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The story of my life download.The Story of My Life

 

The story of my life download.The Story of My Life by Helen Keller

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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The story of my life (the story of, the story of) And I’ve been waiting for this time to come around But, baby, running after you is like chasing the clouds. The story of my life I take her home I drive all night To keep her warm and time Is frozen. The story of my life, I give her hope (give her hope) I spend her love until she’s broken inside. Mar 06,  · LibriVox recording of The Story of My Life, by Helen Keller. The Story of My Life is a personal account of Helen Keller’s life, from her early days to those as an adult. It includes how she came to meet her teacher Ann Sullivan, and learnt to communicate using the manual alphabet. Oct 24,  · Download Story of My Life free in PDF & EPUB format. Download Helen Keller’s Story of My Life for your kindle, tablet, IPAD, PC or mobile.

 

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The story of my life (the story of, the story of) And I’ve been waiting for this time to come around But, baby, running after you is like chasing the clouds. The story of my life I take her home I drive all night To keep her warm and time Is frozen. The story of my life, I give her hope (give her hope) I spend her love until she’s broken inside. Mar 06,  · LibriVox recording of The Story of My Life, by Helen Keller. The Story of My Life is a personal account of Helen Keller’s life, from her early days to those as an adult. It includes how she came to meet her teacher Ann Sullivan, and learnt to communicate using the manual alphabet. Oct 24,  · Download Story of My Life free in PDF & EPUB format. Download Helen Keller’s Story of My Life for your kindle, tablet, IPAD, PC or mobile.
 
 
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Story of My Life| Helen Keller|Free download|PDF EPUB|Freeditorial

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 impressions, I find that fact and fancy look alike across the years that link the past with the present. The woman paints the child’s experiences in her own fantasy.

A few impressions stand out vividly from the first years of my life; but “the shadows of the prison-house are on the rest. In order, therefore, not to be tedious I shall try to present in a series of sketches only the episodes that seem to me to be the most interesting and important.

I was born on June 27, , in Tuscumbia, a little town of northern Alabama. The family on my father’s side is descended from Caspar Keller, a native of Switzerland, who settled in Maryland. One of my Swiss ancestors was the first teacher of the deaf in Zurich and wrote a book on the subject of their education—rather a singular coincidence; though it is true that there is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his.

My grandfather, Caspar Keller’s son, “entered” large tracts of land in Alabama and finally settled there. I have been told that once a year he went from Tuscumbia to Philadelphia on horseback to purchase supplies for the plantation, and my aunt has in her possession many of the letters to his family, which give charming and vivid accounts of these trips.

She was also second cousin to Robert E. My father, Arthur H. Keller, was a captain in the Confederate Army, and my mother, Kate Adams, was his second wife and many years younger.

Her grandfather, Benjamin Adams, married Susanna E. Goodhue, and lived in Newbury, Massachusetts, for many years. When the Civil War broke out, he fought on the side of the South and became a brigadier-general.

Edward Everett Hale. After the war was over the family moved to Memphis, Tennessee. I lived, up to the time of the illness that deprived me of my sight and hearing, in a tiny house consisting of a large square room and a small one, in which the servant slept. It is a custom in the South to build a small house near the homestead as an annex to be used on occasion. Such a house my father built after the Civil War, and when he married my mother they went to live in it.

It was completely covered with vines, climbing roses and honeysuckles. From the garden it looked like an arbour.

The little porch was hidden from view by a screen of yellow roses and Southern smilax. It was the favourite haunt of humming-birds and bees.

The Keller homestead, where the family lived, was a few steps from our little rose-bower. It was called “Ivy Green” because the house and the surrounding trees and fences were covered with beautiful English ivy. Its old-fashioned garden was the paradise of my childhood. Even in the days before my teacher came, I used to feel along the square stiff boxwood hedges, and, guided by the sense of smell would find the first violets and lilies.

There, too, after a fit of temper, I went to find comfort and to hide my hot face in the cool leaves and grass. What joy it was to lose myself in that garden of flowers, to wander happily from spot to spot, until, coming suddenly upon a beautiful vine, I recognized it by its leaves and blossoms, and knew it was the vine which covered the tumble-down summer-house at the farther end of the garden!

Here, also, were trailing clematis, drooping jessamine, and some rare sweet flowers called butterfly lilies, because their fragile petals resemble butterflies’ wings. But the roses—they were loveliest of all. Never have I found in the greenhouses of the North such heart-satisfying roses as the climbing roses of my southern home.

They used to hang in long festoons from our porch, filling the whole air with their fragrance, untainted by any earthy smell; and in the early morning, washed in the dew, they felt so soft, so pure, I could not help wondering if they did not resemble the asphodels of God’s garden.

The beginning of my life was simple and much like every other little life. I came, I saw, I conquered, as the first baby in the family always does. There was the usual amount of discussion as to a name for me.

The first baby in the family was not to be lightly named, every one was emphatic about that. My father suggested the name of Mildred Campbell, an ancestor whom he highly esteemed, and he declined to take any further part in the discussion. My mother solved the problem by giving it as her wish that I should be called after her mother, whose maiden name was Helen Everett. But in the excitement of carrying me to church my father lost the name on the way, very naturally, since it was one in which he had declined to have a part.

When the minister asked him for it, he just remembered that it had been decided to call me after my grandmother, and he gave her name as Helen Adams. I am told that while I was still in long dresses I showed many signs of an eager, self-asserting disposition. Everything that I saw other people do I insisted upon imitating. At six months I could pipe out “How d’ye,” and one day I attracted every one’s attention by saying “Tea, tea, tea” quite plainly.

Even after my illness I remembered one of the words I had learned in these early months. It was the word “water,” and I continued to make some sound for that word after all other speech was lost. I ceased making the sound “wah-wah” only when I learned to spell the word. They tell me I walked the day I was a year old. My mother had just taken me out of the bath-tub and was holding me in her lap, when I was suddenly attracted by the flickering shadows of leaves that danced in the sunlight on the smooth floor.

I slipped from my mother’s lap and almost ran toward them. The impulse gone, I fell down and cried for her to take me up in her arms. These happy days did not last long. One brief spring, musical with the song of robin and mocking-bird, one summer rich in fruit and roses, one autumn of gold and crimson sped by and left their gifts at the feet of an eager, delighted child. Autobiography By Benjamin Franklin.

Benjamin Franklin. William Bennett Munro. The Aspirations of Jean Servien. Diary and Notes Of Horace Templeton. Charles James Lever. Destruction And Reconstruction. Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Captain Cook’s Journal during His First

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