| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Little Women by Louisa May Alcott: blame you, for I know how willingly you sacrificed your vanity, as
you call it, to your love. But, my dear, it was not necessary, and
I'm afraid you will regret it one of these days," said Mrs. March.
"No, I won't!" returned Jo stoutly, feeling much relieved that
her prank was not entirely condemned.
"What made you do it?" asked Amy, who would as soon have thought
of cutting off her head as her pretty hair.
"Well, I was wild to to something for Father," replied Jo, as
they gathered about the table, for healthy young people can eat even
in the midst of trouble. "I hate to borrow as much as Mother does,
and I knew Aunt March would croak, she always does, if you ask for
Little Women |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Les Miserables by Victor Hugo: a poet to a hero, and he admired a book like Job more than an event
like Marengo. And then, when, after a day spent in meditation,
he returned in the evening through the boulevards, and caught
a glimpse through the branches of the trees of the fathomless
space beyond, the nameless gleams, the abyss, the shadow, the mystery,
all that which is only human seemed very pretty indeed to him.
He thought that he had, and he really had, in fact, arrived at
the truth of life and of human philosophy, and he had ended
by gazing at nothing but heaven, the only thing which Truth
can perceive from the bottom of her well.
This did not prevent him from multiplying his plans, his combinations,
Les Miserables |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Tales of Unrest by Joseph Conrad: showing high on the sky as if they had been perched upon stilts. The
small fields, cut up by hedges and stone walls that zig-zagged over
the slopes, lay in rectangular patches of vivid greens and yellows,
resembling the unskilful daubs of a naive picture. And the landscape
was divided in two by the white streak of a road stretching in long
loops far away, like a river of dust crawling out of the hills on its
way to the sea.
"Here he is," said the driver, again.
In the long grass bordering the road a face glided past the carriage
at the level of the wheels as we drove slowly by. The imbecile face
was red, and the bullet head with close-cropped hair seemed to lie
Tales of Unrest |
