| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Don Quixote by Miquel de Cervantes: evident since he would not pass over in silence those that have been
already mentioned, however trifling and insignificant they might be,
an example that might be followed by those grave historians who relate
transactions so curtly and briefly that we hardly get a taste of them,
all the substance of the work being left in the inkstand from
carelessness, perverseness, or ignorance. A thousand blessings on
the author of "Tablante de Ricamonte" and that of the other book in
which the deeds of the Conde Tomillas are recounted; with what
minuteness they describe everything!
To proceed, then: after having paid a visit to his team and given
them their second feed, the carrier stretched himself on his
Don Quixote |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Heart of the West by O. Henry: the /mayordomo/ship must have greatly stimulated, for McGuire chained
him to a bitter existence. The air--the man's only chance for life--he
commanded to be kept out by closed windows and drawn curtains. The
room was always blue and foul with cigarette smoke; whosoever entered
it must sit, suffocating, and listen to the imp's interminable
gasconade concerning his scandalous career.
The oddest thing of all was the relation existing between McGuire and
his benefactor. The attitude of the invalid toward the cattleman was
something like that of a peevish, perverse child toward an indulgent
parent. When Raidler would leave the ranch McGuire would fall into a
fit of malevolent, silent sullenness. When he returned, he would be
Heart of the West |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Beast in the Jungle by Henry James: though still, with a small fine inner stiffness, an imperfect
surrender. "It WOULD be the worst," she finally let herself say.
"I mean the thing I've never said."
It hushed him a moment. "More monstrous than all the monstrosities
we've named?"
"More monstrous. Isn't that what you sufficiently express," she
asked, "in calling it the worst?"
Marcher thought. "Assuredly--if you mean, as I do, something that
includes all the loss and all the shame that are thinkable."
"It would if it SHOULD happen," said May Bartram. "What we're
speaking of, remember, is only my idea."
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