The next important event in my life was my visit to Boston, in May, 1888. As if it were yesterday I remember the preparations, the departure with my teacher and my mother, the journey, and finally the arrival in Boston. How different this journey was from the one I had made to Baltimore two years […]
The first Christmas after Miss Sullivan came to Tuscumbia was a great event. Every one in the family prepared surprises for me, but what pleased me most, Miss Sullivan and I prepared surprises for everybody else. The mystery that surrounded the gifts was my greatest delight and amusement. My friends did all they could to
The next important step in my education was learning to read.As soon as I could spell a few words my teacher gave me slips of cardboard on which were printed words in raised letters. I quickly learned that each printed word stood for an object, an act, or a quality. I had a frame in
I had now the key to all language, and I was eager to learn to use it. Children who hear acquire language without any particular effort; the words that fall from others’ lips they catch on the wing, as it were, delightedly, while the little deaf child must trap them by a slow and often
I recall many incidents of the summer of 1887 that followed my soul’s sudden awakening. I did nothing but explore with my hands and learn the name of every object that I touched; and the more I handled things and learned their names and uses, the more joyous and confident grew my sense of kinship
The most important day I remember in all my life is the one on which my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan,* came to me. I am filled with wonder when I consider the immeasurable contrasts between the two lives which it connects. It was the third of March, 1887, three months before I was seven years
Meanwhile the desire to express myself grew. The few signs I used became less and less adequate, and my failures to make myself understood were invariably followed by outbursts of passion. I felt as if invisible hands were holding me, and I made frantic efforts to free myself. I struggled – not that struggling helped
I cannot recall what happened during the first months after my illness. I only know that I sat in my mother’s lap or clung to her dress as she went about her household duties. My hands felt every object and observed every motion, and in this way I learned to know many things. Soon I
It is with a kind of fear that I begin to write the history of my life. I have, as it were, a superstitious hesitation in lifting the veil that clings about my childhood like a golden mist. The task of writing an autobiography is a difficult one. When I try to classify my earliest
The British camp near Dover.Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, Edmund; Lear and Cordelia, prisoners; Captain, Soldiers, &c. Edmund. Some officers take them away: good guard,Until their greater pleasures first be knownThat are to censure them.Cordelia. We are not the firstWho, with best meaning, have incurr’d the worst.For thee, oppressed king, am I cast
A field between the two camps.Alarum within. Enter, with drum and colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Soldiers, over the stage; and exeunt. Enter Edgar and Gloucester. Edgar. Here, father, take the shadow of this treeFor your good host; pray that the right may thrive:If ever I return to you again,I’ll bring you comfort.Gloucester. Grace go with
The British camp, near Dover.Enter, with drum and colours, Edmund, Regan,Gentlemen, and Soldiers. Edmund. Know of the duke if his last purpose hold,Or whether since he is advised by aughtTo change the course: he’s full of alterationAnd self-reproving: bring his constant pleasure.[To a Gentleman, who goes out.Regan. Our sister’s man is certainly miscarried.Edmund. ’Tis to
A tent in the French camp. Lear on a bed asleep, soft music playing; Gentleman, and others attending. Enter Cordelia, Kent and Doctor.Cordelia. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work,To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,And every measure fail me.Kent. To be acknowledged, madam, is o’erpaid.All my reports go
Fields near Dover.Enter Gloucester, and Edgar, dressed like a peasant. Gloucester. When shall we come to the top of that same hill?Edgar. You do climb up it now: look, how we labour.Gloucester. Methinks the ground is even.Edgar. Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea?Gloucester. No, truly.Edgar. Why, then, your other senses grow imperfectBy your
Gloucester’s castle.Enter Regan and Oswald. Regan. But are my brother’s powers set forth?Oswald. Ay, madam.Regan. Himself in person there?Oswald. Madam, with much ado:Your sister is the better soldier.Regan. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?Oswald. No, madam.Regan. What might import my sister’s letter to him?Oswald. I know not, lady.Regan. ’Faith, he is posted