| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Maggie: A Girl of the Streets by Stephen Crane: poundin' 'im. When I come nights I can't git no rest 'cause
yer allus poundin' a kid. Let up, d'yeh hear? Don't be allus
poundin' a kid."
The woman's operations on the urchin instantly increased in violence.
At last she tossed him to a corner where he limply lay cursing and weeping.
The wife put her immense hands on her hips and with a
chieftain-like stride approached her husband.
"Ho," she said, with a great grunt of contempt. "An' what in
the devil are you stickin' your nose for?"
The babe crawled under the table and, turning, peered out
cautiously. The ragged girl retreated and the urchin in the corner
Maggie: A Girl of the Streets |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Emerald City of Oz by L. Frank Baum: They told Jack Pumpkinhead of the dreadful news about the Nome King,
and he decided to go with them to the Emerald City and help comfort Ozma.
"I had expected to live here in ease and comfort for many centuries,"
said Jack, dolefully; "but of course if the Nome King destroys
everything in Oz I shall be destroyed too. Really, it seems too bad,
doesn't it?"
They were soon on their journey again, and so swiftly did the Sawhorse
draw the wagon over the smooth roads that before twilight fell they
had reached the royal palace in the Emerald City, and were at their
journey's end.
26. How Ozma Refused to Fight for Her Kingdom
The Emerald City of Oz |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Modeste Mignon by Honore de Balzac: doubtless recovered them. He would of course give Dumay ten per cent
of his profits; the worthy man admitted the other day how much it was,
and my master and I think that in that case the colonel's fortune must
amount to six or seven millions--"
"Oh, papa!" cried Modeste, crossing her hands on her breast and
looking up to heaven, "twice you have given me life!"
"Ah, mademoiselle!" said Butscha, "you love a poet. That kind of man
is more or less of a Narcissus. Will he know how to love you? A
phrase-maker, always busy in fitting words together, must be a bore.
Mademoiselle, a poet is no more poetry than a seed is a flower."
"Butscha, I never saw so handsome a man."
Modeste Mignon |
