Who was the author of Divine Comedy, a medieval work of literature?

Answers

Answer 1
Answer: The answer is Dante Alighieri, and it was written in 1320, and consists of three parts: Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven.

Related Questions

Which line in the excerpt from The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne is an example of metaphor?"I joy to hear it," answered the physician. "It may be that my remedies, so long administered in vain, begin now to take due effect. Happy man were I, and well deserving of New England's gratitude, could I achieve this cure!" "I thank you from my heart, most watchful friend," said the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale with a solemn smile. "I thank you, and can but requite your good deeds with my prayers." "A good man's prayers are golden recompense!" rejoined old Roger Chillingworth, as he took his leave. "Yea, they are the current gold coin of the New Jerusalem, with the King's own mint mark on them!"
In "The Armenian Language is the Home of the Armenian," all of the following quotations support the poem's main idea about the comforts associated with home except "roof and wall and nourishment.""For centuries its architects have toiled.""its cupboards full, lamps lit, ovens hot.""Always rejuvenated, always old, it lasts."
What reason does the author Garrett Hardin give for not supporting the World Food Bank?
A speech given by an actor to an audience, such as the Stage Manager's speech in the first act of Our Town, is called _____.a monologuea scrimthe universalthe resolution
What is the order of events of Calvin Stanley's story? Briefly explain in two or three sentences. Use proper spelling and grammar. "A Boy of Unusual Vision," by Alice Steinback, The Baltimore Sun First, the eyes: They are large and blue, a light opaque blue, the color of a robin's egg. And if, on a sunny spring day, you look straight into these eyes—eyes that cannot look back at you—the sharp, April light turns them pale, like the thin blue of a high, cloudless sky. Ten-year-old Calvin Stanley, the owner of these eyes and a boy who has been blind since birth, likes this description and asks to hear it twice. He listens as only he can listen, then: "Orange used to be my favorite color but now it's blue," he announces. Pause. The eyes flutter between the short, thick lashes, "I know there's light blue and there's dark blue, but what does sky-blue look like?" he wants to know. And if you watch his face as he listens to your description, you get a sense of a picture being clicked firmly into place behind the pale eyes. He is a boy who has a lot of pictures stored in his head, retrievable images which have been fashioned for him by the people who love him—by family and friends and teachers who have painstakingly and patiently gone about creating a special world for Calvin's inner eye to inhabit. Picture of a rainbow: "It's a lot of beautiful colors, one next to the other. Shaped like a bow. In the sky. Right across." Picture of lightning, which frightens Calvin: "My mother says lightning looks like a Christmas tree—the way it blinks on and off across the sky," he says, offering a comforting description that would make a poet proud. "Child," his mother once told him, "one day I won't be here and I won't be around to pick you up when you fall—nobody will be around all the time to pick you up—so you have to try to be something on your own. You have to learn how to deal with this. And to do that, you have to learn how to think." There was never a moment when Ethel Stanley said to herself, "My son is blind and this is how I'm going to handle it." Calvin's mother: "When Calvin was little, he was so inquisitive. He wanted to see everything, he wanted to touch everything. I had to show him every little thing there is. A spoon, a fork. I let him play with them. The pots, the pans. Everything. I showed him the sharp edges of the table. 'You cannot touch this; it will hurt you.' And I showed him what would hurt. He still bumped into it anyway, but he knew what he wasn't supposed to do and what he could do. And he knew that nothing in his room—nothing—could hurt him. And when he started walking and we went out together—I guess he was about 2—I never said anything to him about what to do. When we got to the curbs. Calvin knew that when I stopped, he should step down and when I stopped again, he should step up. I never said anything, that's just the way we did it. And it became a pattern."

Which description matches the poetic form iambic pentameter?a. ten syllables divided into pairs of unstressed and stressed syllables
b. couplets of trochaic feet with an abab rhyme pattern
c. four feet per line, with unstressed syllables followed by stressed syllables
d. the rhythmic pattern that is typical of ballads

Answers

a. ten syllables divided into pairs of unstressed and stressed syllables. This is often vocalized as "dee-DUM dee-DUM dee-DUM dee-DUM dee-DUM." Iamb=consisting of one unstressed syllable followed by stressed syllable. Pent=five. Meter=meter.

Answer:

A. Ten syllables divided into pairs of unstressed and stressed syllables

Explanation:

What is setting?the diction and syntax that creates the style in a piece of writing
the central message or insight revealed through a story
the time, place, and social/historical context in which a story takes place
the central message or insight revealed through a story and that applies to anyone, anywhere

Answers

the time, place, and social/historical context in which a story takes place

the time, place, and social/historical context in which a story takes place

What is the function of a transitive verb? to direct action toward the sentence’s subject to direct action toward the verb’s object to define or rename the verb’s object

Answers

The function of a transitive verb is to direct action toward the verb’s object. It needs a direct object to fulfill its purpose. Some examples of transitive verbs are: bring, enjoy, elect, deny, and prefer to name a few. Its function depends on its usage as well as there are transitive verbs in one sentence but intransitive in another. It has no subject. 

Answer:

to direct action toward the verb’s object.

Explanation:

Which sentence in this excerpt from "The American Crisis" by Thomas Paine illustrates that it is a persuasive essay? a.I shall conclude this paper with some miscellaneous remarks on the slate of our affairs; b. Howe is as much deceived by you as the American cause is injured by you.
c.I call not upon a few, but upon all: not on this state or that state, but on every state: up and help us; lay your shoulders to the wheel; better have too much force than too little, when so great an object is at stake
d.It matters not where you live, or what rank of life you hold, the evil or the blessing will reach you all.
e.I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection.
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Answers

The correct answer is C) I call upon not a few, but upon all: not in this state or that state but in every state: up and help us; lay your shoulders to the wheel; better have too much force than too little, when so great an object is at stake.

The excerpt form the “American Crisis” by Thomas Paine illustrates that is a persuasive essay is “I call upon not a few, but upon all: not in this state or that state but in every state: up and help us; lay your shoulders to the wheel; better have too much force than too little, when so great an object is at stake.”

Thomas Paine is clearly trying to persuade the people to unite. He is calling not a selected few but to everyone to join hands in all the states, shoulder to shoulder, with all the possible strength because the stake at hand is so great. Thomas Paine is using Pathos because he tried to appeal to the emotion of the people and make them react positively.

Answer:

The sentence in this excerpt from The American Crisis by Thomas Paine that illustrates that this is a persuasive essay is C: "I call not upon a few, but upon all: not on this state or that state, but on every state: up and help us; lay your shoulders to the wheel; better have too much force that too little, when so great an object is stake."

Explanation:

A persuasive essay is also known as an argumentative essay and this means that we are talking about a text where the author uses logic and reason to show the readers his/her point of view and his/her reasons to believe that this point of view is more legitimate than any other. The goal in a text with these characteristics is to convince our audience that our point of view in a specific subject is the most reasonable and, in order to reach this, it is essential to expose clear arguments, convincing facts and logical reasons. In this particular sentence from The American Crisis, the author calls  everyone to take courage and participate, to get united, in order to be bigger and stronger for what he considers to be a greater good.

To ________ is to move quickly in a disorganized fashion, like people running to get out of the rain. When you ________ a message, it can no longer be read.

Answers

How about SCRAMBLE?  Hope it helps :)
 

Which could be used as valid evidence in a persuasive essay?a. statistics
b. equivocation
c. kettle logic
d. unrelated details

Answers

I believe the answer is A) statistics, because you need such information such as numbers to back up your claims in a persuasive essay.
B and C are logical fallacies and therefore should be avoided.
D is of course unnecessary in an essay, because it is unrelated, not important. 

Answer:

i think that the answer is A hope this helps

Explanation:

Other Questions
Lines 1–9, ‘“I left in a French steamer . . . a creeping mist,”’ describe thesea as I. cryptic II. laconic III. obfuscated (A) I only (B) II only (C) I and III only (D) II and III only (E) I, II, and III Passage 3. Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness “I left in a French steamer, and she called in every blamed port they have out there, for, as far as I could see, the sole purpose of landing soldiers and custom- house offi cers. I watched the coast. Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. Th ere it is before you—smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, ‘Come and fi nd out.’ Th is one was almost featureless, as if still in the making, with an aspect of monotonous grimness. Th e edge of a colossal jungle, so dark-green as to be almost black, fringed with white surf, ran straight, like a ruled line, far, far away along a blue sea whose glitter was blurred by a creeping mist. Th e sun was fi erce, the land seemed to glisten and drip with steam. Here and there greyish-whitish specks showed up clustered inside the white surf, with a fl ag fl ying above them perhaps. Settlements some centuries old, and still no bigger than pinheads on the untouched expanse of their background. We pounded along, stopped, landed soldiers; went on, landed custom-house clerks to levy toll in what looked like a God-forsaken wilderness, with a tin shed and a fl ag-pole lost in it; landed more soldiers—to take care of the custom-house clerks, presumably. Some, I heard, got drowned in the surf; but whether they did or not, nobody seemed particularly to care. Th ey were just fl ung out there, and on we went. Every day the coast looked the same, as though we had not moved; but we passed various places—trading places—with names like Gran’ Bassam, Little Popo; names that seemed to belong to some sordid farce acted in front of a sinister back-cloth. Th e idleness of a passenger, my isolation amongst all these men with whom I had no point of contact, the oily and languid sea, the uniform sombreness of the coast, seemed to keep me away from the truth of things, within the toil of a mournful and senseless delusion. Th e voice of the surf heard now and then was a positive pleasure, like the speech of a brother. It was something natural, that had its reason, that had a meaning. Now and then a boat from the shore gave one a momentary contact with reality. It was paddled by black fellows. You could see from afar the white of their eyeballs glistening. Th ey shouted, sang; their bodies streamed with perspiration; they had faces like grotesque masks—these chaps; but they had bone, muscle, a wild vitality, an intense energy of movement, that was as natural and true as the surf along their coast. Th ey wanted no excuse for being there. Th ey were a great comfort to look at. For a time I would feel I belonged still to a world of straightforward facts; but the feeling would not last long. Something would turn up to scare it away. Once, I remember, we came upon a man-of-war anchored off the coast. Th ere wasn’t even a shed there, and she was shelling the bush. It appears the French had one of their wars going on thereabouts. Her ensign dropped limp like a rag; the muzzles of the long six-inch guns stuck out all over the low hull; the greasy, slimy swell swung her up lazily and let her down, swaying her thin masts. In the empty immensity of earth, sky, and water, there she was, incomprehensible, fi ring into a continent. Pop, would go one of the six-inch guns; a small fl ame would dart and vanish, a little white smoke would disappear, a tiny projectile would give a feeble screech—and nothing happened. Nothing could happen. Th ere was a touch of insanity in the proceeding, a sense of lugubrious drollery in the sight; and it was not dissipated by somebody on board assuring me earnestly there was a camp of natives—he called them enemies!—hidden out of sight somewhere.”