| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Buttered Side Down by Edna Ferber: hats. Nobody could have the nerve to ask her to wait for her
money. So I did my own washing. I haven't learned to wear soiled
clothes yet. I laughed fit to bust while I was doing it.
But--I'll bet my mother dreamed of me that night. The way they do,
you know, when something's gone wrong."
Sophy, perched on the third rung of the sliding ladder, was
gazing at him. Her lips were parted slightly, and her cheeks were
very pink. On her face was a new, strange look, as of something
half forgotten. It was as though the spirit of
Sophy-as-she-might-have-been were inhabiting her soul for a brief
moment. At Louie's next words the look was gone.
Buttered Side Down |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Wrong Box by Stevenson & Osbourne: I have thrown them (for the reader's convenience) into a certain
order; but in the mind of one poor human equal they whirled
together like the dust of hurricanes. With the same obliging
preoccupation, I have put a name to each of his distresses; and
it will be observed with pity that every individual item would
have graced and commended the cover of a railway novel.
Anxiety the First: Where is the Body? or, The Mystery of Bent
Pitman. It was now manifestly plain that Bent Pitman (as was to
be looked for from his ominous appellation) belonged to the
darker order of the criminal class. An honest man would not have
cashed the bill; a humane man would not have accepted in silence
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Louis Lambert by Honore de Balzac: not to be proud after the flights which have borne me to the skies
where I have gathered a full harvest of thoughts; for it is always
after some long excursion in the vast fields of the intellect, and
after the most luminous speculations, that I tumble, broken and
weary, into this limbo. At such a moment, my angel, a wife would
double my love for her--at any rate, she might. If she were
capricious, ailing, or depressed, she would need the comforting
overflow of ingenious affection, and I should not have a glance to
bestow on her. It is my shame, Pauline, to have to tell you that
at times I could weep with you, but that nothing could make me
smile.
Louis Lambert |
