| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Troll Garden and Selected Stories by Willa Cather: clenched at his side. "But if they had hurt you, I would beat
their brains out with my hands. I would kill them all. I
was never afraid before. You are the only beautiful thing that
has ever come close to me. You came like an angel out of the sky.
You are like the music you sing, you are like the stars and the
snow on the mountains where I played when I was a little boy. You
are like all that I wanted once and never had, you are all that
they have killed in me. I die for you tonight, tomorrow, for all
eternity. I am not a coward; I was afraid because I love you more
than Christ who died for me, more than I am afraid of hell, or hope
for heaven. I was never afraid before. If you had fallen--oh, my
The Troll Garden and Selected Stories |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Deputy of Arcis by Honore de Balzac: Rastignac did not end the sentence in which he was, so to speak,
firing his last gun, for the orchestra began to play a quadrille, and
Nais, running up, made him a coquettish courtesy, saying,--
"Monsieur le ministre, I am very sorry, but you have taken my partner,
and you must give him up. He is down for my eleventh quadrille, and if
I miss it my list gets into terrible confusion."
"You permit me, monsieur?" said Sallenauve, laughing. "As you see, I
am not a very savage republican." So saying, he followed Nais, who led
him along by the hand.
Madame de l'Estorade, comprehending that this fancy of Nais was rather
compromising to the dignity of the new deputy, had arranged that
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart: Each day she walked in the Prater, ermine from head to foot, and
behind her two by two trailed twelve little Southern darkies in
red-velvet coats and caps, grinning sociably. When she drove a
pair sat on the boot.
Her voice was strong, not sweet, spoiled by years of singing
against dishes and bottles in smoky music halls; spoiled by
cigarettes and absinthe and foreign cocktails that resembled
their American prototypes as the night resembles the day.
She wore the gold dress, decolletee, slashed to the knee over
rhinestone-spangled stockings. And back of her trailed the twelve
little darkies.
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