| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde: were those of whose nature we were conscious. It often happened
that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were
really experimenting on ourselves.
While Lord Henry sat dreaming on these things, a knock came to the door,
and his valet entered and reminded him it was time to dress for dinner.
He got up and looked out into the street. The sunset had smitten into
scarlet gold the upper windows of the houses opposite. The panes glowed
like plates of heated metal. The sky above was like a faded rose.
He thought of his friend's young fiery-coloured life and wondered how it was
all going to end.
When he arrived home, about half-past twelve o'clock, he saw a telegram
The Picture of Dorian Gray |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Country of the Pointed Firs by Sarah Orne Jewett: generation. There was an alliance and understanding between them,
so close that it was apparently speechless. They gave much time to
watching one another's boats go out or come in; they lent a ready
hand at tending one another's lobster traps in rough weather; they
helped to clean the fish or to sliver porgies for the trawls, as if
they were in close partnership; and when a boat came in from deep-
sea fishing they were never too far out of the way, and hastened to
help carry it ashore, two by two, splashing alongside, or holding
its steady head, as if it were a willful sea colt. As a matter of
fact no boat could help being steady and way-wise under their
instant direction and companionship. Abel's boat and Jonathan
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell: and private residence was crammed with visitors who had come to be
near wounded relatives in the big Atlanta hospitals. There were
parties and balls and bazaars every week and war weddings without
number, with the grooms on furlough in bright gray and gold braid
and the brides in blockade-run finery, aisles of crossed swords,
toasts drunk in blockaded champagne and tearful farewells.
Nightly the dark tree-lined streets resounded with dancing feet,
and from parlors tinkled pianos where soprano voices blended with
those of soldier guests in the pleasing melancholy of "The Bugles
Sang Truce" and "Your Letter Came, but Came Too Late"--plaintive
ballads that brought exciting tears to soft eyes which had never
Gone With the Wind |
