|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Sons of the Soil by Honore de Balzac:
1789 was the retaliation of the vanquished. The peasants then set foot
in possession of the soil which the feudal law had denied them for
over twelve hundred years. Hence their desire for land, which they now
cut up among themselves until actually they divide a furrow into two
parts; which, by the bye, often hinders or prevents the collection of
taxes, for the value of such fractions of property is not sufficient
to pay the legal costs of recovering them."
"Very true, for the obstinacy of the small owners--their
aggressiveness, if you choose--on this point is so great that in at
least one thousand cantons of the three thousand of French territory,
it is impossible for a rich man to buy an inch of land from a
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy:
indiscretions with Henchard had made her uncritical as to
station. In her poverty she had met with repulse from the
society to which she had belonged, and she had no great zest
for renewing an attempt upon it now. Her heart longed for
some ark into which it could fly and be at rest. Rough or
smooth she did not care so long as it was warm.
Farfrae was shown out, it having entirely escaped him that
he had called to see Elizabeth. Lucetta at the window
watched him threading the maze of farmers and farmers' men.
She could see by his gait that he was conscious of her eyes,
and her heart went out to him for his modesty--pleaded with
The Mayor of Casterbridge
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Tono Bungay by H. G. Wells:
"Tono-Bungay," said my uncle very slowly and distinctly.
I thought he was asking me to hear some remote, strange noise.
"I don't hear anything," I said reluctantly to his expectant
face. He smiled undefeated. "Try again," he said, and
"Oh, THAT!" I said.
"Eh?" said he.
"But what is it?"
"Ah!" said my uncle, rejoicing and expanding. "What IS it?
That's what you got to ask? What won't it be?" He dug me
violently in what he supposed to be my ribs. "George," he