| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf: Lily stepped back to get her canvas--so--into perspective. It was an
odd road to be walking, this further, until at last one seemed to be on
a narrow plank, perfectly alone, over the sea. And as she dipped into
the blue paint, she dipped too into the past there. Now Mrs Ramsay got
up, she remembered. It was time to go back to the house--time for
luncheon. And they all walked up from the beach together, she walking
behind with William Bankes, and there was Minta in front of them with a
hole in her stocking. How that little round hole of pink heel seemed
to flaunt itself before them! How William Bankes deplored it, without,
so far as she could remember, saying anything about it! It meant to
him the annihilation of womanhood, and dirt and disorder, and servants
To the Lighthouse |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Simple Soul by Gustave Flaubert: "Why, Madame, I haven't had any news since six months!--"
"From whom?--"
The servant replied gently:
"Why--from my nephew."
"Oh, yes, your nephew!" And shrugging her shoulders, Madame Aubain
continued to pace the floor as if to say: "I did not think of it.--
Besides, I do not care, a cabin-boy, a pauper!--but my daughter--what
a difference! just think of it!--"
Felicite, although she had been reared roughly, was very indignant.
Then she forgot about it.
It appeared quite natural to her that one should lose one's head about
A Simple Soul |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Sons of the Soil by Honore de Balzac: scoundrel Fourchon will enable me to get at the truth; though after
what he said just now I suspect the old fellow of having more secrets
than one in his pouch. That swindling old cordwainer told me himself
they want to drive you from Les Aigues. And let me tell you, for you
ought to know it, that from Conches to Ville-aux-Fayes there is not a
peasant, a petty tradesman, a farmer, a tavern-keeper who isn't laying
by his money to buy a bit of the estate. Fourchon confided to me that
Tonsard has already put in his claim. The idea that you can be forced
to sell Les Aigues has gone from end to end of the valley like an
infection in the air. It may be that the steward's present house, with
some adjoining land, will be the price paid for Sibilet's spying.
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