| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Art of Writing by Robert Louis Stevenson: This odd suicide of one branch of the realists may serve to
remind us of the fact which underlies a very dusty conflict
of the critics. All representative art, which can be said to
live, is both realistic and ideal; and the realism about
which we quarrel is a matter purely of externals. It is no
especial cultus of nature and veracity, but a mere whim of
veering fashion, that has made us turn our back upon the
larger, more various, and more romantic art of yore. A
photographic exactitude in dialogue is now the exclusive
fashion; but even in the ablest hands it tells us no more - I
think it even tells us less - than Moliere, wielding his
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Timaeus by Plato: which we give the name of red. A bright hue mingled with red and white
gives the colour called auburn (Greek). The law of proportion, however,
according to which the several colours are formed, even if a man knew he
would be foolish in telling, for he could not give any necessary reason,
nor indeed any tolerable or probable explanation of them. Again, red, when
mingled with black and white, becomes purple, but it becomes umber (Greek)
when the colours are burnt as well as mingled and the black is more
thoroughly mixed with them. Flame-colour (Greek) is produced by a union of
auburn and dun (Greek), and dun by an admixture of black and white; pale
yellow (Greek), by an admixture of white and auburn. White and bright
meeting, and falling upon a full black, become dark blue (Greek), and when
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Bunner Sisters by Edith Wharton: capacity. He learned from Ann Eliza as much as she could tell him
about Mrs. Hochmuller and returned the next evening with a scrap of
paper bearing her address, beneath which Johnny (the family scribe)
had written in a large round hand the names of the streets that led
there from the ferry.
Ann Eliza lay awake all that night, repeating over and over
again the directions Mr. Hawkins had given her. He was a kind man,
and she knew he would willingly have gone with her to Hoboken;
indeed she read in his timid eye the half-formed intention of
offering to accompany her--but on such an errand she preferred to
go alone.
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