| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Moby Dick by Herman Melville: villain's marble mansion with a door-plate for a waif; what is that
but a Fast-Fish? What is the ruinous discount which Mordecai, the
broker, gets from poor Woebegone, the bankrupt, on a loan to
keep Woebegone's family from starvation; what is that ruinous
discount but a Fast-Fish? What is the Archbishop of Savesoul's
income of L100,000 seized from the scant bread and cheese of
hundreds of thousands of broken-backed laborers (all sure of heaven
without any of Savesoul's help) what is that globular L100,000 but a
Fast-Fish? What are the Duke of Dunder's hereditary towns and
hamlets but Fast-Fish? What to that redoubted harpooneer, John Bull,
is poor Ireland, but a Fast-Fish? What to that apostolic lancer,
Moby Dick |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Letters from England by Elizabeth Davis Bancroft: college of heralds richly dressed, slowly, two and two; then the
great officers of the household, then the Lord Chancellor bearing
the purse, seal, and speech of the Queen, with the macebearers
before him. Then Lord Lansdowne with the crown, the Earl of
Zetland, with the cap of maintenance, and the Duke off Wellington,
with the sword of State. Then Prince Albert, leading the Queen,
followed by the Duchess of Sutherland, Mistress of the Robes, and
the Marchioness of Douro, daughter-in-law of the Duke of Wellington,
who is one of the ladies in waiting. The Queen and Prince sit down,
while everybody else remains standing. The Queen then says in a
voice most clear and sweet: "My lords (rolling the r), be seated."
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Cruise of the Jasper B. by Don Marquis: was jealous of Sherlock Holmes. When this was reported to
Barnstable he invariably remarked: "How preposterous! The idea
of a man being envious of a literary creation!"
Perhaps his denial of the existence of romance was merely one of
those poses which geniuses so often permit themselves. Perhaps
he saw it and was thrilled with it even while he denied it. At
any rate, he lived in the midst of it. The realism which was his
metier was that sort of realism into which are woven facts and
incidents of the most bizarre and startling nature.
And, certainly, behind the light blue eyes that could look with
such apparent ingenuousness out of his plump, bland face there
|
