| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Time Machine by H. G. Wells: rich soft robes. They had seen me, and their faces were directed
towards me.
`Then I heard voices approaching me. Coming through the
bushes by the White Sphinx were the heads and shoulders of men
running. One of these emerged in a pathway leading straight to
the little lawn upon which I stood with my machine. He was a
slight creature--perhaps four feet high--clad in a purple
tunic, girdled at the waist with a leather belt. Sandals or
buskins--I could not clearly distinguish which--were on his
feet; his legs were bare to the knees, and his head was bare.
Noticing that, I noticed for the first time how warm the air was.
The Time Machine |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from An Episode Under the Terror by Honore de Balzac: strange silence did not last long, for presently the stranger began to
understand. He saw how inexperienced, how helpless (mentally
speaking), the two poor creatures were, and he tried to speak gently.
"I am far from coming as an enemy, citoyennes----" he began. Then he
suddenly broke off and went on, "Sisters, if anything should happen to
you, believe me, I shall have no share in it. I have come to ask a
favor of you."
Still the women were silent.
"If I am annoying you--if--if I am intruding, speak freely, and I will
go; but you must understand that I am entirely at your service; that
if I can do anything for you, you need not fear to make use of me. I,
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Confidence by Henry James: of whatever brilliancy attaches, in the estimation of the world,
to such pursuits. It was not, indeed, a brilliancy that dazzled
Bernard Longueville, who, however, was not easily dazzled by anything.
It was because he regarded him in so plain and direct a fashion,
that Bernard had an affection for his friend--an affection to
which it would perhaps be difficult to assign a definite cause.
Personal sympathies are doubtless caused by something; but the causes
are remote, mysterious to our daily vision, like those of the particular
state of the weather. We content ourselves with remarking that it
is fine or that it rains, and the enjoyment of our likes and dislikes
is by no means apt to borrow its edge from the keenness of our analysis.
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