| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence: Chatterley name alive while he could.
He was not really downcast. He could wheel himself about in a wheeled
chair, and he had a bath-chair with a small motor attachment, so he
could drive himself slowly round the garden and into the line
melancholy park, of which he was really so proud, though he pretended
to be flippant about it.
Having suffered so much, the capacity for suffering had to some extent
left him. He remained strange and bright and cheerful, almost, one
might say, chirpy, with his ruddy, healthy-looking face, arid his
pale-blue, challenging bright eyes. His shoulders were broad and
strong, his hands were very strong. He was expensively dressed, and
Lady Chatterley's Lover |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: this morning, instead of taking it up, instead of tucking it into her belt
while she leant over Mary and said, "Thank you, Mary. How very nice! Turn
to page thirty-two," what was Mary's horror when Miss Meadows totally
ignored the chrysanthemum, made no reply to her greeting, but said in a
voice of ice, "Page fourteen, please, and mark the accents well."
Staggering moment! Mary blushed until the tears stood in her eyes, but
Miss Meadows was gone back to the music stand; her voice rang through the
music hall.
"Page fourteen. We will begin with page fourteen. 'A Lament.' Now,
girls, you ought to know it by this time. We shall take it all together;
not in parts, all together. And without expression. Sing it, though,
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Sons and Lovers by D. H. Lawrence: softness of her upright body could almost be felt as he looked at her.
He clenched his fists.
And he was to sit all the evening beside her beautiful naked arm,
watching the strong throat rise from the strong chest, watching the
breasts under the green stuff, the curve of her limbs in the tight dress.
Something in him hated her again for submitting him to this torture
of nearness. And he loved her as she balanced her head and stared
straight in front of her, pouting, wistful, immobile, as if she
yielded herself to her fate because it was too strong for her.
She could not help herself; she was in the grip of something
bigger than herself. A kind of eternal look about her, as if she
Sons and Lovers |
