Week 5 Readings
Proverbs by Confucius and Mencius
A Midsummer Night’s dream (Act III, Scene I) by William Shakespeare
Misery, a short story by Anton Chekhov
Biography: Socrates
Proverbs by Confucius and Mencius
Confucius:
1. Do not impose on others what you yourself does not desire.
2. Not to alter one’s faults is to be faulty indeed.
3. A fool despises good counsel, a wise man takes it to heart
4. A man who does not think and plan long ahead will find trouble right at his door.
5. The will to win, the desire to succeed, the urge to reach your full potential: these are the keys that will unlock the door of personal excellence
6. He who conquers himself is the mightiest warrior
7. I hear, I know. I see, I remember. I do, I understand
8. No matter how busy you think you are, you must find time for reading, or surrender yourself to self-chosen ignorance.
9. The superior man is modest in speech, but exceeds in action
10. The superior man thinks always of virtue, the common man thinks of comfort
11. It is more shameful to distrust our friends, than to be deceived by them
12. It does not matter how slowly you go, as long as you do not stop
13. He who learns but does not think is lost! He who thinks but does not learn is in great danger!
14. Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.
15. A man who has committed a mistake and doesn't correct it is committing another mistake.
Mencius:
1. There is no greater delight than to be conscious of sincerity on self-examination.
2. We survive on adversity and perish in ease and comfort.
3. Men must decide on what they will not do, and then they are able to act with vigor in what they ought to do.
4. Kindly words do not enter so deeply into men as a reputation for kindness.
5. So I like life and I like righteousness; if I cannot keep the two together, I will let life go and choose righteousness.
6. Never has a man who has bent himself been able to make others straight.
7. Friendship is one mind in two bodies.
8. Sincerity is the way of Heaven
9. Man differs from the animal only by a little; most men throw that little away.
10. The great man is he who does not lose his child's heart.
Credit To: Various Sources
About Confucius and Mencius
Confucius:
(Born 551 BC – Died 479 BC)
Confucius was a teacher, scholar and minor political official whose commentary on Chinese literary classics developed into a pragmatic philosophy for daily life. Not strictly religious, the teachings of Confucius were a utilitarian approach to social harmony and defined moral obligations between individuals and social systems. After his death his pupils collected notes on his sayings and doings and recorded them as the Analects. This compilation was added to over the years, and many sayings attributed to him are probably only loosely based on his teachings. His approach was formalized into a political and religious system during the Han Dynasty in the early part of the third century. It was embraced by subsequent generations and was the "state religion" of China until the latter part of the 20th century. In recent years critics have condemned Confucianism, characterizing its reliance on tradition as an impediment to modernization.
"Confucius" is the Latin rendering of his Chinese name, Kong Fu-Zi, which is sometimes also spelled as Kung Fu-Zi, K'ung-fu-tze, or in other variations. The name is unrelated to the martial art known as kung fu.
Mencius:
(Born 385 BC – Died 303 BC)
Confucian thinker in China probably best known for his view that human nature is good. His full name was Meng K'o and he was also known as Meng Tzŭ (Master Meng), latinized as Mencius. He defended the ethical and political ideal of Confucius against challenges from rival schools of thought, and his teachings are recorded in theMeng Tzŭ, a collection of his sayings and conversations with disciples, friends, rulers, and philosophical adversaries. According to him, all human beings share certain ethical predispositions such as an affective concern for others, a sense of shame, love for parents, and respect for elders. The Confucian ideal is a full realization of such predispositions, and self-cultivation involves nurturing them to make possible their full development.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Act III, Scene I) by William Shakespeare
A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a popular comedy by William Shakespeare. In the scene we are reading, Oberon, king of the fairies, and his queen, Titania, have had a disagreement . Oberon seeks to teach a lesson to Titania, so he calls for the mischievous fairy, Puck to help him apply a magical juice from a flower called "love-in-idleness", which when applied to a person's eyelids while sleeping makes the victim fall in love with the first living thing seen upon awakening.
Meanwhile, a band of six labourers ("rude mechanicals", as they are described by Puck) have arranged to perform a play about Pyramus and Thisbe for King Theseus' wedding. They venture into the forest, near Titania's bed chamber, for their rehearsal. Nick Bottom, a stage-struck weaver, is spotted by Puck, who transforms his head into that of a donkey. When Bottom returns for his next lines, the other workmen take one look at him and run screaming in terror. Determined to wait for his friends, he begins to sing to himself. Titania is awakened by Bottom's singing and thanks to the magical juice on her eyelids, immediately falls in love with him.
Note: For a paraphrased version of this scene go to: http://nfs.sparknotes.com/msnd/page_66.html
ACT III, SCENE I.
[The Wood - Fairy Queen Titania lying asleep, unnoticed.]
Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING
BOTTOM
Are we all met?
QUINCE
Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous convenient place
for our rehearsal. This green plot shall be our
stage, this hawthorn-brake our tiring-house; and we
will do it in action as we will do it before the duke.
BOTTOM
Peter Quince,--
QUINCE
What sayest thou, bully Bottom?
BOTTOM
There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and
Thisby that will never please. First, Pyramus must
draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies
cannot abide. How answer you that?
SNOUT
By'r lakin, a parlous fear.
STARVELING
I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done.
BOTTOM
Not a whit: I have a device to make all well.
Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to
say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that
Pyramus is not killed indeed; and, for the more
better assurance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not
Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: this will put them
out of fear.
QUINCE
Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be
written in eight and six.
BOTTOM
No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight.
SNOUT
Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?
STARVELING
I fear it, I promise you.
BOTTOM
Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves: to
bring in--God shield us!--a lion among ladies, is a
most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful
wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to
look to 't.
SNOUT
Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
BOTTOM
Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must
be seen through the lion's neck: and he himself
must speak through, saying thus, or to the same
defect,--'Ladies,'--or 'Fair-ladies--I would wish
You,'--or 'I would request you,'--or 'I would
entreat you,--not to fear, not to tremble: my life
for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it
were pity of my life: no I am no such thing; I am a
man as other men are;' and there indeed let him name
his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.
QUINCE
Well it shall be so. But there is two hard things;
that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber; for,
you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight.
SNOUT
Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?
BOTTOM
A calendar, a calendar! look in the almanac; find
out moonshine, find out moonshine.
QUINCE
Yes, it doth shine that night.
BOTTOM
Why, then may you leave a casement of the great
chamber window, where we play, open, and the moon
may shine in at the casement.
QUINCE
Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns
and a lanthorn, and say he comes to disfigure, or to
present, the person of Moonshine. Then, there is
another thing: we must have a wall in the great
chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby says the story, did
talk through the chink of a wall.
SNOUT
You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom?
BOTTOM
Some man or other must present Wall: and let him
have some plaster, or some loam, or some rough-cast
about him, to signify wall; and let him hold his
fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus
and Thisby whisper.
QUINCE
If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down,
every mother's son, and rehearse your parts.
Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your
speech, enter into that brake: and so every one
according to his cue.
Enter PUCK behind
PUCK
What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here,
So near the cradle of the fairy queen?
What, a play toward! I'll be an auditor;
An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause.
QUINCE
Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth.
BOTTOM
Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet,--
QUINCE
Odours, odours.
BOTTOM
--odours savours sweet:
So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.
But hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile,
And by and by I will to thee appear.
Exit
PUCK
A stranger Pyramus than e'er played here.
Exit
FLUTE
Must I speak now?
QUINCE
Ay, marry, must you; for you must understand he goes
but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again.
FLUTE
Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier,
Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew,
As true as truest horse that yet would never tire,
I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb.
QUINCE
'Ninus' tomb,' man: why, you must not speak that
yet; that you answer to Pyramus: you speak all your
part at once, cues and all Pyramus enter: your cue
is past; it is, 'never tire.'
FLUTE
O,--As true as truest horse, that yet would
never tire.
Re-enter PUCK, and BOTTOM with an ass's head
BOTTOM
If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine.
QUINCE
O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted. Pray,
masters! fly, masters! Help!
Exeunt QUINCE, SNUG, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING
PUCK
I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round,
Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier:
Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound,
A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.
Exit
BOTTOM
Why do they run away? this is a knavery of them to
make me afeard.
Re-enter SNOUT
SNOUT
O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see on thee?
BOTTOM
What do you see? you see an asshead of your own, do
you?
Exit SNOUT
Re-enter QUINCE
QUINCE
Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art
translated.
Exit
BOTTOM
I see their knavery: this is to make an ass of me;
to fright me, if they could. But I will not stir
from this place, do what they can: I will walk up
and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear
I am not afraid.
Sings
The ousel cock so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,
The wren with little quill,--
TITANIA
[Awaking] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?
BOTTOM
[Sings]
The finch, the sparrow and the lark,
The plain-song cuckoo gray,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,
And dares not answer nay;--
for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish
a bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry
'cuckoo' never so?
TITANIA
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.
BOTTOM
Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason
for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and
love keep little company together now-a-days; the
more the pity that some honest neighbours will not
make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.
TITANIA
Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
BOTTOM
Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out
of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn.
TITANIA
Out of this wood do not desire to go:
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate;
The summer still doth tend upon my state;
And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee,
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
Misery by Anton Chekhov (abridged)
The twilight of evening. Big flakes of wet snow are whirling lazily about the street lamps, and lying in a thin soft layer on roofs, horses' backs, shoulders, caps. Iona Potapov, the sledge-driver, is all white like a ghost. He sits on the box without stirring, bent as double as the living body can be bent. His little mare is white and motionless too. Her stillness and the stick-like straightness of her legs make her look like a halfpenny gingerbread horse. The horse is probably lost in thought. Anyone who has been torn away from the plough, from the familiar gray landscapes, and cast into monstrous lights, unceasing uproar and hurrying people, is bound to think.
It is a long time since Iona and his horse have budged. They came out of the yard before dinnertime and not a single customer yet. But now the shades of evening are falling on the town. The pale light of the street lamps changes to a vivid color, and the bustle of the street grows noisier.
"Sledge to Vyborg!" Iona hears. "Sledge!"
Iona starts, and through his snow-plastered eyelashes sees an officer in a military overcoat with a hood over his head.
"To Vyborg" repeats the officer. "Are you asleep? To Vyborg!"
In token of assent Iona gives a tug at the reins which sends cakes of snow flying from the horse's back and shoulders. The officer gets into the sledge. The sledge-driver clicks to the horse, cranes his neck like a swan, rises in his seat. The mare cranes her neck, too, crooks her stick-like legs, and hesitatingly sets off. . . .
"Where are you going, you fool?" someone shouts from the crowd before him. "Where the devil are you going? Keep to the r-right!"
"You don't know how to drive! Keep to the right," says the officer angrily.
A coachman driving a carriage swears at him; a pedestrian crossing the road and brushing the horse's nose with his shoulder looks at him angrily and shakes the snow off his sleeve. Iona fidgets on the box as though he were sitting on thorns, jerks his elbows, and turns his eyes about like one possessed. He does not seem to know where he was or why he was there.
"What rascals they all are!" says the officer merrily. "They are simply doing their best to run up against you or fall under the horse's feet. They must be doing it on purpose."
Iona looks as his fare and moves his lips. . . . Apparently he means to say something, but nothing comes but a sniff.
"What?" inquires the officer.
Iona gives a wry smile, and straining his throat, brings out huskily: "My son . . . er . . . my son died this week, sir."
"H'm! What did he die of?"
Iona turns his whole body round to his fare, and says:
"Who can tell! It must have been from fever. . . . He lay three days in the hospital and then he died. . . . God's will."
"Turn round, you devil!" comes out of the darkness. "Have you gone cracked, you old dog? Look where you are going!"
"Drive on! drive on! . . ." says the officer. "We shan't get there till to-morrow going on like this. Hurry up!"
The sledge-driver cranes his neck again, rises in his seat, and with heavy grace swings his whip. Several times he looks round at the officer, but the latter keeps his eyes shut and is apparently disinclined to listen. Putting his fare down at Vyborg, Iona stops by a restaurant, and again sits huddled up on the box. . . . Again the wet snow paints him and his horse white. One hour passes, and then another. . . .
Three young men, two tall and thin, one short and hunchbacked, come up, railing at each other and loudly stamping on the pavement.
"Cabby, to the Police Bridge!" the hunchback cries in a cracked voice. "The three of us, . . . twenty kopecks!"
Iona tugs at the reins and clicks to his horse. Twenty kopecks is not a fair price, but he has no thoughts for that. Whether it is a rouble or whether it is five kopecks does not matter to him now so long as he has a customer. . . . The three young men, shoving each other and using bad language, go up to the sledge, and all three try to sit down at once. The question remains to be settled: Which are to sit down and which one is to stand? After a long argument, they come to the conclusion that the hunchback must stand because he is the shortest.
"Well, drive on," says the hunchback in his cracked voice, settling himself and breathing down Iona's neck. "Cut along! What a cap you've got, my friend! You wouldn't find a worse one in all Petersburg. . . ."
"He-he! . . . he-he! . . ." laughs Iona. "It's nothing to boast of!"
"Well, then, nothing to boast of, drive on! Are you going to drive like this all the way? Eh? Shall I give you a slap in the neck?"
"My head aches," says one of the tall ones.
"I can't make out why you talk such stuff," says the other tall one angrily. "You lie like a brute."
"Strike me dead, it's the truth! . . ."
"He-he!" grins Iona. "Me-er-ry gentlemen!"
"Will you get on, you old plague, or won't you” cries the hunchback indignantly. “Is that the way to drive? Give the horse one with the whip. Hang it all, give it her well."
Iona feels behind his back the jolting person and quivering voice of the hunchback. He hears abuse addressed to him, he sees people, and the feeling of loneliness begins little by little to be less heavy on his heart. The hunchback swears at him, till he chokes over some elaborately whimsical string of epithets and is overpowered by his cough. Iona looks round at them. Waiting till there is a brief pause, he looks round once more and says:
"This week . . . er. . . my. . . er. . . son died!"
"We shall all die, . . ." says the hunchback with a sigh, wiping his lips after coughing. "Come, drive on! drive on! My friends, I simply cannot stand crawling like this! When will he get us there?"
"Well, you give him a little encouragement . . . a slap in the neck!"
"Do you hear, you old plague? I'll make you hurt. If one stands on ceremony with fellows like you one may as well walk. Do you hear, you old dragon? Or don't you care a hang what we say? "
And Iona hears rather than feels a sharp slap on the back of his neck.
"He-he! . . . " he laughs. "Merry gentlemen . . . . God give you health!"
"Cabman, are you married?" asks one of the tall ones.
"I? He he! Me-er-ry gentlemen. The only wife for me now is the damp earth. .. . . He-ho-ho!. . . .The grave that is! . . . Here my son's dead and I am alive. . . . It's a strange thing, death has come in at the wrong door. . . .. Instead of coming for me it went for my son. . . ."
And Iona turns round to tell them how his son died, but at that point the hunchback gives a faint sigh and announces that, thank God! they have arrived at last. After taking his twenty kopecks, Iona gazes for a long while after the revelers, who disappear into a dark entry. Again he is alone and again there is silence for him. . . .
The misery which has been for a brief space eased comes back again and tears his heart more cruelly than ever. With a look of anxiety and suffering Iona's eyes stray restlessly among the crowds moving to and fro on both sides of the street: can he not find among those thousands someone who will listen to him? But the crowds flit by heedless of him and his misery. . . . His misery is immense, beyond all bounds. If Iona's heart were to burst and his misery to flow out, it would flood the whole world, it seems, but yet it is not seen. It has found a hiding-place in such an insignificant shell that one would not have found it with a candle by daylight. . . .
"Back to the yard!" he thinks. "To the yard!"
And his little mare, as though she knew his thoughts, falls to trotting. An hour and a half later Iona is sitting by a big dirty stove. On the stove, on the floor, and on the benches are people snoring. The air is full of smells and stuffiness. Iona looks at the sleeping figures, scratches himself, and regrets that he has come home so early. . . .
"I have not earned enough to pay for the oats, even," he thinks. "That's why I am so miserable. A man who knows how to do his work, . . . who has had enough to eat, and whose horse has had enough to eat, is always at ease. . . ."
In one of the corners a young cabman gets up, clears his throat sleepily, and makes for the water-bucket.
"Want a drink?" Iona asks him.
"Yes."
"May it do you good. . . . But my son is dead, mate. . . . Do you hear? This week in the hospital. . . . It's a queer business. . . ."
Iona looks to see the effect produced by his words, but he sees nothing. The young man has covered his head over and is already asleep. The old man sighs. . . . Just as the young man had been thirsty for water, he thirsts for speech. His son will soon have been dead a week, and he has not really talked to anybody yet . . . . He wants to talk of it properly, with deliberation. . . . He wants to tell how his son was taken ill, how he suffered, what he said before he died, how he died. . . . He wants to describe the funeral, and how he went to the hospital to get his son's clothes. He still has his daughter Anisya in the country. . . . And he wants to talk about her too. . . . Yes, he has plenty to talk about now. His listener ought to sigh and exclaim and lament. . . . It would be even better to talk to women - they blubber at the first word.
"Let's go out and have a look at the mare," Iona thinks. "There is always time for sleep. . . . You'll have sleep enough, no fear. . . ."
He puts on his coat and goes into the stables where his mare is standing. He thinks about oats, about hay, about the weather. . . . He cannot think about his son when he is alone. . . . To talk about him with someone is possible, but to think of him and picture him is too painful.
"Are you munching?" Iona asks his mare, seeing her shining eyes. "There, munch away, munch away. . . . Since we have not earned enough for oats, we will eat hay. . . . Yes, . . . I have grown too old to drive. . . . My son ought to be driving, not I. . . . He was a real cabman. . . . He ought to have lived. . . ."
Iona is silent for a while, and then he goes on:
"That's how it is, old girl. . . . my son, Kuzma is gone. . . . He said good-bye to me. . . . He went and died for no reason. . . . Now, suppose you had a little colt, and you were mother to that little colt. . . . And all at once that same little colt went and died. . . . You'd be sorry, wouldn't you? . . ."
The little mare munches, listens, and breathes on her master's hands. Iona is carried away and tells her all about it.
Credit To: http://www.readprint.com/work-236/Misery-Anton-Chekhov
About Anton Chekhov
(born Jan. 29, 1860, Taganrog, Russia — died July 14/15, 1904, Badenweiler, Ger.) Russian playwright and short-story writer. The son of a former serf, he supported his family by writing popular comic sketches while studying medicine in Moscow. While practicing as a doctor, he had his first full-length play, Ivanov (1887), produced, but it was not well-received. He took up serious themes with stories such as "The Steppe" (1888) and "A Dreary Story" (1889); later stories include "The Black Monk" (1894) and "Peasants" (1897). He converted his second long play, The Wood Demon (1889), into the masterpiece Uncle Vanya (1897). His play The Seagull (1896) was badly received until its successful revival in 1899 by Konstantin Stanislavsky and the Moscow Art Theatre. He moved to the Crimea to nurse his eventually fatal tuberculosis, and there he wrote his great last plays, Three Sisters (1901) and The Cherry Orchard (1904), for the Moscow Art Theatre. Chekhov's plays, which take a tragicomic view of the staleness of provincial life and the passing of the Russian gentry, received international acclaim after their translation into English and other languages, and as a short-story writer he is still regarded as virtually unmatched.
Credit To: http://www.answers.com/topic/anton-chekhov
Biography: Socrates
(Born 496 BC- Died 399 BC)
Socrates was the first of the three great Athenian philosophers (the other two are Plato and Aristotle). Socrates was born in Athens in 469 BC, so he lived through the time of King Pericles and the Athenian Empire, though he was too young to remember Marathon or Salamis. He was not from a rich family. His father was probably a stone-carver, and Socrates also worked in stone, especially as a not-very-good sculptor. Socrates' mother was a midwife. When the Peloponnesian War began, Socrates fought bravely for Athens. We do not have any surviving pictures of Socrates that were made while he was alive, or by anyone who ever saw him, but he is supposed to have been ugly.
But when Socrates was in his forties or so, he began to feel an urge to think about the world around him, and try to answer some difficult questions. He asked, "What is wisdom?" and "What is beauty?" and "What is the right thing to do?" He knew that these questions were hard to answer, and he thought it would be better to have a lot of people discuss the answers together, so that they might come up with more ideas. So he began to go around Athens asking people he met these questions, "What is wisdom?" , "What is piety?", and so forth. Sometimes the people just said they were busy, but sometimes they would try to answer him. Then Socrates would try to teach them to think better by asking them more questions which showed them the problems in their logic. Often this made people angry. Sometimes they even tried to beat him up.
Socrates soon had a group of young men who listened to him and learned from him how to think. Plato was one of these young men. Socrates never charged them any money. But in 399 BC, some of the Athenians got mad at Socrates for what he was teaching the young men. They charged him in court with impiety (not respecting the gods) and corrupting the youth (teaching young men bad things).
His defense is preserved by Plato, under the title Apology of Socrates. He dwelt on his mission to convince men of their ignorance for their ultimate benefit; pronounced himself a public blessing to the Athenians; declared that if his life was preserved he would continue in the same course; and regarded the prospect of death with utter indifference. He was adjudged guilty and sentenced to death by poison. The last day of his life he passed in conversation with his friends on the Immortality of the soul. He then drank the hemlock, and passed away with the dignity and calmness becoming his past career.
Socrates never wrote down any of his ideas while he was alive. But after he died, his student, Plato, did write down some of what Socrates had said.
Credit To: http://www.sacklunch.net/biography/S/Socrates.html
