Sarah loved her Mom's homemade pie, and exclaimed, "There must be a million cherries in here!"

Sarah's statement about her mother's pie utilizes which literary device?

Passage 2: Questions 8-12 refer to the following passage.

The separation of mind and body has remained a prevalent dichotomy in Western science since Descartes uttered his famous line “I think, therefore I am.” Within psychology and cognitive science, the physical experience has been regarded only as sensory input that the computational mind processes. This view of the mind as a computer dismisses the need for the human body and treats its experience as either an abstraction or unimportant. Recently, however, embodiment has been a topic of interest as psychologists, cognitive scientists, and cognitive linguists have realized that viewing the mind as a disembodied, computational entity does not accurately represent the full human experience. Researchers have become interested in how mental and physical experiences interact and affect each other. In particular, emotions tend to break down the mind/body dichotomy because they escape categorization (Gibbs, 2006). They can be easily and equally considered in terms of mental or physical experiences.

Cognitive linguists find evidence for this by looking at language. While many words that describe emotions are purely abstract and refer directly to a particular emotional state (happy, sad, confused, excited, etc.), many others are actually conventionalized metaphors that literally refer to a physical experience (lighthearted, depressed, disoriented, bursting with joy, etc.)  These metaphors are not just a creative or literary way of speaking about emotions; they are systematic and not often consciously recognized as being metaphorical. Lakoff and Johnson (1980) argue that such linguistic metaphors offer a window into the conceptual system of the brain. Emotions are not just described metaphorically, they are conceptualized metaphorically as well. 

The author mentions the phrase  “the computational mind” primarily in order to __________.

Passage 2: Questions 8-12 refer to the following passage.

The separation of mind and body has remained a prevalent dichotomy in Western science since Descartes uttered his famous line “I think, therefore I am.” Within psychology and cognitive science, the physical experience has been regarded only as sensory input that the computational mind processes. This view of the mind as a computer dismisses the need for the human body and treats its experience as either an abstraction or unimportant. Recently, however, embodiment has been a topic of interest as psychologists, cognitive scientists, and cognitive linguists have realized that viewing the mind as a disembodied, computational entity does not accurately represent the full human experience. Researchers have become interested in how mental and physical experiences interact and affect each other. In particular, emotions tend to break down the mind/body dichotomy because they escape categorization (Gibbs, 2006). They can be easily and equally considered in terms of mental or physical experiences.

Cognitive linguists find evidence for this by looking at language. While many words that describe emotions are purely abstract and refer directly to a particular emotional state (happy, sad, confused, excited, etc.), many others are actually conventionalized metaphors that literally refer to a physical experience (lighthearted, depressed, disoriented, bursting with joy, etc.)  These metaphors are not just a creative or literary way of speaking about emotions; they are systematic and not often consciously recognized as being metaphorical. Lakoff and Johnson (1980) argue that such linguistic metaphors offer a window into the conceptual system of the brain. Emotions are not just described metaphorically, they are conceptualized metaphorically as well. 

The last sentence, “Emotions are not just described metaphorically, they are conceptualized metaphorically as well,” suggests that __________.

The following passage is adapted from “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, published 1892.

 It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer.

A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too much of fate!

Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.

Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted?

John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.

John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.

John is a physician, and PERHAPS—(I would not say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind)—PERHAPS that is one reason I do not get well faster.

You see he does not believe I am sick!

And what can one do?

If a physician of high standing, and one's own husband, assures friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression—a slight hysterical tendency—what is one to do?

My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing.

So I take phosphates or phosphites—whichever it is, and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to "work" until I am well again.

Personally, I disagree with their ideas.

Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me good.

But what is one to do?

I did write for a while in spite of them; but it DOES exhaust me a good deal—having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.

I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulus—but John says the very worst thing I can do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.

The line “John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage” suggests that __________.

The following passage is adapted from The Call of the Wild by Jack London, published in 1903.

Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.

Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached by gravelled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants' cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Judge Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot afternoon.

And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other dogs. There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they did not count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or lived obscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless,—strange creatures that rarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, who yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.

But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realm was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight or early morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge's feet before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge's grandsons on his back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps through wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches. Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly ignored, for he was king,—king over all creeping, crawling, flying things of Judge Miller's place, humans included.

According to the passage, Buck’s home could be described as __________.

The following passage is adapted from The Call of the Wild by Jack London, published in 1903.

Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.

Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached by gravelled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants' cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Judge Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot afternoon.

And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other dogs. There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they did not count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or lived obscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless,—strange creatures that rarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, who yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.

But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realm was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight or early morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge's feet before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge's grandsons on his back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps through wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches. Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly ignored, for he was king,—king over all creeping, crawling, flying things of Judge Miller's place, humans included.

What is Buck’s opinion of the other dogs in the house?

The following passage is adapted from The Call of the Wild by Jack London, published in 1903.

Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.

Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached by gravelled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants' cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Judge Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot afternoon.

And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other dogs. There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they did not count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or lived obscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless,—strange creatures that rarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, who yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.

But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realm was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight or early morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge's feet before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge's grandsons on his back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps through wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches. Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly ignored, for he was king,—king over all creeping, crawling, flying things of Judge Miller's place, humans included.

Buck is best described as __________.

Passage 2: Questions 8-12 refer to the following passage.

The separation of mind and body has remained a prevalent dichotomy in Western science since Descartes uttered his famous line “I think, therefore I am.” Within psychology and cognitive science, the physical experience has been regarded only as sensory input that the computational mind processes. This view of the mind as a computer dismisses the need for the human body and treats its experience as either an abstraction or unimportant. Recently, however, embodiment has been a topic of interest as psychologists, cognitive scientists, and cognitive linguists have realized that viewing the mind as a disembodied, computational entity does not accurately represent the full human experience. Researchers have become interested in how mental and physical experiences interact and affect each other. In particular, emotions tend to break down the mind/body dichotomy because they escape categorization (Gibbs, 2006). They can be easily and equally considered in terms of mental or physical experiences.

Cognitive linguists find evidence for this by looking at language. While many words that describe emotions are purely abstract and refer directly to a particular emotional state (happy, sad, confused, excited, etc.), many others are actually conventionalized metaphors that literally refer to a physical experience (lighthearted, depressed, disoriented, bursting with joy, etc.)  These metaphors are not just a creative or literary way of speaking about emotions; they are systematic and not often consciously recognized as being metaphorical. Lakoff and Johnson (1980) argue that such linguistic metaphors offer a window into the conceptual system of the brain. Emotions are not just described metaphorically, they are conceptualized metaphorically as well. 

The purpose of the first paragraph is to __________.

What is the author’s attitude towards “embodiment”?

Passage 2: Questions 8-12 refer to the following passage.

The separation of mind and body has remained a prevalent dichotomy in Western science since Descartes uttered his famous line “I think, therefore I am.” Within psychology and cognitive science, the physical experience has been regarded only as sensory input that the computational mind processes. This view of the mind as a computer dismisses the need for the human body and treats its experience as either an abstraction or unimportant. Recently, however, embodiment has been a topic of interest as psychologists, cognitive scientists, and cognitive linguists have realized that viewing the mind as a disembodied, computational entity does not accurately represent the full human experience. Researchers have become interested in how mental and physical experiences interact and affect each other. In particular, emotions tend to break down the mind/body dichotomy because they escape categorization (Gibbs, 2006). They can be easily and equally considered in terms of mental or physical experiences.

Cognitive linguists find evidence for this by looking at language. While many words that describe emotions are purely abstract and refer directly to a particular emotional state (happy, sad, confused, excited, etc.), many others are actually conventionalized metaphors that literally refer to a physical experience (lighthearted, depressed, disoriented, bursting with joy, etc.)  These metaphors are not just a creative or literary way of speaking about emotions; they are systematic and not often consciously recognized as being metaphorical. Lakoff and Johnson (1980) argue that such linguistic metaphors offer a window into the conceptual system of the brain. Emotions are not just described metaphorically, they are conceptualized metaphorically as well. 

The purpose of the second paragraph is most likely to __________.