| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The New Machiavelli by H. G. Wells: degradation, and the pitiless cruelty of a world as yet uncontrolled
by any ordered will.
"Good God!" I put it to myself, "that I should finish the work those
Cossacks had begun! I who want order and justice before everything!
There's no way out of it, no decent excuse! If I didn't think, I
ought to have thought!" . . .
How did I get to it?" . . . I would ransack the phases of my
development from the first shy unveiling of a hidden wonder to the
last extremity as a man will go through muddled account books to
find some disorganising error. . . .
I was also involved at that time--I find it hard to place these
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence: shrunk from with dread.
Tevershall pits were running thin. There were only two collieries:
Tevershall itself, and New London. Tevershall had once been a famous
mine, and had made famous money. But its best days were over. New
London was never very rich, and in ordinary times just got along
decently. But now times were bad, and it was pits like New London that
got left.
'There's a lot of Tevershall men left and gone to Stacks Gate and
Whiteover,' said Mrs Bolton. 'You've not seen the new works at Stacks
Gate, opened after the war, have you, Sir Clifford? Oh, you must go one
day, they're something quite new: great big chemical works at the
Lady Chatterley's Lover |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Complete Angler by Izaak Walton: going. But turn out of the way a little, good scholar! toward yonder high
honeysuckle hedge; there we'll sit and sing whilst this shower falls so
gently upon the teeming earth, and gives yet a sweeter smell to the
lovely flowers that adorn these verdant meadows.
Look ! under that broad beech-tree I sat down, when I was last this way
a-fishing; and the birds in the adjoining grove seemed to have a friendly
contention with an echo, whose dead voice seemed to live in a hollow
tree near to the brow of that primrose-hill. There I sat viewing the silver
streams glide silently towards their centre, the tempestuous sea; yet
sometimes opposed by rugged roots and pebble-stones, which broke
their waves, and turned them into foam; and sometimes I beguiled time
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