| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lord Arthur Savile's Crime, etc. by Oscar Wilde: Cyril. It might have been written for him. The next term he took
his degree, and came to London to read for the diplomatic. But he
never did any work. He spent his days in reading Shakespeare's
Sonnets, and his evenings at the theatre. He was, of course, wild
to go on the stage. It was all that I and Lord Crediton could do
to prevent him. Perhaps if he had gone on the stage he would be
alive now. It is always a silly thing to give advice, but to give
good advice is absolutely fatal. I hope you will never fall into
that error. If you do, you will be sorry for it.
'Well, to come to the real point of the story, one day I got a
letter from Cyril asking me to come round to his rooms that
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Wheels of Chance by H. G. Wells: "I'm not talking; I'm going to do it," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
He looked round at the meeting. They were no longer antagonists;
they were spectators. He would have to go through with it now.
But this tone of personal aggression on the maker of the remark
had somehow got rid of the oppressive feeling of Hoopdriver
contra mundum. Apparently, he would have to fight someone. Would
he get a black eye? Would he get very much hurt? Pray goodness it
wasn't that sturdy chap in the gaiters! Should he rise and begin?
What would she think if he brought a black eye to breakfast
to-morrow?"Is this the man?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, with a
business-like calm, and arms more angular than ever.
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Voice of the City by O. Henry: the story, and not to make room for the new fall
stock of goods.
Even Broadway that morning was a discord in
Vuyning's ears; and in his eyes it paralleled for a
few dreamy, dreary minutes a certain howling,
scorching, seething, malodorous slice of street that he
remembered in Morocco. He saw the struggling
mass of dogs, beggars, fakirs, slave-drivers and
veiled women in carts without horses, the sun blazing
brightly among the bazaars, the piles of rubbish
from ruined temples in the street - and then a lady,
The Voice of the City |
