| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Middlemarch by George Eliot: solitude in order to have small explosions, to find conversation
difficult and to hand a glass of water without looking, can hardly
be regarded as satisfactory fulfilment even to the toughest minds.
To Dorothea's inexperienced sensitiveness, it seemed like a catastrophe,
changing all prospects; and to Mr. Casaubon it was a new pain,
he never having been on a wedding journey before, or found himself
in that close union which was more of a subjection than he had been
able to imagine, since this charming young bride not only obliged
him to much consideration on her behalf (which he had sedulously
given), but turned out to be capable of agitating him cruelly just
where he most needed soothing. Instead of getting a soft fence
Middlemarch |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Lesson of the Master by Henry James: smile above all displeased him (as much as any impression from that
source could), whereas the quiet face had a charm that grew in
proportion as stillness settled again. The change to the
expression of gaiety excited, he made out, very much the private
protest of a person sitting gratefully in the twilight when the
lamp is brought in too soon. His second reflexion was that, though
generally averse to the flagrant use of ingratiating arts by a man
of age "making up" to a pretty girl, he was not in this case too
painfully affected: which seemed to prove either that St. George
had a light hand or the air of being younger than he was, or else
that Miss Fancourt's own manner somehow made everything right.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Enoch Arden, &c. by Alfred Tennyson: shall cease;
And in this Book, little Annie, the message is one of
Peace.
XXV.
And age is a time of peace, so it be free from
pain,
And happy has been my life; but I would not live
it again.
I seem to be tired a little, that's all, and long for
rest;
Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the
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