| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Long Odds by H. Rider Haggard: turned, and bounded further up the kloof.
"'Come on, Macumazahn,' said Tom, 'let's get back to the waggon.'
"'All right, Tom,' I answered. 'I will when I have killed those three
other lions,' for by this time I was bent on shooting them as I never
remember being bent on anything before or since. 'You can go if you
like, or you can get up a tree.'
"He considered the position a little, and then he very wisely got up a
tree. I wish that I had done the same.
"Meanwhile I had found my knife, which had an extractor in it, and
succeeded after some difficulty in pulling out the cartridge which had
so nearly been the cause of my death, and removing the obstruction in
Long Odds |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Complete Poems of Longfellow by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: She shows her love by words, and I by works.
MARY.
O Master! when thou comest, it is always
A Sabbath in the house. I cannot work;
I must sit at thy feet; must see thee, hear thee!
I have a feeble, wayward, doubting heart,
Incapable of endurance or great thoughts,
Striving for something that it cannot reach,
Baffled and disappointed, wounded, hungry;
And only when I hear thee am I happy,
And only when I see thee am at peace!
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Albert Savarus by Honore de Balzac: and her innocent heart to her first reading of this kind.
Also, from what she had heard said, Rosalie had by intuition conceived
a notion of it which strangely enhanced the interest of this novel.
She hoped to find in it the sentiments, and perhaps something of the
life of Albert. From the first pages this opinion took so strong a
hold on her, that after reading the fragment to the end she was
certain that it was no mistake. Here, then, is this confession, in
which, according to the critics of Madame de Chavoncourt's drawing-
room, Albert had imitated some modern writers who, for lack of
inventiveness, relate their private joys, their private griefs, or the
mysterious events of their own life.
Albert Savarus |
