| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from A Treatise on Parents and Children by George Bernard Shaw: times every winter in the hunting field, and at Badajos sieges and the
like will ram his head into a hole bristling with sword blades rather
than be beaten in the one department in which he has been brought up
to consult his own honor. As a Sportsman (and war is fundamentally
the sport of hunting and fighting the most dangerous of the beasts of
prey) he feels free. He will tell you himself that the true sportsman
is never a snob, a coward, a duffer, a cheat, a thief, or a liar.
Curious, is it not, that he has not the same confidence in other sorts
of man?
And even sport is losing its freedom. Soon everybody will be
schooled, mentally and physically, from the cradle to the end of the
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Silas Marner by George Eliot: Silas, in astonishment at this strange advent. Godfrey joined them
immediately, unable to rest without hearing every word--trying to
control himself, but conscious that if any one noticed him, they
must see that he was white-lipped and trembling.
But now all eyes at that end of the room were bent on Silas Marner;
the Squire himself had risen, and asked angrily, "How's this?--
what's this?--what do you do coming in here in this way?"
"I'm come for the doctor--I want the doctor," Silas had said, in
the first moment, to Mr. Crackenthorp.
"Why, what's the matter, Marner?" said the rector. "The
doctor's here; but say quietly what you want him for."
Silas Marner |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Blue Flower by Henry van Dyke: the edge of the city there were marble pools where the children
might bathe and play; at the corners of the streets and on the
sides of the houses there were fountains for the drawing of
water; at every crossing a stream was turned aside to run out to
the vineyards; and the river was the mother of them all.
There were but few people in the streets, and none of the
older folk from whom I might ask counsel or a lodging; so I
stood and knocked at the door of a house. It was opened by an
old man, who greeted me with kindness and bade me enter as his
guest. After much courteous entertainment, and when supper
was ended, his friendly manner and something of singular
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