| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy: and every one, concealing this, gave him medicines, tried to find
remedies and doctors, and deceived him and themselves and each
other. All this was falsehood, disgusting, irreverent deceit. And
owing to the bent of his character, and because he loved the
dying man more than any one else did, Levin was most painfully
conscious of this deceit.
Levin, who had long been possessed by the idea of reconciling his
brothers, at least in face of death, had written to his brother,
Sergey Ivanovitch, and having received an answer from him, he
read this letter to the sick man. Sergey Ivanovitch wrote that he
could not come himself, and in touching terms he begged his
Anna Karenina |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: not a marrying man..." The voices were silent; the piano waited.
"Quite good," said Miss Meadows, but still in such a strange, stony tone
that the younger girls began to feel positively frightened. "But now that
we know it, we shall take it with expression. As much expression as you
can put into it. Think of the words, girls. Use your imaginations.
'Fast! Ah, too Fast,'" cried Miss Meadows. "That ought to break out--a
loud, strong forte--a lament. And then in the second line, 'Winter Drear,'
make that 'Drear' sound as if a cold wind were blowing through it. 'Dre-
ear!'" said she so awfully that Mary Beazley, on the music stool, wriggled
her spine. "The third line should be one crescendo. 'Fleetly! Ah,
Fleetly Music's Gay Measure.' Breaking on the first word of the last line,
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Padre Ignacio by Owen Wister: they said, he would rest.
"Has the Padre any mall for Santa Barbara?" asked Felipe. "The ship
bound southward should be here to-morrow."
"I will attend to it," said the priest, not moving. And Felipe stole
away.
At Felipe's words the voices had stopped, as a clock finishes striking.
Silence, strained like expectation, filled the Padre's soul. But in place
of the voices came old sights of home again, the waving trees at Aranhal;
then it would be Rachel for a moment, declaiming tragedy while a houseful
of faces that he knew by name watched her; and through all the panorama
rang the pleasant laugh of Gaston. For a while in the evening the Padre
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