Try this short exercise after you have reviewed End Punctuation: Periods, Question Marks, and Exclamation Points.
The following two paragraphs have been adapted from the opening to George Orwell's famous novel 1984. Print out the passage, and indicate where each sentence ends and the next one begins: capitalize the first letter of the word that starts each new sentence, and insert the appropriate end mark of punctuation. When you are done, compare your version with Orwell's original sentences, below.
Punctuation Practice: from 1984, by George Orwell
it was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him
the hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats at one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall it depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features Winston made for the stairs it was no use trying the lift even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours it was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week the flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way on each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall it was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran
Chapter One of 1984, by George Orwell
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.
