| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Montezuma's Daughter by H. Rider Haggard: stranger was watching my face keenly and, as it seemed to me, with
an inward fear which he strove to master and could not. When I had
finished again he raised his bonnet and thanked me, saying,
'Will you be so gracious as to tell me your name, young Sir?'
'What is my name to you?' I answered roughly, for I disliked this
man. 'You have not told me yours.'
'No, indeed, I am travelling incognito. Perhaps I also have met a
lady in these parts,' and he smiled strangely. 'I only wished to
know the name of one who had done me a courtesy, but who it seems
is not so courteous as I deemed.' And he shook his horse's reins.
'I am not ashamed of my name,' I said. 'It has been an honest one
Montezuma's Daughter |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from An International Episode by Henry James: Some of her reflections, indeed, she attempted to impart
to Lord Lambeth, who came almost every day to Jones's Hotel,
and whom Mrs. Westgate admitted to be really devoted.
Captain Littledale, it appeared, had gone to India; and of
several others of Mrs. Westgate's ex-pensioners--gentlemen who,
as she said, had made, in New York, a clubhouse of her drawing room--
no tidings were to be obtained; but Lord Lambeth was certainly
attentive enough to make up for the accidental absences,
the short memories, all the other irregularities of everyone else.
He drove them in the park, he took them to visit private collections
of pictures, and, having a house of his own, invited them to dinner.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Ancient Regime by Charles Kingsley: eternal well-being. But that is just what the philosophes denied.
They said (and it is but fair to take a statement which appears on
the face of all their writings; which is the one key-note on which
they ring perpetual changes), that the cause of the Church in France
was not that of humanity, but of inhumanity; not that of nature, but
of unnature; not even that of grace, but of disgrace. Truely or
falsely, they complained that the French clergy had not only
identified themselves with the repression of free thought, and of
physical science, especially that of the Newtonian astronomy, but
that they had proved themselves utterly unfit, for centuries past,
to exercise any censorship whatsoever over the thoughts of men:
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