| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Democracy In America, Volume 1 by Alexis de Toqueville: thus their education ends at the age when ours begins. Whatever
is done afterwards is with a view to some special and lucrative
object; a science is taken up as a matter of business, and the
only branch of it which is attended to is such as admits of an
immediate practical application. In America most of the rich men
were formerly poor; most of those who now enjoy leisure were
absorbed in business during their youth; the consequence of which
is, that when they might have had a taste for study they had no
time for it, and when time is at their disposal they have no
longer the inclination.
There is no class, then, in America, in which the taste for
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Peter Pan by James M. Barrie: course he was on the floor already. "Hallo," he said, "I am up!"
Michael was up by this time also, looking as sharp as a knife
with six blades and a saw, but Peter suddenly signed silence.
Their faces assumed the awful craftiness of children listening
for sounds from the grown-up world. All was as still as salt.
Then everything was right. No, stop! Everything was wrong.
Nana, who had been barking distressfully all the evening, was
quiet now. It was her silence they had heard.
"Out with the light! Hide! Quick!" cried John, taking command
for the only time throughout the whole adventure. And thus when
Liza entered, holding Nana, the nursery seemed quite its old
Peter Pan |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Man in Lower Ten by Mary Roberts Rinehart: I dined alone that evening in no cheerful frame of mind. There
had been a polo game the day before and I had lent a pony, which
is always a bad thing to do. And she had wrenched her shoulder,
besides helping to lose the game. There was no one in town: the
temperature was ninety and climbing, and my left hand persistently
cramped under its bandage.
Mrs. Klopton herself saw me served, my bread buttered and cut in
tidbits, my meat ready for my fork. She hovered around me
maternally, obviously trying to cheer me.
"The paper says still warmer," she ventured. "The thermometer is
ninety-two now."
The Man in Lower Ten |
