| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Mirror of the Sea by Joseph Conrad: which we could manage easily, and then haul off to seaward and
consider the situation. But his thoughts seemed to stumble in the
darkness of some not-solved enigma, and soon he fell silent. We
ran steadily, wing-and-wing. Cape San Sebastian nearly ahead
seemed to recede from us in the squalls of rain, and come out again
to meet our rush, every time more distinct between the showers.
For my part I was by no means certain that this GABELOU (as our men
alluded to her opprobriously) was after us at all. There were
nautical difficulties in such a view which made me express the
sanguine opinion that she was in all innocence simply changing her
station. At this Dominic condescended to turn his head.
The Mirror of the Sea |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Redheaded Outfield by Zane Grey: dreamless. He awakened late, had breakfast sent
to his room, and then took a long walk out into
the country. After lunch he dodged the crowd in
the hotel lobby, and hurried upstairs, where he
put on his baseball suit. The first person he met
upon going down was Reed, the Bellville man.
``What's this I hear, Wayne, about your pitching
for Salisbury today? I got your telegram.''
``Straight goods,'' replied Wayne.
``But I thought you intended to pitch for us?''
``I didn't promise, did I?''
The Redheaded Outfield |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Secrets of the Princesse de Cadignan by Honore de Balzac: little ruffle which sported on her breast,--one of those audacities of
the toilet that are suited only to slender waists,--and she resumed
the thread of her thoughts as if she were speaking to herself:--
"But I will say no more. You writers have ended by making ridiculous
all women who think they are misunderstood, or ill-mated, and who try
to make themselves dramatically interesting,--attempts which seem to
me, I must say, intolerably vulgar. There are but two things for women
in that plight to do,--yield, and all is over; resist, and amuse
themselves; in either case they should keep silence. It is true that I
neither yielded wholly, nor resisted wholly; but, perhaps, that was
only the more reason why I should be silent. What folly for women to
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