In childhood, the dream of flying like birds is very pragmatic in nature - it seems to us that it would be amazing if people had wings and could fly anywhere. Over time, the desire to have wings transforms and takes on a more symbolic character - in difficult psychological situations, it seems that the only possible option for a successful development of events is to fly like a bird.
Main character Ostrovsky's play "The Thunderstorm" has been in a difficult situation almost all his life. As a child, she experienced financial difficulties, becoming a married woman, she learned about psychological and moral pressure. The intensity of emotions experienced by the girl is expressed as dreams with elements of fantasy - she wants, by the will of magic, to find herself in a world without problems and indignation.
Katerina's monologue:
“Why don’t people fly? ... I say, why don’t people fly like birds? You know, sometimes I feel like I'm a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you feel the urge to fly. That's how she would run up, raise her hands and fly. Something to try now?...
And to death I loved going to church! ... Do you know: on a sunny day such a light column goes down from the dome, and smoke moves in this column, like a cloud, and I see, it used to be as if angels were flying and singing in this column...
Or I’ll go into the garden early in the morning, the sun is just rising, I’ll fall on my knees, pray and cry, and I myself don’t know what I’m praying for and what I’m crying about... And what dreams I’ve had... what dreams! Either the temples are golden, or the gardens are some kind of extraordinary, and everyone is singing invisible voices, and there is a smell of cypress, and the mountains and trees seem not to be the same as usual, but as if depicted in images. And it’s as if I’m flying, and I’m flying through the air. And now sometimes I dream, but rarely, and not even that...
Some kind of dream comes into my head. And I won’t leave her anywhere. If I start to think, I won’t be able to collect my thoughts; I’ll pray, but I won’t be able to pray.
I babble words with my tongue, but in my mind it’s not at all like that: it’s as if the evil one is whispering in my ears, but everything about such things is bad. And then it seems to me that I will feel ashamed of myself.
What's wrong with me? Before trouble, before some kind of it! At night... I can’t sleep, I keep imagining some kind of whisper: someone is talking to me so affectionately, like a dove cooing. I don’t dream... as before, of paradise trees and mountains, but as if someone is hugging me so warmly and warmly and leading me somewhere, and I follow him, I go..."
Result: Katerina is inherently a very delicate and sensitive nature, it is difficult for her to defend her independence, to get rid of psychological pressure from her mother-in-law, because of this the girl suffers. She's clean and kind soul, therefore, all her dreams are marked by a feeling of tenderness and positivity. She sees no opportunity to experience happiness in real life, but in her dreams and dreams she can do anything: fly through the air like a bird, and listen to the gentle cooing.
List of works to learn by heart and definition of the genre of the work the teacher carries out independently according to the author's program.
An excerpt of a work (poetic) for grades 5-11 must be a complete semantic text of at least 30 lines; prose text– 10-15 lines (grades 5-8), 15-20 lines (grades 9-11). Texts to learn by heart from dramatic work determined by the form of the monologue.
1. A.S. Pushkin. " Bronze Horseman"(excerpt "I love you, Peter's creation...")
2. I.S. Turgenev. "Fathers and Sons" (excerpt)
3. I.S.Goncharov. "Oblomov" (excerpt)
4. A.N. Ostrovsky. “Thunderstorm” (excerpt: one of the monologues)
5. F.I.Tyutchev. "Oh, how murderously we love..."
6. N.A. Nekrasov. “The Poet and the Citizen” (excerpt “The son cannot look calmly...”); “You and I are stupid people...”, “Who can live well in Rus'?” (excerpt)
7. A.A.Fet. “Distant friend, understand my sobs...”
8. A.K. Tolstoy. “In the midst of a noisy ball, by chance...”
9. L.N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace" (excerpt)
10. A. Rimbaud. "Closet"
Alexander Pushkin.“I love you, Peter’s creation” (from the poem “The Bronze Horseman”)
I love you, Petra's creation,
I love your strict, slender appearance,
Neva sovereign current,
Its coastal granite,
Your fences have a cast iron pattern,
of your thoughtful nights
Transparent twilight, moonless shine,
When I'm in my room
I write, I read without a lamp,
And the sleeping communities are clear
Deserted streets and light
Admiralty needle,
And, not letting the darkness of the night
To golden skies
One dawn gives way to another
He hurries, giving the night half an hour.
I love your cruel winter
Still air and frost,
Sleigh running along the wide Neva,
Girls' faces are brighter than roses,
And the shine, and the noise, and the talk of balls,
And at the time of the feast the bachelor
The hiss of foamy glasses
And the punch flame is blue.
I love the warlike liveliness
Amusing Fields of Mars,
Infantry troops and horses
Uniform beauty
In their harmoniously unsteady system
The shreds of these victorious banners,
The shine of these copper caps,
Shot through and through in battle.
I love you, military capital,
Your stronghold is smoke and thunder,
When the queen is full
Gives a son to the royal house,
Or victory over the enemy
Russia triumphs again
Or, breaking your blue ice,
The Neva carries him to the seas
And, sensing the days of spring, he rejoices.
Show off, city Petrov, and stand
Unshakable like Russia,
May he make peace with you
And the defeated element;
Enmity and ancient captivity
Let the Finnish waves forget
And they will not be vain malice
Disturb Peter's eternal sleep!
I.S. Turgenev. "Fathers and Sons" (excerpt)
And now I repeat to you at parting... because there is no point in deceiving yourself: we are saying goodbye forever, and you yourself feel it... you acted smartly; you were not created for our bitter, tart, bean* life. You have neither insolence nor anger, but only youthful courage and youthful enthusiasm; This is not suitable for our business. Your brother, a nobleman, cannot go further than noble humility or noble ebullience, and this is nothing. For example, you don’t fight - and you already imagine yourself to be great - but we want to fight. What! Our dust will eat into your eyes, our dirt will stain you, and you haven’t grown up to us, you involuntarily admire yourself, you enjoy scolding yourself; But it’s boring for us - give us others! We need to break others! You are a nice fellow; but you are still a soft, liberal barich - e volatu, as my parent puts it.
Are you saying goodbye to me forever, Evgeniy? - Arkady said sadly, - and you have no other words for me?
Bazarov scratched the back of his head.
Yes, Arkady, I have other words, but I won’t express them, because this is romanticism - it means: get drunk *. And you should get married as soon as possible; Yes, get your own nest, and have more children. They will be smart just because they will be born on time, not like you and me.
NOTES:
* BOBYL- unmarried, unmarried, unmarried, single, wifeless, familyless.
*GET EXCITED and fall apart, fall apart, fall apart - become soft, fall into a sentimental mood.
I.S. Goncharov."Oblomov" (excerpt)
No,” Olga interrupted, raising her head and trying to look at him through her tears. “I just found out recently that I loved what I wanted in you, what Stolz showed me, what we came up with with him.” I loved the future Oblomov! You are meek and honest, Ilya; you are gentle... dove; you hide your head under your wing - and don’t want anything more; you are ready to coo under the roof all your life... but I’m not like that: this is not enough for me, I need something else, but I don’t know what! Can you teach me, tell me what it is, what I lack, give it all so that I... And tenderness... where it is not!
Oblomov’s legs gave way; he sat down in a chair and wiped his hands and forehead with a handkerchief.
The word was cruel; it deeply stung Oblomov: inside it seemed to burn him, outside it blew cold on him. In response, he smiled somehow pitifully, painfully bashful, like a beggar who was reproached for his nakedness. He sat with this smile of powerlessness, weakened from excitement and resentment; his dull gaze clearly said: “Yes, I am meager, pitiful, poor... beat me, beat me!..”
Who cursed you, Ilya? What have you done? You are kind, smart, gentle, noble... and... you are dying! What ruined you? There is no name for this evil...
“Yes,” he said, barely audible.
She looked at him questioningly, her eyes full of tears.
Oblomovism! - he whispered, then took her hand, wanted to kiss it, but couldn’t, he just pressed it tightly to his lips, and hot tears dripped onto her fingers.
Without raising his head, without showing her his face, he turned around and walked away.
A.N. Ostrovsky.“Thunderstorm” (excerpt: one of the monologues)
Monologue of Katerina.
I say, why don’t people fly like birds? You know, sometimes I feel like I'm a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you feel the urge to fly. That's how I would run up, raise my hands and fly...
How playful I was! I'm completely withered...
Was that what I was like? I lived, didn’t worry about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mama doted on me, dressed me up like a doll, and didn’t force me to work; I used to do whatever I want. Do you know how I lived with girls? I'll tell you now. I used to get up early; If it’s summer, I’ll go to the spring, wash myself, bring some water with me and that’s it, I’ll water all the flowers in the house. I had many, many flowers. Then we’ll go to church with Mama, all the pilgrims—our house was full of pilgrims; yes praying mantis. And we’ll come from church, sit down to do some kind of work, more like gold velvet, and the wanderers will begin to tell us: where they were, what they saw, different lives, or sing poetry. So time will pass until lunch. Here the old women go to sleep, and I walk around the garden. Then to Vespers, and in the evening again stories and singing. It was so good!
Monologue of Kuligin.
Cruel morals, sir, in our city, cruel! In philistinism, sir, you will see nothing but rudeness and stark poverty. And we, sir, will never escape this crust! Because honest work will never earn us more than our daily bread. And whoever has money, sir, tries to enslave the poor so that his labors will be free more money make money Do you know what your uncle, Savel Prokofich, answered to the mayor? The peasants came to the mayor to complain that he would not disrespect any of them. The mayor began to tell him: “Listen,” he says, Savel Prokofich, pay the men well! Every day they come to me with complaints!” Your uncle patted the mayor on the shoulder and said: “Is it worth it, your honor, for us to talk about such trifles! I have a lot of people every year; You understand: I won’t pay them a penny per person, but I make thousands out of this, so that’s good for me!” That's it, sir!
F.I. Tyutchev."Oh, how murderously we love..."
Oh, how murderously we love,
We are most likely to destroy,
What is dear to our hearts!
How long ago, proud of my victory,
You said: she is mine...
A year has not passed - ask and find out,
What was left of her?
Where did the roses go?
The smile of the lips and the sparkle of the eyes?
Everything was scorched, tears burned out
With its hot moisture.
Do you remember, when you met,
At the first fatal meeting,
Her eyes and speeches are magical
And baby-like laughter?
So what now? And where is all this?
And how long was the dream?
Alas, like northern summer,
He was a passing guest!
Fate's terrible sentence
Your love was for her
And undeserved shame
She laid down her life!
A life of renunciation, a life of suffering!
In her spiritual depths
She was left with memories...
But they changed them too.
And on earth she felt wild,
The charm is gone...
The crowd surged and trampled into the mud
What bloomed in her soul.
And what about the long torment?
How did she manage to save the ashes?
Evil pain, bitter pain,
Pain without joy and without tears!
Oh, how murderously we love!
As in the violent blindness of passions
We are most likely to destroy,
What is dearer to our hearts!..
N.A. Nekrasov.“The Poet and the Citizen” (excerpt “The son cannot look calmly...”)
The son cannot look calmly
On my dear mother's grief,
There will be no worthy citizen
I have a cold heart for my homeland,
There is no worse reproach for him...
Go into the fire for the honor of your fatherland,
For conviction, for love...
Go and die blamelessly.
You will not die in vain, the matter is strong,
When the blood flows underneath...
And you, poet! chosen one of heaven,
Herald of age-old truths,
Do not believe that he who has no bread
Not worth your prophetic strings!
Don’t believe that people will fall altogether;
God didn't die in soul of people,
And a cry from a believing chest
Will always be available to her!
Be a citizen! serving art,
Live for the good of your neighbor,
Subordinating your genius to feeling
All-embracing Love;
And if you are rich in gifts,
Don’t bother exhibiting them:
They themselves will shine in your work
Their life-giving rays.
Look: solid stone in fragments
The poor worker crushes
And from under the hammer it flies
And the flame splashes out on its own!
N.A. Nekrasov.“You and I are stupid people...”
You and I are stupid people:
In just a minute, the flash is ready!
Relief for a troubled chest
An unreasonable, harsh word.
Speak up when you're angry
Everything that excites and torments the soul!
Let us, my friend, be openly angry:
The world is easier and more likely to get boring.
If prose in love is inevitable,
So let's take a share of happiness from her:
After a quarrel, so full, so tender
Return of love and participation.
N.A. Nekrasov.“Who can live well in Rus'?” (excerpt)
You're miserable too
You are also abundant
You are mighty
You are also powerless
Mother Rus'!
Saved in slavery
Free heart -
Gold, gold
People's heart!
People's power
Mighty force -
Conscience is calm,
The truth is alive!
Strength with untruth
Doesn't get along
Sacrifice by untruth
Not called
Rus' does not move,
Rus' is like dead!
And she caught fire
Hidden spark
They stood up - unwounded,
They came out - uninvited,
Live by the grain
The mountains have been destroyed!
The army is rising
Countless!
The strength in her will affect
Indestructible!
You're miserable too
You are also abundant
You're downtrodden
You are omnipotent
Mother Rus'!
A.A.Fet.“Distant friend, understand my sobs...” (“A. L. Brzeskoy”)
Distant friend, understand my sobs,
Forgive me for my painful cry.
Memories bloom in my soul with you,
And I haven’t lost the habit of cherishing you.
Who will tell us that we did not know how to live,
Soulless and idle minds,
That kindness and tenderness did not burn in us
And we didn’t sacrifice beauty?
Where is all this? The soul is still burning
Still ready to embrace the world.
Vain heat! Nobody answers
Sounds will resurrect and die again.
Only you are alone! High excitement
There is blood on the cheeks and inspiration in the heart. -
Get away from this dream - there are too many tears in it!
It’s not a pity for life with languid breathing,
What is life and death? What a pity about that fire
That shone over the whole universe,
And he goes into the night and cries as he leaves.
A.K. Tolstoy.“In the midst of a noisy ball, by chance...”
In the midst of a noisy ball, by chance,
In the anxiety of worldly vanity,
I saw you, but it's a mystery
Your features are covered.
Like the sound of a distant pipe,
Like a playing shaft of the sea.
I liked your thin figure
And your whole thoughtful look,
And your laughter, both sad and ringing,
Since then it has been ringing in my heart.
In the lonely hours of the night
I love, tired, to lie down -
I see sad eyes
I hear cheerful speech;
And sadly I fall asleep like that,
And I sleep in unknown dreams...
Do I love you - I don't know
But it seems to me that I love it!
L.N. Tolstoy. "War and Peace" (excerpt)
In captivity, in a booth, Pierre learned not with his mind, but with his whole being, with his life, that man was created for happiness, that happiness is in himself, in the satisfaction of natural human needs, and that all unhappiness comes not from lack, but from excess; but now, in these last three weeks of the campaign, he learned another new, comforting truth - he learned that there is nothing terrible in the world. He learned that just as there is no situation in which a person would be happy and completely free, there is also no situation in which he would be unhappy and not free. He learned that there is a limit to suffering and a limit to freedom, and that this limit is very close; that the man who suffered because one leaf was wrapped in his pink bed suffered in the same way as he suffered now, falling asleep on a naked damp earth, cooling one side and warming the other; that when he used to put on his narrow ballroom shoes, he suffered just as much as now, when he walked completely barefoot (his shoes had long since become disheveled), with feet covered with sores. He learned that when he, as it seemed to him, of his own free will, married his wife, he was no more free than now, when he was locked in the stable at night. Of all the things that he later called suffering, but which he hardly felt then, the main thing was his bare, worn, scabby feet.
A. Rimbaud."Closet"
Here is an old carved cabinet, whose oak has dark streaks
He began to look like kind old men a long time ago;
The closet is thrown open, and darkness comes from all the secluded corners
The enticing smell flows like old wine.
Full of everything: a pile of junk,
Pleasant-smelling yellow underwear,
Grandmother's scarf, where there is an image
Griffin, lace, and ribbons, and rags;
Here you will find medallions and portraits,
Strand white hair and a strand of a different color,
Children's clothes, dried flowers...
O closet of bygone days! Lots of stories
And you keep many fairy tales safely
Behind this door, blackened and creaky.
I'm bored looking at you! (Turns away.)
Kabanov. Interpret here! What should I do?
Varvara. Know your business - keep quiet if you don’t know anything better. Why are you standing and shifting? I can see in your eyes what’s on your mind.
Kabanov. Well, so what?
Varvara. It is known that. I would like to go see Savel Prokofich and have a drink with him. What's wrong, or what?
Kabanov. You guessed it, brother.
Katerina. You, Tisha, come quickly, otherwise mamma will scold you again.
Varvara. You are faster, in fact, otherwise you know!
Kabanov. How could you not know!
Varvara. We also have little desire to accept abuse because of you.
Kabanov. I'll be there in a jiffy. Wait! (Leaves.)
Seventh Appearance
Katerina and Varvara.
Katerina. So, Varya, do you feel sorry for me?
Varvara (looking to the side). Of course it's a pity.
Katerina. So you love me then? (Kisses him firmly.)
Varvara. Why shouldn’t I love you?
Katerina. Well, thank you! You are so sweet, I love you to death.
Silence.
Do you know what came to my mind?
Varvara. What?
Katerina. Why don't people fly?
Varvara. I don't understand what you're saying.
Katerina. I say, why don’t people fly like birds? You know, sometimes I feel like I'm a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you feel the urge to fly. That's how she would run up, raise her hands and fly. Something to try now? (Wants to run.)
Varvara. What are you making up?
Katerina (sighing). How playful I was! I've completely withered away from you.
Varvara. Do you think I don't see?
Katerina. Was that what I was like? I lived, didn’t worry about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mama doted on me, dressed me up like a doll, and didn’t force me to work; I used to do whatever I want. Do you know how I lived with girls? I'll tell you now. I used to get up early; If it’s summer, I’ll go to the spring, wash myself, bring some water with me and that’s it, I’ll water all the flowers in the house. I had many, many flowers. Then we’ll go to church with Mama, all the wanderers - our house was full of wanderers; yes praying mantis. And we’ll come from church, sit down to do some kind of work, more like gold velvet, and the wanderers will begin to tell us: where they were, what they saw, different lives, or sing poetry. So time will pass until lunch. Here the old women go to sleep, and I walk around the garden. Then to Vespers, and in the evening again stories and singing. It was so good!
Varvara. Yes, it’s the same with us.
Katerina. Yes, everything here seems to be out of captivity. And to death I loved going to church! Exactly, it happened that I would enter heaven and not see anyone, and I don’t remember the time, and I don’t hear when the service is over. Just like it all happened in one second. Mama said that everyone used to look at me to see what was happening to me. Do you know: on a sunny day such a light column goes down from the dome, and smoke moves in this column, like a cloud, and I see that it used to be as if angels were flying and singing in this column. And sometimes, girl, I would get up at night - we also had lamps burning everywhere - and somewhere in a corner I would pray until the morning. Or I’ll go into the garden early in the morning, the sun is just rising, I’ll fall on my knees, pray and cry, and I myself don’t know what I’m praying for and what I’m crying about; that's how they'll find me. And what I prayed for then, what I asked for, I don’t know; I didn’t need anything, I had enough of everything. And what dreams I had, Varenka, what dreams! Either the temples are golden, or the gardens are some kind of extraordinary, and everyone is singing invisible voices, and there is a smell of cypress, and the mountains and trees seem not to be the same as usual, but as if depicted in images. And it’s as if I’m flying, and I’m flying through the air. And now I sometimes dream, but rarely, and not even that.
Varvara. So what?
Katerina (after a pause). I'll die soon.
Varvara. That's enough!
Katerina. No, I know that I will die. Oh, girl, something bad is happening to me, some kind of miracle! This has never happened to me. There is something so unusual about me. I’m starting to live again, or... I don’t know.
Do you know what came to my mind?
Why don't people fly!
I say: why don’t people fly like birds? You know, sometimes I feel like I'm a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you feel the urge to fly. That's how she would run up, raise her hands and fly. Something to try now?
How playful I was! I've completely withered away from you.
Was that what I was like? I lived, didn’t worry about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mama doted on me, dressed me up like a doll, and didn’t force me to work; I used to do whatever I want. Do you know how I lived with girls? I'll tell you now. I used to get up early; If it’s summer, I’ll go to the spring, wash myself, bring some water with me, and that’s it, I’ll water all the flowers in the house. I had many, many flowers. Then we’ll go to church with Mama, everyone and pilgrims - our house was full of pilgrims and praying mantises. And we’ll come from church, sit down to do some kind of work, more like gold velvet, and the wanderers will begin to tell us: where they were, what they saw, different lives, or sing poetry. So time will pass until lunch. Here the old women go to sleep, and I walk around the garden. Then to Vespers, and in the evening again stories and singing. It was so good!
Yes, everything here seems to be out of captivity. And to death I loved going to church! Exactly, it happened that I would enter heaven, and I didn’t see anyone, and I didn’t remember the time, and I didn’t hear when the service was over. Just like it all happened in one second. Mama said that everyone used to look at me, what was happening to me! Do you know: on a sunny day, such a light column goes down from the dome, and smoke moves in this column, like clouds, and I see, it used to be as if angels were flying and singing in this column. And sometimes, girl, I would get up at night - we also had lamps burning everywhere - and somewhere in a corner I would pray until the morning. Or I’ll go into the garden early in the morning, the sun is just rising, I’ll fall on my knees, pray and cry, and I myself don’t know what I’m praying for and what I’m crying about; that's how they'll find me. And what I prayed for then, what I asked for - I don’t know; I didn’t need anything, I had enough of everything. And what dreams I had, Varenka, what dreams! Either there are golden temples, or some extraordinary gardens, and invisible voices are singing, and there is a smell of cypress, and the mountains and trees seem not to be the same as usual, but as if depicted in images. And it’s like I’m flying, and I’m flying through the air. And now I sometimes dream, but rarely, and not even that. I will die soon. No, I know that I will die. Oh, girl, something bad is happening to me, some kind of miracle. This has never happened to me. There is something so unusual about me. I’m starting to live again, or... I don’t know. But what, Varya, it would be some kind of sin! Such fear comes over me, such and such fear comes over me! It’s as if I’m standing over an abyss and someone is pushing me there, but I have nothing to hold on to. What's wrong with you? Are you healthy? Are you healthy... It would be better if I were sick, otherwise I’m not feeling well. Some kind of dream comes into my head. And I won’t leave her anywhere. If I start to think, I won’t be able to collect my thoughts; I’ll pray, but I won’t be able to pray. I babble words with my tongue, but in my mind it’s not at all like that: it’s as if the evil one is whispering in my ears, but everything about such things is bad. And then it seems to me that I will feel ashamed of myself. What's wrong with me? Before trouble, before some kind of it! At night, Varya, I can’t sleep, I keep imagining some kind of whisper: someone speaks to me so affectionately, as if he were loving me, as if a dove was cooing. I no longer dream, Varya, of paradise trees and mountains as before; and it’s as if someone is hugging me so warmly, and leading me somewhere, and I follow him, I go...
Dear tenth graders,
Girls
Boys learn Kuligin's monologue:
Good luck!
10th grade, monologues from "The Thunderstorm" by heart
Dear tenth graders, To avoid any misunderstandings, I am posting here monologues from A.N. Ostrovsky’s play “The Thunderstorm,” which you should learn by heart.
Girls learn the following monologue from Katerina:
I say, why don’t people fly like birds? You know, sometimes I feel like I'm a bird. When you stand on a mountain, you feel the urge to fly. That's how I would run up, raise my hands and fly...
How playful I was! I'm completely withered...
Was that what I was like? I lived, didn’t worry about anything, like a bird in the wild. Mama doted on me, dressed me up like a doll, and didn’t force me to work; I used to do whatever I want. Do you know how I lived with girls? I'll tell you now. I used to get up early; If it’s summer, I’ll go to the spring, wash myself, bring some water with me and that’s it, I’ll water all the flowers in the house. I had many, many flowers. Then we’ll go to church with Mama, all the pilgrims, our house was full of pilgrims; yes praying mantis. And we’ll come from church, sit down to do some kind of work, more like gold velvet, and the wanderers will begin to tell us: where they were, what they saw, different lives, or sing poetry. So time will pass until lunch. Here the old women go to sleep, and I walk around the garden. Then to Vespers, and in the evening again stories and singing. It was so good!
Boys learn Kuligin's monologue:
Cruel morals, sir, in our city, cruel! In philistinism, sir, you will see nothing but rudeness and stark poverty. And we, sir, will never escape this crust! Because honest work will never earn us more than our daily bread. And whoever has money, sir, tries to enslave the poor so that he can make even more money from his free labors. Do you know what your uncle, Savel Prokofich, answered to the mayor? The peasants came to the mayor to complain that he would not disrespect any of them. The mayor began to tell him: “Listen,” he says, Savel Prokofich, pay the men well! Every day they come to me with complaints!” Your uncle patted the mayor on the shoulder and said: “Is it worth it, your honor, for us to talk about such trifles! I have a lot of people every year; You understand: I won’t pay them a penny per person, but I make thousands out of this, so that’s good for me!” That's it, sir!
Good luck!
