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Oratorical Declamation
An oratorical declamation is a term used to describe the redelivery of a famous speech. Among the famous oratorical declamation pieces are “Shylock’s Defense” by William Shakespeare and “Dirty Hands” by John P. Delaney.
978 Questions
How do you write a speech paragraph for sports day?
Write sentences the way you speak - just pretend you are telling this to a friend, and write down what you would say. What would you tell them about this topic? What things do you want your friend to know about sports day? What things about sports are interesting to you? How can you tell your friend about your feelings?
If you just start writing, you will be through with your assignment before you know it!
no doubt that sport is very important for us it play an important role in our building body. it is leads us to intelligence cooperation ambition
You have to write a paragraph about China?
China is a very important place in the modern world. The country is massive and measures 9,600,000 square kilometres. It has a massive population: approximately 1.3 billion, the largest in the world. China has a fast growing economy. China is a beautiful country filled with large population and a strong cultural background. Though China was largely isolated from the rest of the world after the communist revolution, it has since opened its doors to the world once again. With the largest population of people in the world and the largest land area the the geography of China is as vast as it history. The history and cultural traditions of China have been studied and written about for a long time. China has beautifully colossal landscape and it is varied: high mountains to rainforests, cold deserts to fertile plains and great rivers, especially the Huang (Yellow River). There human landscapes which are also varied: the capital Beijing, and Shanghai to tiny rural villages. China has 668 cities in total. 13 of them have populations of more than 2 million people. These include: Shanghai, Guangzhou, Xi'an, Wuhan, and Chengdu. The main religions of China are: Taoism and Buddhism. The main languages they speak are: Mandarin and Standard Chinese. The president is Hu Jintao. Main Crops are: Rice, wheat, potatoes, maize, tobacco, soybeans, peanuts, tea, millet, barley, apples, cotton, oilseed, pork and fish. There national animal is the Panda. You can take a trip to the amazing and huge Great Wall of China.
Hope this helps you. x
What is the criteria for cooking contest?
There are many types.
Consider specifying methods of cooking contests.
Some famous ones are:
# Cook something out of these ingredients provided to you. # Cook something out of weird ingredients. # Secret ingredients and limited kitchenware. # Potluck cooking and food tasting.
What are short phrases starting with the letter q?
quick
The quick red fox jumped over the lazy brown bear.
quiet
Please be quiet.
queen
Elizabeth is The Queen of England.
queer (strange)
He's a queer sort.
quip
Susan's quip following Bill's remark was very funny.
quirk
We all have our own little quirks and eccentricities.
How do you prevent gangsterism?
Buy a gun or send your children to a convent or military school works wonders! You can also try to modify the way you wear your clothes. If your underwear show more than your pants, you might be a ganster. If you wear more than one necklace, you might be a ganster. If you have chrome teeth, you could be a ganster. If you have a box full of spray paint, you might be a ganster. If you listen to music like Biggie Smalls, Snoop Dogg, and Tupac...YOU MIGHT BE A GANGSTER! If you don't have a high school GED/Diploma...you know the answer.
Can you give me examples of oratorical speech?
Shylock's Defense by William Shakespeare (from The Merchant of Venice Act III, Scene I, lines 43-61) To bait fish withal: if it feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me half a million, laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge! If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.
Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death by Patrick Henry I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry has been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free-- if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending--if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained--we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us! They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable--and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come. It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace-- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
I Am a Filipino By Carlos P. Romulo I am a Filipino - inheritor of a glorious past, hostage to the uncertain future. As such I must prove equal to a two-fold task- the task of meeting my responsibility to the past, and the task of performing my obligation to the future. I sprung from a hardy race - child of many generations removed of ancient Malayan pioneers. Across the centuries, the memory comes rushing back to me: of brown-skinned men putting out to sea in ships that were as frail as their hearts were stout. Over the sea I see them come, borne upon the billowing wave and the whistling wind, carried upon the mighty swell of hope- hope in the free abundance of new land that was to be their home and their children's forever. This is the land they sought and found. Every inch of shore that their eyes first set upon, every hill and mountain that beckoned to them with a green and purple invitation, every mile of rolling plain that their view encompassed, every river and lake that promise a plentiful living and the fruitfulness of commerce, is a hollowed spot to me. By the strength of their hearts and hands, by every right of law, human and divine, this land and all the appurtenances thereof - the black and fertile soil, the seas and lakes and rivers teeming with fish, the forests with their inexhaustible wealth in wild life and timber, the mountains with their bowels swollen with minerals - the whole of this rich and happy land has been, for centuries without number, the land of my fathers. This land I received in trust from them and in trust will pass it to my children, and so on until the world no more. I am a Filipino. In my blood runs the immortal seed of heroes - seed that flowered down the centuries in deeds of courage and defiance. In my veins yet pulses the same hot blood that sent Lapulapu to battle against the alien foe that drove Diego Silang and Dagohoy into rebellion against the foreign oppressor. That seed is immortal. It is the self-same seed that flowered in the heart of Jose Rizal that morning in Bagumbayan when a volley of shots put an end to all that was mortal of him and made his spirit deathless forever; the same that flowered in the hearts of Bonifacio in Balintawak, of Gergorio del Pilar at Tirad Pass, of Antonio Luna at Calumpit; that bloomed in flowers of frustration in the sad heart of Emilio Aguinaldo at Palanan, and yet burst fourth royally again in the proud heart of Manuel L. Quezon when he stood at last on the threshold of ancient Malacañang Palace, in the symbolic act of possession and racial vindication. The seed I bear within me is an immortal seed. It is the mark of my manhood, the symbol of dignity as a human being. Like the seeds that were once buried in the tomb of Tutankhamen many thousand years ago, it shall grow and flower and bear fruit again. It is the insigne of my race, and my generation is but a stage in the unending search of my people for freedom and happiness. I am a Filipino, child of the marriage of the East and the West. The East, with its languor and mysticism, its passivity and endurance, was my mother, and my sire was the West that came thundering across the seas with the Cross and Sword and the Machine. I am of the East, an eager participant in its struggles for liberation from the imperialist yoke. But I also know that the East must awake from its centuried sleep, shape of the lethargy that has bound his limbs, and start moving where destiny awaits. For, I, too, am of the West, and the vigorous peoples of the West have destroyed forever the peace and quiet that once were ours. I can no longer live, being apart from those world now trembles to the roar of bomb and cannon shot. For no man and no nation is an island, but a part of the main, there is no longer any East and West - only individuals and nations making those momentous choices that are hinges upon which history resolves. At the vanguard of progress in this part of the world I stand - a forlorn figure in the eyes of some, but not one defeated and lost. For through the thick, interlacing branches of habit and custom above me I have seen the light of the sun, and I know that it is good. I have seen the light of justice and equality and freedom and my heart has been lifted by the vision of democracy, and I shall not rest until my land and my people shall have been blessed by these, beyond the power of any man or nation to subvert or destroy. I am a Filipino, and this is my inheritance. What pledge shall I give that I may prove worthy of my inheritance? I shall give the pledge that has come ringing down the corridors of the centuries, and it shall be compounded of the joyous cries of my Malayan forebears when they first saw the contours of this land loom before their eyes, of the battle cries that have resounded in every field of combat from Mactan to Tirad pass, of the voices of my people when they sing: Land of the Morning,Child of the sun returning…Ne'er shall invaders trample thy sacred shore. Out of the lush green of these seven thousand isles, out of the heartstrings of sixteen million people all vibrating to one song, I shall weave the mighty fabric of my pledge. Out of the songs of the farmers at sunrise when they go to labor in the fields; out of the sweat of the hard-bitten pioneers in Mal-ig and Koronadal; out of the silent endurance of stevedores at the piers and the ominous grumbling of peasants Pampanga; out of the first cries of babies newly born and the lullabies that mothers sing; out of the crashing of gears and the whine of turbines in the factories; out of the crunch of ploughs upturning the earth; out of the limitless patience of teachers in the classrooms and doctors in the clinics; out of the tramp of soldiers marching, I shall make the pattern of my pledge: "I am a Filipino born of freedom and I shall not rest until freedom shall have been added unto my inheritance - for myself and my children's children - forever.
I Have a Dream by Martin Luther King, Jr. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity. But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition. In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. we must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" we can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania! Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado! Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California! But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia! Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee! Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring. When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Despair of Judas I will rest here, awhile. His face! His face! Not comely now. There is no beauty in it. It is scarred into my heart. It is burned into my soul and never will it lift from me until I die. Die? Will death quench the flames which consume me? Traitor, not endless years in hell can even pay the crime of murdering the son of God. And last night, he dealt with me so gently. He washed my feet. He bade me to put my hand into the cup with his, while in my purse there jingled the coins which bought his blood. It was better for that man that he had never been born. Who? Who but I, who but I, I who betrayed him! "What you do, do it quickly." He knew, and kept my sin a secret. "Friend, where unto have you come, Judas, Judas, do you betray the Son of God with a kiss?" Friend! Friend! He called me his friend. The man I betrayed called me his friend. How hell must have laughed. Why did not the mountains fall on me? Why did not the earth gape and swallow me up? Why did not the sea overwhelm me? Friend. Ha! Ha! Friend. Ha! Ha! Ha! The world will know Judas as the friend. The world will point to Judas as a by word, and as a pledge of broken faith! Do you think Judas you can hide from the father of your friend Jesus? Not even in hell can I escape. Not in the grave for the earth will spurn my corpse. Not in the heavens for Jesus the friend is there. What hope for Judas? What hope for Judas? Not even in hell can I escape for he called me devil, and devils cried out: torment us not, Jesus, Judas, faithless friend, devil, one of whom it would have been better not to have been born. There is no hope for you, no hope, no hope…
We Have Become Untrue to Ourselves! By Felix B. Bautista With all the force and vigor at my command, I contend that we have relaxed our vigilance, that we have allowed ourselves to deteriorate. I contend that we have lost our pride in the Philippines, that we no longer consider it a privilege and an honor to be born a Filipino. To the Filipino youth, nothing Filipino is good enough any more. Even their Filipino names no longer suit them. A boy named Juan does not care to be called Juanito anymore. No, he must be Johnny. A girl named Virginia would get sore if she was nicknamed Viring or Biñang. No, she must be Virgie or Ginny. Roberto has become Bobbie; Maria, Mary or Marie. And because they have become so Americanized, because they look down on everything Filipino, they now regard with contempt all the things that our fathers and our fathers' fathers held dear. They frown on kissing the hands of their elders, saying that it is unsanitary. They don't care for the Angelus, saying that it is old-fashioned. They belittle the kundiman, because it is so drippingly sentinmental. They are what they are today because their elders - their parents and their teachers - have allowed them to be such. They are incongruities because they cannot be anything else! And they cannot be anything else because their elders did not know enough, or did not care enough to fashion them and to mold them into the Filipino pattern. This easing of the barriers that would have protected our Filipinism, this has resulted in something more serious, I refer to the de-Filipinization of our economic life. Let us face it. Economically speaking, we Filipinos have become strangers in our own country. And so, today, we are witnesses to the spectacle of a Philippines inhabited by Filipinos who do not act and talk like Filipinos. We are witnesses to the pathetic sight of a Philippines controlled and dominated and run by non-Filipinos. We have become untrue to ourselves, we have become traitors to the brave Filipinos who fought and died so that liberty might live in the Philippines. We have betrayed the trust that Rizal reposed on us, we are not true to the faith that energized Bonifacio, the faith that made Gregorio del Pilar cheerfully lay down his life at Tirad Pass.
Dirty Hands by John P. Delaney S.J. I'm proud of my dirty hands. Yes, they are dirty. And they are rough and knobby and calloused. And I'm proud of the dirt and the knobs and the callouses. I didn't get them that way by playing bridge or drinking afternoon tea out of dainty cups, or playing the well-advertised Good Samaritan at charity balls. I got them that way by working with them, and I'm proud of the work and the dirt. Why shouldn't I feel proud od the work they do - these dirty hands of mine? My hands are the hands of plumbers, of truckdrivers and street cleaners; of carpenters; engineers, machinists and workers in steel. They are not pretty hands, they are dirty and knobby and calloused. But they are strong hands, hands that make so much that the world must have or die. Someday, I think, the world should go down on its knees and kiss all the dirty hands of the working world, as in the days long past, armored knights would kiss the hands of ladies fair. I'm proud of my dirty hands. The world has kissed such hands. The world will always kiss such hands. Men and women put reverent lips to the hands of Him who held the hammer and the saw and the plane. His weren't pretty hands either when they chopped trees, dragged rough lumber, and wielded carpenter's tools. They were workingman's hands - strong, capable proud hands. And weren't pretty hands when the executioners got through them. They were torn right clean through by ugly nails, and the blood was running from them, and the edges of the wounds were raw and dirty and swollen; and the joints were crooked and the fingers were horribly bent in a mute appeal for love. They weren't pretty hands then, but, O God, they were beautiful - those hands of the Savior. I'm proud of those dirty hands, hands of my Savior, hands of God. And I'm proud of my hands too, dirty hands, like the hands of my Savior, the Hands of my God!
Jewels of the Pauper by Horacio de la Costa, S.J. There is a thought that comes to me sometimes as I sit by my window in the evening, listening to the young men's guitars, and watching the shadows deepen on the longs hills, the hills of my native land. You know, we are a remarkably poor people; poor not only in material goods, but even in the riches of the spirit. I doubt we can claim to possess a truly national literature. No Shakespeare, no Cervantes has yet been born among us to touch with immortality that which is in our landscape, in our customs, in our story, that which is most original, most ourselves. If we must give currency to our thoughts, we are focused to mint them in the coinage of a foreign tongue; for we do not even have a common language. But poor as we are, we yet have something. This pauper among the nations of the earth hides two jewels in her rages. One of them is our music. We are sundered one from another by eighty-seven dialects; we are one people when we sing. The kundimans of Bulacan awaken an answering chord of lutes of Leyte. Somewhere in the rugged north, a peasant woman croons her child to sleep; and the Visayan listening remembers the crane fields of his childhood, and his mother singing the self-made song. We are again one people when we pray. This is our other treasure; our Faith. It gives somehow, to our little uneventful days, a kind of splendor; as though they had been touched by a king. And did you ever notice how they are always mingling, our religion and our music? All the basic rite of human life - the harvest and the seedtime, the wedding, birth and death - are among us drenched with the fragrance and the coolness of music. These are the bonds that bind us together; these are the souls that make us one. And as long as there remains in these islands one mother to sing Nena's lullaby, one boat to put out to sea with the immemorial rowing song, one priest to stand at the altar and offer God to God, the nation may be conquered, trampled upon, enslaved, but it cannot perish. Like the sun that dies every evening it will rise again from the dead.
The Two Standards by Horacio de la Costa, S.J. Life is a Warfare: a warfare between two standards: the Standard of Christ and the Standard of Satan. It is a warfare older than the world, for it began with the revolt of the angels. It is a warfare wide as the world; it rages in every nation, every city, in the heart of every man. Satan desires all men to come under his Standard, and to this end lures them with riches, honors, power, all that ministers to the lust and pride of man. Christ on the contrary, invites all to fight under His Standard. But He offers no worldly allurement; only Himself. Only Jesus; only the Son of Man; born an outcast, raised in poverty, rejected as a teacher, betrayed by His friend, crucified as a criminal. And therefore His followers shall not be confounded forever; they are certain of ultimate victory; against them, the gates of Hell cannot prevail. The powers of darkness shall splinter before their splendid battalions. Battle-scarred but resplendent, they shall enter into glory with Christ, their king. Two armies, two Standards, two generals… and to every man there comes the imperious cry of command: Choose! Christ or Satan? Choose! Sanctity or Sin? Choose! Heaven or Hell? And in the choice he makes, is summed up the life of every man.
Who wrote the oration piece believe you can succeed and you will?
This quote is often attributed to William Arthur Ward, a motivational writer and speaker known for his inspirational quotes. Ward’s work focuses on the power of positive thinking and believing in oneself to achieve success.
Can you give a copy of the declamation piece entitled unwanted child?
Does this start with the phrases, "No, please, dont get dark. Im afraid of the dark. I hate darkness...." I performed this on stage when I was five.
no some phrases i know but most i forgot..... " i can hear their footsteps their laughters that lead to my room, i long to run and met them when they come, i long for mamas tender touch , for papas kiss , for a smile for my brother and sister"
Can you give a declamation piece of i killed him because i loved him?
I KILLED HER
I killed her because I do love her. These hands, these hands that give life to many, killed her because of my love to her.
Ladies and Gentlemen of this honorable court, please listen to me, listen to my story before you give my verdict. I am Dr. Reyes, a cancer specialist. I was born in a slum district of Batalon. My father oh! I don't know him for I am a child of faith. My mother brought me up in such determination and my ambition was to escape the filthy and horrible place of Batalon. I was nourished with hope that someday I might live a life different from her. My mother had a burning faith that she turned the nights into days. All her efforts were not in vain for I pushed through with flying colors. My mother who had given her whole life to me had tears in her eyes as she pinned the gold medal on my proud breast.
Later on, I was sent as a scholar of the Philippines to the United States of America. I embraced my mother… tightly as I've reached the plane….."Mother, mother,.." I whispered. You will always be my best mother in the world.
After four years, I came back with laurels. I became a cancer specialist. I gave my mother everything but I was too late. I who had used to ease the pain of many, came too late to the life of my dying mother. I gave the best treatment but the grasp of death was so tight around her. My God, what is the use of ten years of study if I couldn't even use it at my mother's pain.
Then one night, I heard a strange cry. I run to her room. "Do you love me, child?"… she asked, as I embrace her. " Yes, mother….. If only I could get all your pain and agonies…"
" Then….. if you love me, end my sufferings, kill me… Let me die."
"But, mother, I promise to give life and not to end it."
God…. She did not deserve the unhappiness. She deserves to be happy.
I run to my room and came back with a syringe.
"Mother, forgive me…. God, please understand me…."
"Mother, mother, you must not die….. Don't leave, I love you. It was only a distilled water…..Mother…… Mother……. MOTHER……"
Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, give me your verdict. Yes, it was only distilled water which ended the sufferings of my mother.
Judge me….. Punish me………
GO, punish me………….. Thy will be done!!!
Who wrote the declamation entitled 'Dirty Hands'?
The declamation entitled "Dirty Hands" was written by Jean-Paul Sartre, a prominent French existentialist philosopher and playwright. The declamation explores themes of personal responsibility and political engagement.
Can you give me a copy of oratorical declamation entitled a glass of cold water?
The original piece which is entitled A Glass of Water is more beautiful than the new one. They just add cold but still the story line is the same but the original has beautiful dialogues and has a twist. It started with a girl powdering her face, combing her hair, painting her lips in front of the mirror. Suddenly, there is a voice asking for a glass of water. The piece end it with the father not owning his daughter for the reason that she killed her own mother. The original is very beautiful. try to find it.
Full copy of casablanca declamation piece?
The flagship had taken fire. The flames were breakin' out from below. The deck was ablaze. The men who were left alive made haste to launch a small boat. The leaped into it, and rowed swiftly away. Any other place was safer now than on board of the burning ship. There was powder in the hold.
But the captain's son. Young Casablanca, still stood upon the deck. The flames were almost all around him now but he would not stir from his post. His father had bidden him stand there, and he had been taught always to obey. He trusted in his father's word, and believed that when the right time came, he would tell him to go.
He saw the men leap into the boat. He heard them call to him to come. He shook his head.
"When father bids me, I will go", he said.
And now, the flames were leaping up the masts. The sails were all ablaze. The fire blew hot upon his cheek. It scorched his hair. It was before him, behind all around him.
"Oh Father," he cried, "may I not go now? The men have all left the ship. Is it not the time that we, too, should leave it?"
He did not know that his father was lying in the burning cabin below, that a cannon ball had struck him at the very beginning of the fight. He listened to hear his answer.
"Speak louder, Father," he cried, "I cannot hear what you say".
Above the roaring of the flames, above the crashing of the falling spars, above the booming of the guns, he fancied that his father's voice came faintly to him through the scorching air.
"I am here, Father. Speak once again," he gasped.
A great flash of light fills the air; clouds of smoke shoot quickly upward to the sky and -
BOOM!
Oh, what a terrific sound. Louder than thunder, louder than the roar of all guns. The air quivers: the see itself trembles; the sky is black. The blazing ship is seen no more. There was powder in the hold.
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Copy of the despair of Judas speech choir piece please?
Despair of Judas
I will rest here, awhile. His face! His Face! Not comely now. There is no beauty in it. It is scarred into my heart. It is burned into my soul and never will it lift from me until I die. Die? Will death quench the flames which consume me? Traitor, not endless years in hell can even pay the crime of murdering the son of God.
And last night, he dealt with me so gently. He washed my feet. He bade me to put my hand into the cup with his, while in my purse there jingled the coins which bought his blood. It was better for that man that he had never been born. Who? Who but I, who but I, I who betrayed him!
"What you do, do it quickly." He knew, and kept my sin a secret.
"Friend, where unto have you come, Judas, Judas, do you betray the son of God with a kiss?"
Friend! Friend! He called me his friend. The man I betrayed called me his friend. How hell must have laughed. Why did not the mountains fall on me?
Why did not the earth gape and swallow me up? Why did not the sea overwhelm me? Friend. Ha! Ha! Ha! Friend. Ha! Ha! Ha! The world will know Judas as the friend.
The world will point to Judas as a by word, and as a pledge of broken faith!
Do you think Judas you can hide from the father of your friend Jesus? Not even in hell can I escape. Not in the grave for the earth will spurn my corpse. Not in the heavens for Jesus the friend is there.
What hope for Judas? What hope for Judas? Not even in hell can I escape for he called me devil, and devils cried out: torment us not, Jesus, Judas, faithless friend, devil, one of whom it would have been better not to have been born. There is no hope for you, no hope, no hope…
Can you give me a copy of darling of the crowd declamation piece?
You can find a copy of the declamation piece entitled Murderess online at various educational websites. These include websites like SpeechFest and StudyMode. You can download the entire declamation or you can search for other titles at these websites.
Can you give me a copy of a declamation piece I need love?
What a Night I was walking alone one dark night i was going home, i heard footsteps following me, slowly i looked back but no one was there, i walked faster, then i slowly i looked back again, I saw him, he was tall but i can't see his face through the darkness, I was so afraid, i was trembling with fear. The footsteps became louder and faster then i panicked, I shouted help! help! help! Somebody help me! Suddenly I felt a tight grip on my arms, O! My! he was holding my arms, help, help! as i whisked his hand so hard to get off from his grip, Ohhh! it hurts, my arm hit the railings of my bed! i woke up! Thanks heavens it was just a bad dream! by tessa a.s. briones
The copy of declamation piece called thirteen?
There is a declamation piece called Thirteen that is easily searchable on video networking sites. There are also declamation pieces that are age appropriate for someone thirteen years old, such as the Desiderata.
Can you give examples of sports oratorical speech?
i would defenetly have to say that dogs can grow beards all over and dont drink and dance
Can you give me an example of declamation filipino piece about sports?
tulang palaka
ako'y tutula
tulang palaka
ako'y uupo
taposna po!
What are the criteria for judging a robotics dance contest?
The criteria that a judge might choose to consider are actually too numerous to examine individually in the brief time allotted, since at least six couples are being judged simultaneously. Therefore, the judge must rely on the impression each couple makes relative to the others . The experienced judge, having seen and studied dancing at all levels, can quickly assess these factors collectively:
POSTURE - one of the most important aspects. Good posture makes you look elegant and exude confidence. It improves balance and control, and allows your partner to connect well to your body in the smooth dances. One's competition result is often directly proportional to one's postural correctness. Hence the old adage, "Persistent practice of postural principles promises perfection."
TIMING - if a couple is not dancing on time with the music, no amount of proficiency in any other aspect can overcome this. The music is boss.
LINE - by this we mean the length and stretch of the body from head to toe. Attractive and well- executed lines, either curved or straight, enhance the shapes of the figures.
HOLD - the correct and unaffected positioning of the body parts when in closed dancing position. For instance, the line of the man's arms should be unbroken from elbow to elbow. Also, there should be symmetry of the man's and woman's arms coming together to form a circle, which, although changing in size, should remain constant in shape so that the dancers remain in correct body position relative to each other. The silhouette of the couple should always be pleasing.
POISE - in smooth dancing, the stretch of the woman's body upwards and outwards and leftwards into the man's right arm to achieve balance and connection with his frame, as well as to project outwards to the audience.
TOGETHERNESS - the melding of two people's body weights into one, so that leading and following appear effortless, and the dancers are totally in synchronization with each other.
MUSICALITY AND EXPRESSION - the basic characterization of the dance to the particular music being played and the choreographic adherence to musical phrasings and accents; also the use of light and shade to create interest value in response to these accents and phrases. For instance, in foxtrot, the stealing of time from one step to allow another to hover; or a quick speed of turn in an otherwise slow rumba; or the snap of a head to suddenly freeze and then melt into slowness in tango.
PRESENTATION - Does the couple sell their dancing to the audience? Do they dance outwardly, with enthusiasm, exuding their joy of dancing and confidence in their performance? Or do they show strain or introversion?
POWER - Energy is exciting to watch. I've noticed that, in a jive, it always seems to be the most energetic couple that wins this dance. But the energy must be controlled, not wild. For instance, powerful movement is an asset in waltz or foxtrot, but only if it is channeled into the correct swing of the body, and not just by taking big steps. The lilt of the music must be matched by the action of the body. In a waltz for instance, the dancers' body action must clearly show the influence of the one down beat and two up beats. So the release of power into the beginning of a figure must be controlled and sustained during the rise at the end of the figure.
FOOT AND LEG ACTION - the stroking of feet across the floor in foxtrot to achieve smoothness and softness; the deliberate lifting and placing of the feet in tango to achieve a staccato action; the correct bending and straightening of the knees in rumba to create hip motion; the extension of the ankles and the pointing of the toes of the non- supporting foot to enhance the line of a figure; the sequential use of the four joints (hip, knee, ankle, and toes) to achieve fullness of action and optimal power; the bending and straightening of knees and ankles in waltz to create rise and fall; the use of inside and outside edges of feet to create style and line all fall under this most important of categories.
SHAPE - Shape is the combination of turn and sway to create a look or a position. For instance, in Paso Doble does the man create the visual appearance of maneuvering his cape? Does the lady simulate the billowing flow of the cape through space? In foxtrot, does the man use the appropriate shape on outside partner steps to enable body contact to be maintained?
LEAD AND FOLLOW - Does the man lead with his whole body instead of just his arms? Does the lady follow effortlessly or does the man have to assist her?
FLOORCRAFT - This refers not only to avoiding bumping into other couples, but the ability to continue dancing without pause when boxed in. It shows the command of the couple over their choreography and the ability of the man to choose and lead figures extrinsic to their usual work when the necessity presents itself.
INTANGIBLES - such as how a couple "look" together, whether they "fit" emotionally, their neatness of appearance, costuming, the flow of their choreography, and basically whether they look like "dancers"; all have an affect on a judge's perception and therefore on his markings.
Different judges have different predilections in what they want to see, and weight these factors differently. One judge, for instance, might be especially interested in technique, while another wants to be moved by musicality and expression. While both factors are obviously important and need to be considered, it can result in couples getting widely disparate markings. Couples wondering what a judge saw to give them a particularly high or low mark should know that any one of the many factors listed in this article could be responsible. The use of a heel when a toe is warranted can just as easily hurt you in a judge's eyes as a meticulous closing of feet can help. Because the judge sees each couple for only a few seconds, anything that draws the attention, either positively or negatively, could very well be the deciding factor on how you are marked.
Competitors, please be assured that virtually no qualified adjudicator will mark you for any reason other than his or her honest evaluation of your performance. Most judges hold their own opinions highly, and try to do a conscientious job. Anyway, no one judge can make or break you. The use of a panel of these experts usually insures that the end result is the correct and equitable one.
