The sun rose over the ocean like it was stretching out its arms. The golden yellow filled the sky and reflected off of the water. Birds flew slowly in the air, enjoying the morning warmth before it became too hot.

The difference between point of view and choice of person in a story is that "person" is the literary name given to main characters in a story, and "point of view" is the perspective from which we view the story "person" is part of a term used to describe the type of narrator (as in first-person or third-person); "point of view" is how the antagonist understands the events of a story the terms are interchangeable; there is really no difference between them "point of view" refers to the perspective from which the story is told; "person" is part of a term used to describe a type of narrator (as in first-person or third-person)

Read the passage below and answer the question that follows. ‘you make me feel uncivilized, daisy,’ i confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. ‘can’t you talk about crops or something? ’ i meant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpected way. ‘civilization’s going to pieces,’ broke out tom violently. ‘i’ve gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. have you read ‘the rise of the coloured empires’ by this man goddard? ’ ‘why, no,’ i answered, rather surprised by his tone. ‘well, it’s a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. the idea is if we don’t look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. it’s all scientific stuff; it’s been proved.’ in this passage, tom’s ideas about race relations come off as uncivilized. what literary device is fitzgerald using here? irony personification metaphor simile

In this excerpt from "quality" by john galsworthy, which two parts clearly indicate the literary point of view of the essay? that tenement had a certain quiet distinction; there was no sign upon its face that he made for any of the royal family—merely his own german name of gessler brothers; and in the window a few pairs of boots. i remember that it always troubled me to account for those unvarying boots in the window, for he made only what was ordered, reaching nothing down, and it seemed so inconceivable that what he made could ever have failed to fit. had he bought them to put there? that, too, seemed inconceivable. he would never have tolerated in his house leather on which he had not worked himself. besides, they were too beautiful—the pair of pumps, so inexpressibly slim, the patent leathers with cloth tops, making water come into one's mouth, the tall brown riding boots with marvellous sooty glow, as if, though new, they had been worn a hundred years. those pairs could only have been made by one who saw before him the soul of boot—so truly were they prototypes incarnating the very spirit of all foot-gear. these thoughts, of course, came to me later, though even when i was promoted to him, at the age of perhaps fourteen, some inkling haunted me of the dignity of himself and brother. for to make boots—such boots as he made—seemed to me then, and still seems to me, mysterious and wonderful.