Pride and prejudice - characters of the novel :-

➢Waiting for Godot(Samuel Beckett)  ➢About the Samuel Beckett:- Samuel Barclay Beckett (13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989) was an Irish playwright, poet, novelist, and literary critic. Writing in both English and French, his literary and theatrical works feature bleak, impersonal, and tragicomic episodes of life, coupled with black comedy and literary nonsense. Beckett is widely regarded as one of the most influential and important writers of the 20th century, credited with transforming modern theatre. As a major figure of Irish literature, he is best known for his tragicomedy play Waiting for Godot (1953). For his foundational contribution to both literature and theatre, Beckett received the 1969 Nobel Prize in Literature, "for his writing, which—in new forms for the novel and drama—in the destitution of modern man acquires its elevation."                    Beckett in 1977 Born:- Samuel Barclay Beckett ...

Topic : Figurative Language by  I. A.Richards Name: Kumarkhaniya Diya g.                  MA   Semester :-2 ➢Paper No: 109 Literary Theory &   Criticism. Enrollment No: 5307250005 Kumarkhaniyadiya@gmail.com  ➢Submitted To: Department of English Maharanishree nadkuvrba mahila arts and commerce college.                Figurative Language                 by I. A .Richards ➢Introduction: Ivor Armstrong Richards  (26 February 1893– 7 September 1979), known as I. A. Richards, was an English educator,  literary critic , poet, and  rhetorician . His work contributed to the foundations of  New Criticism , a  formalist  movement in  literary theory  which emphasized the  close reading  of a literary text, especially  poetry , in an effort to discover how a work of...

➢Poem :-               I. The Burial of the Dead April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s, My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where ...