| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Eugenie Grandet by Honore de Balzac: their eyes; for the poor fallen dandy, orphaned and impoverished, sat
apart in a corner of the room, and was proudly calm and silent. Yet,
from time to time, the gentle and caressing glance of the young girl
shone upon him and constrained him away from his sad thoughts, drawing
him with her into the fields of hope and of futurity, where she loved
to hold him at her side.
VII
At this moment the town of Saumur was more excited about the dinner
given by Grandet to the Cruchots than it had been the night before at
the sale of his vintage, though that constituted a crime of high-
treason against the whole wine-growing community. If the politic old
Eugenie Grandet |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells: I saw the curving charge of the flames across the sloping straw.
A spurt of fire jetted from the window of my room.
I knew at once what had happened. I remembered the crash I had heard.
When I had rushed out to Montgomery's assistance, I had overturned
the lamp.
The hopelessness of saving any of the contents of the enclosure
stared me in the face. My mind came back to my plan of flight,
and turning swiftly I looked to see where the two boats lay upon
the beach. They were gone! Two axes lay upon the sands beside me;
chips and splinters were scattered broadcast, and the ashes
of the bonfire were blackening and smoking under the dawn.
The Island of Doctor Moreau |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from A Sentimental Journey by Laurence Sterne: temper; - it supplied all defects: - I had a constant resource in
his looks in all difficulties and distresses of my own - I was
going to have added of his too; but La Fleur was out of the reach
of every thing; for, whether 'twas hunger or thirst, or cold or
nakedness, or watchings, or whatever stripes of ill luck La Fleur
met with in our journeyings, there was no index in his physiognomy
to point them out by, - he was eternally the same; so that if I am
a piece of a philosopher, which Satan now and then puts it into my
head I am, - it always mortifies the pride of the conceit, by
reflecting how much I owe to the complexional philosophy of this
poor fellow, for shaming me into one of a better kind. With all
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