| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Running a Thousand Miles for Freedom by William and Ellen Craft: ensued. The brave Antoinette broke loose from
him, pitched herself head foremost through the
window, and fell upon the pavement below.
Her bruised but unpolluted body was soon picked
up--restoratives brought--doctor called in; but,
alas! it was too late: her pure and noble spirit had
fled away to be at rest in those realms of endless
bliss, "where the wicked cease from troubling, and
the weary are at rest."
Antoinette like many other noble women who
are deprived of liberty, still
Running a Thousand Miles for Freedom |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from At the Sign of the Cat & Racket by Honore de Balzac: of Honor, by the Emperor himself, at the Salon. Roguin is now his
lawyer, and knows all his affairs. Well! Monsieur de Sommervieux has
twelve thousand francs a year in good landed estate. Do you know that
the father-in-law of such a man may get a rise in life--be mayor of
his /arrondissement/, for instance. Have we not seen Monsieur Dupont
become a Count of the Empire, and a senator, all because he went as
mayor to congratulate the Emperor on his entry into Vienna? Oh, this
marriage must take place! For my part, I adore the dear young man. His
behavior to Augustine is only met with in romances. Be easy, little
one, you shall be happy, and every girl will wish she were in your
place. Madame la Duchesse de Carigliano, who comes to my 'At Homes,'
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Lady Windermere's Fan by Oscar Wilde: wants to hold a man, she has merely to appeal to what is worst in
him. We make gods of men and they leave us. Others make brutes of
them and they fawn and are faithful. How hideous life is! . . .
Oh! it was mad of me to come here, horribly mad. And yet, which is
the worst, I wonder, to be at the mercy of a man who loves one, or
the wife of a man who in one's own house dishonours one? What
woman knows? What woman in the whole world? But will he love me
always, this man to whom I am giving my life? What do I bring him?
Lips that have lost the note of joy, eyes that are blinded by
tears, chill hands and icy heart. I bring him nothing. I must go
back - no; I can't go back, my letter has put me in their power -
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