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Which can writers improve their writing

Read the excerpt from rudolfo anaya’s essay “take the tortillas out of your poetry.” tortillas and poetry. they go hand in hand. books nourish the spirit, bread nourishes our bodies. our distinct cultures nourish each one of us, and as we know more and more about the art and literature of the different cultures, we become freer and freer. . i don’t know anyone who doesn’t like to sample different ethnic foods, the breads of many many groups; just as many of us enjoy sampling books from different areas of the world. i travel to foreign countries, and i know more about myself as i learn more about my fellow human beings. censorship imposes itself in my path of knowledge, and that activity can be justified by no one. which choice best describes the purpose of this text? to persuade readers to oppose the censorship of literature to inform readers about censorship in a specific country to entertain readers with stories about censorship to motivate readers to speak out against censorship mark this and return

Select the contred text in the passage which sentence in this excerpt from john galsworthy's narrative essay "gone" reflects his view that there is no afterlife? an old woman and mrs. herd's sister were in the sitting-room, they showed us to the crazy, narrow stairway. though we lived distant but four hundred yards of a crows flight, we had never seen mrs. herd before, for that is the way of things in this land of minding one's own business a slight dark girlish-looking woman, almost quite refined away, and with those eyes of the dying, where the spirit is coming through, as it only does when it knows that al is over except just the passing. she lay in a double bed with clean white sheets. a white-washed room, so low that the ceiling almost touched our heads, some flowers in a bow, the small lattice window open. though it was hot in there, it was better far than the rooms of most families in towns, living on a wage of twice as much, for here was no sign of defeat in decency or cleanliness. in her face, as in poor herd's, was that same strange minging of resigned despair and almost eager appeal, so terrible to disappoint. yet, trying not to disappoint it, one felt guilty of treachery: what was the good, the kindness in making this poor bird flutter still with hope against the bars, when fast prison had so surely closed in round her? but what else could we do? we could not give her those glib assurances that naive souls make so easily to others concerning their after state. and the night was so beautiful, so utterly glamourously beautiful, with its star-flowers, and its silence and its trees clothed in moonlight. all was tranquil as a dream of sleep. but it was long before our hearts wandering with poor herd, would let us remember that she had slipped away into so beautiful a dream