| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from To-morrow by Joseph Conrad: he muttered. He could break the door in, cer-
tainly; but they would perhaps bundle him into
chokey for that without asking questions--no great
matter, only he was confoundedly afraid of being
locked up, even in mistake. He turned cold at the
thought. He stamped his feet on the sod-
den grass.
"What are you?--a sailor?" said an agitated
voice.
She had flitted out, a shadow herself, attracted
by the reckless shadow waiting under the wall of
To-morrow |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Criminal Sociology by Enrico Ferri: Science Congress in October, 1871, and subsequently by Cox and
Call, who was head of the police at Glasgow, at the Congress of
1874, and which, as Mr. Movatt pointed out, was adopted in the
Indian penal code, and had been established in Japan by a decree
fixing perpetual imprisonment after the fourth relapse.
The delegate from Canada at the Prison Congress at Stockholm
testified that short terms of imprisonment increased the number of
offences. ``After a first sentence many offenders in this class
become professional criminals. Professional thieves, who are
habitual offenders, ought, with few exceptions, to be sentenced to
imprisonment for life, or for a term equivalent to the probable
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf: garden, gathering a desperate courage she would urge her own exemption
from the universal law; plead for it; she liked to be alone; she liked to
be herself; she was not made for that; and so have to meet a serious stare
from eyes of unparalleled depth, and confront Mrs Ramsay's simple
certainty (and she was childlike now) that her dear Lily, her little
Brisk, was a fool. Then, she remembered, she had laid her head on Mrs
Ramsay's lap and laughed and laughed and laughed, laughed almost
hysterically at the thought of Mrs Ramsay presiding with immutable calm
over destinies which she completely failed to understand. There she sat,
simple, serious. She had recovered her sense of her now--this was the
glove's twisted finger. But into what sanctuary had one penetrated?
To the Lighthouse |
