| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from On the Origin of Species by Charles Darwin: the Supplement to Lyell's 'Manual,' published in 1858, clear evidence of
the existence of whales in the upper greensand, some time before the close
of the secondary period.
I may give another instance, which from having passed under my own eyes has
much struck me. In a memoir on Fossil Sessile Cirripedes, I have stated
that, from the number of existing and extinct tertiary species; from the
extraordinary abundance of the individuals of many species all over the
world, from the Arctic regions to the equator, inhabiting various zones of
depths from the upper tidal limits to 50 fathoms; from the perfect manner
in which specimens are preserved in the oldest tertiary beds; from the ease
with which even a fragment of a valve can be recognised; from all these
On the Origin of Species |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Salammbo by Gustave Flaubert: god, thought the priests of Moloch, that he had just committed, and
they sought with eager gestures to repel him. Fed on the meat of the
holocausts, clad in purple like kings, and wearing triple-storied
crowns, they despised the pale eunuch, weakened with his macerations,
and angry laughter shook their black beards, which were displayed on
their breasts in the sun.
Schahabarim walked on, giving no reply, and, traversing the whole
enclosure with deliberation, reached the legs of the colossus; then,
spreading out both arms, he touched it on both sides, which was a
solemn form of adoration. For a long time Rabbet had been torturing
him, and in despair, or perhaps for lack of a god that completely
Salammbo |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Touchstone by Edith Wharton: extension of her brilliant talk, later the dreaded vehicle of a
tragic importunity. He knew, of course, that they were wonderful;
that, unlike the authors who give their essence to the public and
keep only a dry rind for their friends, Mrs. Aubyn had stored of
her rarest vintage for this hidden sacrament of tenderness.
Sometimes, indeed, he had been oppressed, humiliated almost, by
the multiplicity of her allusions, the wide scope of her
interests, her persistence in forcing her superabundance of
thought and emotion into the shallow receptacle of his sympathy;
but he had never thought of the letters objectively, as the
production of a distinguished woman; had never measured the
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