| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Chance by Joseph Conrad: the fields?"
She snatched her hands out of his grasp (it seems he had omitted to
let them go), marched away from him and got over the stile. It was
a big field sprinkled profusely with white sheep. A trodden path
crossed it diagonally. After she had gone more than half way she
turned her head for the first time. Keeping five feet or so behind,
Captain Anthony was following her with an air of extreme interest.
Interest or eagerness. At any rate she caught an expression on his
face which frightened her. But not enough to make her run. And
indeed it would have had to be something incredibly awful to scare
into a run a girl who had come to the end of her courage to live.
Chance |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Catherine de Medici by Honore de Balzac: the tufts of blond curls which clustered on her temples.
The pencil of many painters have so frequently represented this head-
dress that it is thought to have belonged exclusively to Mary Queen of
Scots; whereas it was really invented by Catherine de' Medici, when
she put on mourning for Henri II. But she never knew how to wear it
with the grace of her daughter-in-law, to whom it was becoming. This
annoyance was not the least among the many which the queen-mother
cherished against the young queen.
"Is the queen reproving me?" said Catherine, turning to Mary.
"I owe you all respect, and should not dare to do so," said the
Scottish queen, maliciously, glancing at Dayelle.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Pool of Blood in the Pastor's Study by Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner: streets that they might watch from a distance at least what was
going on in the rectory. The landlord bustled about the inn to have
everything in readiness in case the gentlemen should honour him by
taking a meal, and perhaps even lodgings, at his house. At the gate
of the rectory the coachman and the maid Liska stood to receive the
newcomers, just as five o'clock was striking from the steeple.
It should have been still quite light, but it was already dusk, for
the clouds hung heavy. The rain had ceased, but a heavy wind came
up which tore the delicate petals of the blossoms from the fruit
trees and strewed them like snow on the ground beneath. The Count,
who was the head of one of the richest and most aristocratic
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