Dead stars paz marquez benitez
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Dead Stars Quotes
“I should like to see your home town."
"There is nothing to see--little crooked streets, bunut
roofs with ferns growing on them, and sometimes
squashes."
That was the background. It made her seem less
detached, less unrelated, yet withal more distant, as if
that background claimed her and excluded him.
"Nothing? There is you."
"Oh, me? But I am here."
"I will not go, of course, until you are there."
"We live on Calle Luz, a little street with trees."
"Could I find that?"
"If you don't ask for Miss del Valle," she smiled teasingly.
"I'll inquire about--"
"What?"
"The house of the prettiest girl in the town."
"There is where you will lose your way." Then she turned
serious. "Now, that is not quite sincere."
"It is," he averred slowly, but emphatically.
"I thought you, at least, would not say such things."
"Pretty--pretty--a foolish word! But there is none other
more handy I did not mean that quite--"
"Are you withdrawing the compliment?"
"Re-enforcing it, m
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Paz Márquez-Benítez
Filipino writer (1894–1983)
Paz Márquez-Benítez (March 3, 1894 – November 10, 1983) was a Filipino short-story writer, educator and editor.[1][2][3] Her career as a woman educator as well as her contributions as a writer are seen as an important step within the advancement of women in professional careers as well as in the development of Philippine literature.[3] She was also a beauty queen.
During her career as a writer, Marquez-Benitez wrote short stories critical of American Imperialism. She is most known by her short story Dead Stars (1925) in which the two main characters are displayed as allegories to American imperialism in order to portray the slow decay of Philippine heritage.[3][4] Her only other known published work is A Night in the Hills (1925). Even though she had only two published works her writings would be regarded as the first steps of Philippine literature moving into the
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Dead Stars (Paz Marquez Benitez)
Through the open fönster the air – steeped outdoors passed into his room, tyst enveloping him, stealing into his very thought. Esperanza, Julia, the sorry mess he had made of life, the years to come even now beginning to weigh down, to crush – they lost concreteness, diffused into formless melancholy. The tranquil murmur of conversation issued from the brick – tiled azotea where Don Julian and Carmen were busy pattering away among the rose pots.
“Papa, and when will the ‘long table’ be set?”
“I don’t know yet. Alfredo is not very specific, but inom understand Esperanza wants it to be next month.”
Carmen sighed impatiently. “Why fryst vatten he not a bit more decided, I wonder. He fryst vatten over thirty, is he not? And still a bachelor! Esperanza must be tired waiting.”
“She does not seem to be in much of a hurry either,” Don Julian nasally