| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Vendetta by Honore de Balzac: me, and I am sure he will never blame me. Have no scruple in accepting
my offer; our property is derived from the Emperor; we do not own a
penny that is not the result of his munificence. Is it not gratitude
to him to assist his faithful soldiers? Take the sums you need as
indifferently as I offer them. It is only money!" she added, in a tone
of contempt. "Now, as for friends,--those you shall have."
She raised her head proudly, and her eyes shone with dazzling
brilliancy.
"The head which falls to-morrow before a dozen muskets will save
yours," she went on. "Wait till the storm is over; you can then escape
and take service in foreign countries if you are not forgotten here;
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Animal Farm by George Orwell: that the tales about Frederick's cruelty to his own animals had been
greatly exaggerated. All these rumours had probably originated with
Snowball and his agents. It now appeared that Snowball was not, after all,
hiding on Pinchfield Farm, and in fact had never been there in his life:
he was living--in considerable luxury, so it was said--at Foxwood, and had
in reality been a pensioner of Pilkington for years past.
The pigs were in ecstasies over Napoleon's cunning. By seeming to be
friendly with Pilkington he had forced Frederick to raise his price by
twelve pounds. But the superior quality of Napoleon's mind, said Squealer,
was shown in the fact that he trusted nobody, not even Frederick.
Frederick had wanted to pay for the timber with something called a cheque,
Animal Farm |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories by Alice Dunbar: industry; the schoolboy, truant or expelled, peeps in at the
school-gate and taunts the good boys within. M'sieu Fortier was
no exception. Night after night of the performances he climbed
the stairs of the opera and sat, an attentive listener to the
orchestra, with one ear inclined to the stage, and a quizzical
expression on his wrinkled face. Then he would go home, and pat
Minesse, and fondle the violin.
"Ah, Minesse, dose new player! Not one bit can dey play. Such
tones, Minesse, such tones! All the time portemento, oh, so ver'
bad! Ah, mon chere violon, we can play." And he would play and
sing a romance, and smile tenderly to himself.
The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories |
