the bank in their canoes they would get lost in it, as we would be if we attempted to move. Still, I had also judged the jungle of both banks quite impenetrable—and yet eyes were in it, eyes that had seen us. The riverside bushes were certainly very thick; but the undergrowth behind was evidently penetrable. However, during the short lift I had seen no canoes anywhere in the reach—certainly not abreast of the steamer. But what made the idea of attack inconceivable to me was the nature of the noise—of the cries we had heard. They had not the fierce character boding immediate hostile intention. Unexpected, wild, and violent as they had been, they had given me an irresistible impression of sorrow. The glimpse of the steamboat had for some reason filled those savages with unrestrained grief. The danger, if any, I expounded, was from our proximity to a great human passion let loose. Even extreme grief may ultimately vent itself in violence—but more generally takes the form of apathy.... “I didn’t think they would attack, for some obvious reasons. For starters, the fog was too thick. If they tried to row their canoes from the bank to our ship, they would get lost, just like we would if we moved. Then again, I couldn’t see anything on the banks, but clearly they had seen us. The bushes right along the river were very thick, but apparently people could move behind them. But earlier, when the fog lifted for a moment, I didn’t see any canoes anywhere. What made the idea of an attack impossible for me to imagine was the terrible scream we’d heard. That wasn’t a war-cry. Yes, it was wild and violent, but it was filled with sorrow, not hostility. For some reason the momentary sight of our boat had filled the savages on the riverbank with uncontrollable grief. The danger, I thought, was not from an attack but from being so close to such strong emotion. Even extreme grief can ultimately lead to violence. http://htxt.it/il7g

RSA vs IRE, 34th Mat

RSA vs IRE, 34th Match, Group B RSA won by 131 runs IRE 141/10 (33.2) B Rankin 0 (2) RSA 272/7 J Kallis 6-1-20-2 M Morkel 5.2-0-33-3 for more details visit www.vu.ysapak.com

http://htxt.it/Egfi

http://htxt.it/Egfi Part 1: Page 13 Original Text Modern Text “One day he remarked, without lifting his head, ‘In the interior you will no doubt meet Mr. Kurtz.’ On my asking who Mr. Kurtz was, he said he was a first-class agent; and seeing my disappointment at this information, he added slowly, laying down his pen, ‘He is a very remarkable person.’ Further questions elicited from him that Mr. Kurtz was at present in charge of a trading-post, a very important one, in the true ivory-country, at ‘the very bottom of there. Sends in as much ivory as all the others put together...’ He began to write again. The sick man was too ill to groan. The flies buzzed in a great peace. “One day he said, ‘In the interior you will probably meet Mr. Kurtz.’ When I asked who Kurtz was, he said that he was a great agent for the Company. When he saw that I wasn’t impressed, he put down his pen and said, ‘He is a very remarkable person.’ He told me that Kurtz was in charge of a trading post deep in the jungle. ‘He sends in as much ivory as all of the other agents put together.’ The accountant started writing again. The man on the cot was too sick to groan. The flies buzzed all around. “Suddenly there was a growing murmur of voices and a great tramping of feet. A caravan had come in. A violent babble of uncouth sounds burst out on the other side of the planks. All the carriers were speaking together, and in the midst of the uproar the lamentable voice of the chief agent was heard ‘giving it up’ tearfully for the twentieth time that day.... He rose slowly. ‘What a frightful row,’ he said. He crossed the room gently to look at the sick man, and returning, said to me, ‘He does not hear.’ ‘What! Dead?’ I asked, startled. ‘No, not yet,’ he answered, with great composure. Then, alluding with a toss of the head to the tumult in the station-yard, ‘When one has got to make correct entries, one comes to hate those savages—hate them to the death.’ He remained thoughtful for a moment. ‘When you see Mr. Kurtz’ he went on, ‘tell him from me that everything here’—he glanced at the deck—’ is very satisfactory. I don’t like to write to him—with those messengers of ours you never know who may get hold of your letter—at that Central Station.’ He stared at me for a moment with his mild, bulging eyes. ‘Oh, he will go far, very far,’ he began again. ‘He will be a somebody in the Administration before long. They, above—the Council in Europe, you know—mean him to be.’ “Suddenly I heard voices and the sounds of many people approaching. A caravan had come in. All of the black laborers were babbling in an ugly language. The man on the cot groaned and the accountant stood up. ‘What a racket,’ he said. He checked on the sick man and said to me, ‘He can’t hear them.’ ‘Is he dead?’ I asked. ‘No, not yet.’ He glanced outside at the shouting men. ‘When you need peace and quiet to keep the books, you come to hate those savages to death.’ He thought for a second. ‘When you see Mr. Kurtz, tell him from me that everything here is okay. I don’t like to write to him. You never know if the letter will fall into the wrong hands.’ He stared at me for a moment with his bulging eyes. ‘Oh, he will go far, very far,’ he said. ‘He will be an important man in the Company someday. The people running things back in Europe know it.’ “He turned to his work. The noise outside had ceased, and presently in going out I stopped at the door. In the steady buzz of flies the homeward-bound agent was lying finished and insensible; the other, bent over his books, was making correct entries of perfectly correct transactions; and fifty feet below the doorstep I could see the still tree-tops of the grove of death. “He went back to work. It was quiet outside and as I left I stopped to look back at the office. The flies were buzzing. The sick agent was taking his last breaths. The accountant was bent over his books, making sure all of the numbers were correct. Fifty feet away I could see that shady area where men were dying. “Next day I left that station at last, with a caravan of sixty men, for a two-hundred-mile tramp. “I left the next day with a caravan of sixty men. We were going on a 200-mile walk. “No use telling you much about that. Paths, paths, everywhere; a stamped-in network of paths spreading over the empty land, through the long grass, through burnt grass, through thickets, down and up chilly ravines, up and down stony hills ablaze with heat; and a solitude, a solitude, nobody, not a hut. The population had cleared out a long time ago. Well, if a lot of mysterious niggers armed with all kinds of fearful weapons suddenly took to travelling on the road between Deal and Gravesend, catching the yokels right and left to carry heavy loads for them, I fancy every farm and cottage thereabouts would get empty very soon. Only here the dwellings were gone, too. Still I passed through several abandoned villages. There’s something pathetically childish in the ruins of grass walls. Day after day, with the stamp and shuffle of sixty pair of bare feet behind me, each pair under a 60-lb. load. Camp, cook, sleep, strike camp, march. Now and then a carrier dead in harness, at rest in the long grass near the path, with an empty water-gourd and his long staff lying by his side. A great silence around and above. Perhaps on some quiet night the tremor of far-off drums, sinking, swelling, a tremor vast, faint; a sound weird, appealing, suggestive, and wild—and perhaps with as profound a meaning as the sound of bells in a Christian country. Once a white man in an unbuttoned uniform, camping on the path with an armed escort of lank Zanzibaris, very hospitable and festive—not to say drunk. Was looking after the upkeep of the road, he declared. Can’t say I saw any road or any upkeep, unless the body of a middle-aged negro, with a bullet-hole in the forehead, upon which I absolutely stumbled three miles farther on, may be considered as a permanent improvement. I had a white companion, too, not a bad chap, but rather too fleshy and with the exasperating habit of fainting on the hot hillsides, miles away from the least bit of shade and water. Annoying, you know, to hold your own coat like a parasol over a man’s head while he is coming to. I couldn’t help asking him once what he meant by coming there at all. ‘To make money, of course. What do you think?’ he said, scornfully. Then he got fever, and had to be carried in a hammock slung under a pole. As he weighed sixteen stone I had no end of rows with the carriers. They jibbed, ran away, sneaked off with their loads in the night—quite a mutiny. So, one evening, I made a speech in English with gestures, not one of which was lost to the sixty pairs of eyes before me, and the next morning I started the hammock off in front all right. An hour afterwards I came upon the whole concern wrecked in a bush—man, hammock, groans, blankets, horrors. The heavy pole had skinned his poor nose. He was very anxious for me to kill somebody, but there wasn’t the shadow of a carrier near. I remembered the old doctor—‘It would be interesting for science to watch the mental changes of individuals, on the spot.’ I felt I was becoming scientifically interesting. However, all that is to no purpose. On the fifteenth day I came in sight of the big river again, and hobbled into the Central Station. It was on a back water surrounded by scrub and forest, with a pretty border of smelly mud on one side, and on the three others enclosed by a crazy fence of rushes. A neglected gap was all the gate it had, and the first glance at the place was enough to let you see the flabby devil was running that show. White men with long staves in their hands appeared languidly from amongst the buildings, strolling up to take a look at me, and then retired out of sight somewhere. One of them, a stout, excitable chap with black moustaches, informed me with great volubility and many digressions, as soon as I told him who I was, that my steamer was at the bottom of the river. I was thunderstruck. What, how, why? Oh, it was ‘all right.’ The ‘manager himself’ was there. All quite correct. ‘Everybody had behaved splendidly! splendidly!’—‘you must,’ he said in agitation, ‘go and see the general manager at once. He is waiting!’ “There’s no point in talking about that. There were footpaths everywhere we went, leading in all sorts of directions. We didn’t see anyone else, or even any huts. The people had left a long time ago. If a lot of mysterious black guys with strange weapons started walking around England rounding up the locals and making them carry heavy loads all over the place, I bet the natives would run away too. Only here their houses were gone as well. Eventually we passed some abandoned villages. There’s something pathetic about the ruins of a grass hut. We kept walking, day after day. I could hear sixty pairs of bare feet behind me, each man carrying a sixty-pound load. All we did was camp, cook, sleep, and march. Every once in a while we’d pass a dead body in chains near the path. It was so quiet everywhere. On some nights we could hear drums far away. The sound was weird and wild, though to the natives it probably sounded no different from church bells in a Christian country. Once we passed a white man in a uniform camping near the path with an armed escort of black men. They’d been drinking and were in a giddy mood. The white man said that his job was taking care of the road. I didn’t see any road to speak of, and the only thing that had been taken care of was a middle-aged black man, who was lying next to the path with a bullet hole in his forehead. There was another white man traveling with me. He was a pretty good guy, but he was fat and kept fainting. It’s ann

Part 1: Page 7 Origi

Part 1: Page 7 Original Text Modern Text “There was yet a visit to the doctor. ‘A simple formality,’ assured me the secretary, with an air of taking an immense part in all my sorrows. Accordingly a young chap wearing his hat over the left eyebrow, some clerk I suppose—there must have been clerks in the business, though the house was as still as a house in a city of the dead—came from somewhere up-stairs, and led me forth. He was shabby and careless, with inkstains on the sleeves of his jacket, and his cravat was large and billowy, under a chin shaped like the toe of an old boot. It was a little too early for the doctor, so I proposed a drink, and thereupon he developed a vein of joviality. As we sat over our vermouths he glorified the Company’s business, and by and by I expressed casually my surprise at him not going out there. He became very cool and collected all at once. ‘I am not such a fool as I look, quoth Plato to his disciples,’ he said sententiously, emptied his glass with great resolution, and we rose. “I had to visit the doctor. ‘Just a simple formality,’ the secretary said sympathetically. Some young fellow wearing his hat over the left eyebrow came from somewhere upstairs and took me away. I suppose he was a clerk of some kind: They must have clerks there, even though the house was as quiet as a house in a city of the dead. He was messy, with ink stains on the sleeves of his jacket. He had a large necktie under a chin shaped like the toe of an old boot. We were too early for the doctor, so I suggested that we get a drink, which perked him up a great deal. As we sat over our vermouths, he praised the Company’s business so much that I asked him why he didn’t go out there. He got very serious all at once. ‘I am not such a fool as I look, said Plato to his students,’ he said gravely. He emptied his glass quickly and completely, and we rose. “The old doctor felt my pulse, evidently thinking of something else the while. ‘Good, good for there,’ he mumbled, and then with a certain eagerness asked me whether I would let him measure my head. Rather surprised, I said Yes, when he produced a thing like calipers and got the dimensions back and front and every way, taking notes carefully. He was an unshaven little man in a threadbare coat like a gaberdine, with his feet in slippers, and I thought him a harmless fool. ‘I always ask leave, in the interests of science, to measure the crania of those going out there,’ he said. ‘And when they come back, too?’ I asked. ‘Oh, I never see them,’ he remarked; ‘and, moreover, the changes take place inside, you know.’ He smiled, as if at some quiet joke. ‘So you are going out there. Famous. Interesting, too.’ He gave me a searching glance, and made another note. ‘Ever any madness in your family?’ he asked, in a matter-of-fact tone. I felt very annoyed. ‘Is that question in the interests of science, too?’ ‘It would be,’ he said, without taking notice of my irritation, ‘interesting for science to watch the mental changes of individuals, on the spot, but...’ ‘Are you an alienist?’ I interrupted. ‘Every doctor should be—a little,’ answered that original, imperturbably. ‘I have a little theory which you messieurs who go out there must help me to prove. This is my share in the advantages my country shall reap from the possession of such a magnificent dependency. The mere wealth I leave to others. Pardon my questions, but you are the first Englishman coming under my observation...’ I hastened to assure him I was not in the least typical. ‘If I were,’ said I, ‘I wouldn’t be talking like this with you.’ ‘What you say is rather profound, and probably erroneous,’ he said, with a laugh. ‘Avoid irritation more than exposure to the sun. Adieu. How do you English say, eh? Good-bye. Ah! Good-bye. Adieu. In the tropics one must before everything keep calm.’... He lifted a warning forefinger.... ‘Du calme, du calme.’ “The old doctor felt my pulse, though he seemed to be thinking about something else the whole time. ‘Good, good for there,’ he mumbled, and then excitedly asked whether I would let him measure my head. Surprised, I said Yes. He brought out some tool and used it to measure the back, the front, and every angle, taking notes carefully. He was an unshaven little man in an old coat, with his feet in slippers. I thought he was a harmless fool. ‘I always ask permission, in the interests of science, to measure the skulls of everyone going out there,’ he said. ‘And when they come back, too?’ I asked. ‘Oh, I never see them,’ he remarked, ‘and anyway, the changes take place inside.’ He smiled as though he’d heard a private joke. ‘So you are going out there. Excellent. Interesting, too.’ He gave me another sharp glance and made another note. ‘Ever any madness in your family?’ he asked in a matter-of-fact tone. I got very annoyed. ‘Is that question in the interests of science?’ I asked. ‘It would be,’ he said, without noticing my irritation, ‘interesting for science to watch the mental changes of individuals on the spot, but . . .’ ‘Are you a psychologist?’ I interrupted. ‘Every doctor should be a bit of one,’ he said coolly. ‘I have a theory that you guys who go out there must help me prove. This is my part of the treasures my country is taking from that place. The mere wealth I leave for others. Pardon my questions, but you are the first Englishman I’ve examined.’ I told him that I wasn’t typical of Englishmen in general. ‘If I were,’ I said, ‘I wouldn’t be talking like this with you.’ ‘What you say is profound and probably wrong,’ he said with a laugh. ‘You should avoid irritation more than exposure to the sun. Adieu. How do you English say it—goodbye? Goodbye, then. Adieu. In the tropics one must remember to keep calm more than anything else.’ He pointed his finger at me as a warning. ‘Keep calm. Keep calm.’ http://htxt.it/a2YW

Part 1: Page 2 Origi

Part 1: Page 2 Original Text Modern Text Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity became less brilliant but more profound. The old river in its broad reach rested unruffled at the decline of day, after ages of good service done to the race that peopled its banks, spread out in the tranquil dignity of a waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth. We looked at the venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes and departs for ever, but in the august light of abiding memories. And indeed nothing is easier for a man who has, as the phrase goes, “followed the sea” with reverence and affection, that to evoke the great spirit of the past upon the lower reaches of the Thames. The tidal current runs to and fro in its unceasing service, crowded with memories of men and ships it had borne to the rest of home or to the battles of the sea. It had known and served all the men of whom the nation is proud, from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Franklin, knights all, titled and untitled—the great knights-errant of the sea. It had borne all the ships whose names are like jewels flashing in the night of time, from the Golden Hind returning with her rotund flanks full of treasure, to be visited by the Queen’s Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale, to the Erebus and Terror, bound on other conquests—and that never returned. It had known the ships and the men. They had sailed from Deptford, from Greenwich, from Erith—the adventurers and the settlers; kings’ ships and the ships of men on Change; captains, admirals, the dark “interlopers” of the Eastern trade, and the commissioned “generals” of East India fleets. Hunters for gold or pursuers of fame, they all had gone out on that stream, bearing the sword, and often the torch, messengers of the might within the land, bearers of a spark from the sacred fire. What greatness had not floated on the ebb of that river into the mystery of an unknown earth!... The dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs of empires. At once the water changed, becoming even calmer but less colorful. The old river rested peacefully at the end of the day, spreading calmly to the ends of the earth. For ages, the river has performed good service to the people who live on its banks. We looked at the river as only sailors could, with respect and affection and with an awareness of its great past. The river’s tides carry the memories of the men and ships they brought home or took into battle. The river has known and served all of the nation’s heroes, from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Franklin, all great knights of the sea. It had carried all the ships whose names live forever, like the Golden Hind , filled with treasure, or the Erebus and Terror , ships that left and never returned. The river remembered the men as well as the ships. They had sailed from Deptford, from Greenwich, and from Erith. The sailors included kings and businessmen, captains, admirals, unsavory traders, and the so-called conquerors of the East Indies. Whether they were in search of gold or fame, they all left on that river carrying swords and often a spark from the sacred fire of civilization. Was there any greatness that had not passed down that river and out into the mysterious world? The dreams of men, the beginnings of nations, and the seeds of empires had all sailed its waters. The sun set; the dusk fell on the stream, and lights began to appear along the shore. The Chapman light-house, a three-legged thing erect on a mud-flat, shone strongly. Lights of ships moved in the fairway—a great stir of lights going up and going down. And farther west on the upper reaches the place of the monstrous town was still marked ominously on the sky, a brooding gloom in sunshine, a lurid glare under the stars. The sun set. The river grew dark and lights appeared along the shore. The Chapman lighthouse, standing on three legs in the mud, shone strongly. The lights of many ships were visible in the distance, all jumbled together. Further west, the sky above the monstrous town was still gloomy and dark under the light of the stars. “And this also,” said Marlow suddenly, “has been one of the dark places of the earth.” “And this also,” said Marlow out of nowhere, “has been one of the darkest places of the earth.” He was the only man of us who still “followed the sea.” The worst that could be said of him was that he did not represent his class. He was a seaman, but he was a wanderer, too, while most seamen lead, if one may so express it, a sedentary life. Their minds are of the stay-at-home order, and their home is always with them—the ship; and so is their country—the sea. One ship is very much like another, and the sea is always the same. In the immutability of their surroundings the foreign shores, the foreign faces, the changing immensity of life, glide past, veiled not by a sense of mystery but by a slightly disdainful ignorance; for there is nothing mysterious to a seaman unless it be the sea itself, which is the mistress of his existence and as inscrutable as Destiny. For the rest, after his hours of work, a casual stroll or a casual spree on shore suffices to unfold for him the secret of a whole continent, and generally he finds the secret not worth knowing. The yarns of seamen have a direct simplicity, the whole meaning of which lies within the shell of a cracked nut. But Marlow was not typical (if his propensity to spin yarns be excepted), and to him the meaning of an episode was not inside like a kernel but outside, enveloping the tale which brought it out only as a glow brings out a haze, in the likeness of one of these misty halos that sometimes are made visible by the spectral illumination of moonshine. He was the only one of us who spent all of his time as a sailor, with no fixed home. The worst thing you could say about him was that he was not like other sailors. He was a seaman, but he was a wanderer too. As strange as it may sound, the truth is most seamen lead sedentary lives. They are homebodies and their home—the ship—is always with them. They are citizens of the sea. One ship is just like any other and the sea is the same everywhere. Because their surroundings are always they same, they ignore the foreign lands and people they come across. The only mystery the seaman cares about is the sea itself, which controls his fate and cannot be predicted. After his work is done, the seaman takes a short walk on shore and believes that he has seen all of a continent that he needs to. Any other secrets a place may hold are not secrets that he thinks are worth finding out. Similarly, the stories seamen tell are simple and direct. They reveal their meaning as easily as a shell reveals its nut. But Marlow was different, though he sure liked to tell a tale. To him, the meaning of a story was not like a nut that could be easily removed from its shell. To Marlow, the point of a story was the shell itself—the narration. And just like light will reveal the haze, storytelling will bring things to light that you might not have seen otherwise. http://htxt.it/TK7A

RSA vs IRE, 34th Mat

RSA vs IRE, 34th Match, Group B IRE need 241 runs IRE 32/2 (6.5) N O'Brien 9 (11) E Joyce 6 (11) RSA 272/7 D Steyn 3.5-0-13-0 M Morkel 3-0-19-2 watch live at www.fysisoft.com

Future of Democracy

Future of Democracy in Pakistan 01. What is Democracy ? 02. Importance of democracy 03. History of Pakistan`s Politics 04. Threats of Martial law 05. Current barriers for democratic government (Army Uniform etc) 06. World committe advocates Democracy in Pakistan 07. Political influence (Current Circumstances) 08. Image of Pakistan`s Political Leaders (Benazir and Nawaz Sharif) 09. Future of Pakistan as a Democratic state 10. Epiloque http://htxt.it/jSWI

Poverty Outline 1.Wh

Poverty Outline 1.What is poverty 2.how poors are 3.Scenario of poverty 4.Poverty in pakistan 5.Causes of poverty a. Population b. Political influence c. Inflation d. Low saving and investment e. adverse occurance (natural disasters) f. Unproper distribution of wealth g. Corruption and domination h. Lacking of information technology 6. Conclusion http://htxt.it/IOtK

AN IDEAL STATE 1. PA

AN IDEAL STATE 1. PAKISTAN WAS AN IDEAL STATE FOR MUSLIM FREEDOM FIGHTERS 2. PROBLEMS FACED BY PAKISTAN a. bad politics b. govt of tribal lords c. illiteracy d. poverty e. crime f. terrorism 3. STRATEGY FOR MAKING PAKISTAN AS AN IDEAL STATE a. spread education b. economical growth c. good politicians d. control crime e. arm restriction f. good relation with world g. freedom h. islamic system 4. CONCLUSION http://htxt.it/ERxL

Adolf Hitler and the

Adolf Hitler and the Story of World War II Hitler, leader of the German Nazi party and, from 1933 until his death, dictator of Germany. He rose from the bottom of society to conquer first Germany and then most of Europe. Riding on a wave of European fascism after World War I and favored by traditional defects in German society, especially its lack of cohesion, he built a Fascist regime unparalleled for barbarism and terror. His rule resulted in the destruction of the German nation-state and its society, in the ruin of much of Europe's traditional structure, and in the extermination of about 6 million Jews. He was eventually defeated, but his temporary success demonstrated frighteningly, at the brink of the atomic age, the vulnerability of civilization. Early Years Hitler was born on April 20, 1889, at Braunau-am-Inn, Austria. Alois, his father, had risen from a poor peasant background to become an Austrian customs official and was able to provide his son with a secondary school education. Adolf, a bright and talented student at his village school, felt out of place in the much larger urban secondary school. He gave himself up to aimless reading, dreamed about becoming an artist, and developed a talent for evading responsibilities. Poor school marks prevented him from obtaining the customary graduation certificate. After the death of his father, he left his home in Linz, Upper Austria, in 1907 to seek his fortune in Vienna. Hitler's professed aim in Vienna was to study art, especially architecture, but he twice failed, in 1907 and 1908, to get admitted to the Academy of Fine Arts. These failures destroyed what little order he had established in his life. He withdrew completely from family and friends and wandered aimlessly through the city, observing its life. Though he continued to read voraciously, he derived most of his knowledge from secondhand sources, coffeehouse talk, newspapers, and pamphlets. He encountered the writings of an obscure author whose racist and anti-Semitic ideas impressed him. Politically, he turned to a fervent German nationalism and a vague anti-Marxism. But at this time he was probably mainly interested in being accepted as an artist and architect. When the money left by his parents ran out, Hitler fell into total poverty, lodging in a men's hostel. Grudgingly, he decided to support himself by painting postcards and watercolors and to accommodate himself to the mixed company of tramps, outcasts, cranks, and transients that populated his lodgings. In both respects he did the barest minimum; he never learned to work regularly, and he remained essentially a loner. But he learned an invaluable lesson: how to evaluate and exploit the mentality of these marginal people, the Lumpenproletariat. He never considered that they posed a social problem, however, and for the rest of his life he mistook them for the real working class. Military Service In 1913, Hitler moved to Munich in the hope both of evading Austrian military service and of finding a better life in the Germany he admired so much. Opportunities for making a living, however, were even fewer in Munich than in Vienna, which partly explains his relief and enthusiasm at the outbreak of World War I. Hitler served throughout the war as a volunteer in a Bavarian infantry regiment, operating mostly in the front line as a headquarters runner. He was wounded in the leg in 1916 and gassed in 1918. Significantly enough, he was never promoted to a leadership position, but he was awarded unusually high decorations for bravery in action. The war had a profound influence on him. It provided him, finally, with a purpose that filled the void in his life. He was especially impressed by, and learned much about, violence and its uses. Hitler the artist was dead, and the politician was soon to emerge. Rise to Political Leadership The end of the war and Germany's humiliating defeat again deprived his life of meaning, and he turned against the revolution in Germany and the pacifist Weimar republic that he imagined had caused him to be so deprived. Soon afterward he discovered his power as a public speaker when, after his return to Munich, the Bavarian military command appointed him an instructor in a program for the political indoctrination of the troops. In September 1919, while an army political agent, he encountered the German Workers' party (Deutsche Arbeiterpartei), a small group interested in extending the message of nationalism to the workers. It later renamed itself the Nationalsozialistiche Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (National Socialist German Workers' party, NSDAP, or Nazis). Hitler quickly recognized that this party offered him a better chance for his new goal: political power. In April 1920 he left the army to devote all his time to his position as chief propagandist for the party. He developed a new system of political propaganda, one that emphasized mass emotionalism and violent provocation. Hitler was a masterly demagogue, and the party soon became a factor in Bavarian politics, mainly attracting the urban petty bourgeoisie. In July 1921, he became party chairman with dictatorial powers. His goal was to overthrow the government, but he had to compete with numerous other Bavarian right-wing groups and with his friend Ernst Roehm, a Bavarian staff officer. Roehm advocated the primacy of the military and wanted to incorporate the party's paramilitary units, called the SA, or Storm Troopers (Sturmabteilung) into his secret army, while Hitler insisted on the primacy of politics. When the French occupied the Ruhr in January 1923, German nationalist feelings ran high, and military authorities prepared for mobilization. The views of Roehm and the other right-wingers now seemed to be prevailing; Hitler thereupon tried to regain control of the movement by his Beer Hall Putsch of Nov. 8-9, 1923. The putsch was aimed at capturing, first, the government of Bavaria, and then the nation's, but the Bavarian authorities were able to suppress it. The failure of the putsch destroyed the party organization, severed its army ties, and resulted in prison terms for Hitler and other leaders. Hitler used his trial to gain nationwide attention for his cause. He served nine months of his 5-year sentence in the fortress of Landsberg, where he wrote Mein Kampf in an effort to demonstrate that his leadership was based on intellectual as well as political superiority. Hitler's writing in Mein Kampf is crude and disorganized, and his ideas are not original, but the book is still an important document. The most persistent theme is social Darwinism: the struggle for life governs the relationships of both individuals and nations. He argued that the German people, supposedly racially superior, were threatened by liberalism, Marxism, humanism, and bolshevism, which were directed from behind the scenes by the Jews. Relief would come from a plebiscital dictatorship that would fight a relentless war against internal and external foes, in the process conquering Lebensraum (living space) that would make Germany militarily and economically unassailable. Hitler was much more effective when writing about the techniques of power and demagoguery. He appears in the book as a man determined, and to some degree able, to implement even the maddest schemes. Rebuilding the Nazi Party When Hitler left prison and tried to rebuild the party, he met with great difficulties. He was challenged in northern Germany by the " socialist Nazi left leader Gregor Strasser, who aimed his appeal at the workers. To meet the challenge, Hitler wooed certain extremist military groups, the leftovers from World War I. While the workers ignored Strasser's program, the military outcasts eagerly followed Hitler. At a party conference in May 1926, Hitler outflanked Strasser and won back the dictatorial chairmanship, which he subsequently reinforced by declaring the party program unalterable, thus undercutting any attempt to revive the controversy over socialism. Social conditions still prevented the party from growing, however. Interest in extremist solutions had waned as Germany had regained economic and political stability. In addition, Hitler was prohibited from speaking, which deprived him of his most powerful weapon. His breakthrough came in 1929, when the German Nationalist party made him politically respectable by soliciting his help in its vicious campaign against the Young Plan's arrangements for German reparations. In September 1930, after the depression had hit Germany, the Nazis made their first substantial showing (18.3% of the vote) in national elections, and from then on Hitler seemed to rise irresistibly. He still used propaganda, demagoguery, and terror, but he now proclaimed, and defended against strong party opposition, a policy of legality. While his propaganda appealed to the lower class victims of the depression, his insistence on legality made him acceptable to the conservatives, nationalists, and the military. Personal Life and Rise to Power During this period, Hitler lived mainly from royalties for his book and fees for newspaper articles. He was able to afford an apartment in Munich, a villa in the Alps, and a car, but his style of life remained modest. He had a craving for pastries, movies, and Richard Wagner's music. His behavior still alternated between outbursts of energy and periods of inactivity and laziness. His sex life seems to have been abnormal. In 1928 he began a passionate affair with his niece Geli Raubal. The affair ended tragically in 1931 when Geli, feeling suffocated by his tyranny, committed suicide. After he became dictator, he made Eva Braun, a clerk, his mistress, but refused to marry her in order to preserve his image as a self-denying public servant. In 1932, with Germany close to anarchy, Hitler's career approached its crisis. He narrowly lost to the incumbent Paul von Hindenburg in the presidential elections in April, and the Nazis polled their highest vote (37.2%) in th