| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Ferragus by Honore de Balzac: though I seem to rob something from my Jules. But, my kind father,
think what his sufferings are. What may I tell him to-day?"
"My child, do you think I waited for your letter to save you from this
threatened danger? Do you know what will become of those who venture
to touch your happiness, or come between us? Have you never been aware
that a second providence was guarding your life? Twelve men of power
and intellect form a phalanx round your love and your existence,--
ready to do all things to protect you. Think of your father, who has
risked death to meet you in the public promenades, or see you asleep
in your little bed in your mother's home, during the night-time. Could
such a father, to whom your innocent caresses give strength to live
Ferragus |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Child of Storm by H. Rider Haggard: even approximately the number of his years. There he sat, red in the
red light, perfectly still, and staring without a blink of his eyes at
the furious ball of the setting sun, as an eagle is said to be able to
do.
Saduko advanced, and I walked after him. My stature is not great, and I
have never considered myself an imposing person, but somehow I do not
think that I ever felt more insignificant than on this occasion. The
tall and splendid native beside, or rather behind whom I walked, the
gloomy magnificence of the place, the blood-red light in which it was
bathed, and the solemn, solitary, little figure with wisdom stamped upon
its face before me, all tended to induce humility in a man not naturally
Child of Storm |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton by Edith Wharton: that, far beyond, are other rooms, the handles of whose doors
perhaps are never turned; no one knows the way to them, no one
knows whither they lead; and in the innermost room, the holy of
holies, the soul sits alone and waits for a footstep that never
comes."
"And your husband," asked the Spirit, after a pause, "never got
beyond the family sitting-room?"
"Never," she returned, impatiently; "and the worst of it was that
he was quite content to remain there. He thought it perfectly
beautiful, and sometimes, when he was admiring its commonplace
furniture, insignificant as the chairs and tables of a hotel
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