| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Mother by Owen Wister: have it. Say so from me. Now,' he resumed to me, 'take a cigar by the
way. And don't buy any more Petunias until I tell you the right moment.
Do you see where your Amalgamated Electric has gone to?'"
"I had seen this. It had scored a 20-point rise since my purchase of it;
and I felt very sorry that I had not taken Mr. Beverly's advice and
bought a thousand shares. It had been on a day when I had felt
unaccountably cautious, and I had taken only two hundred and fifty shares
of Amalgamated Electric. There are days when one is cautious and days
when one is venturesome; and they seem to have nothing to do with
results."
"'They're going to increase the dividend,' said Mr. Beverly, as I smoked
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells: During that time they respected the usage established by the Law,
and behaved with general decorum. Once I found another rabbit torn
to pieces,--by the Hyena-swine, I am assured,--but that was all.
It was about May when I first distinctly perceived a growing difference
in their speech and carriage, a growing coarseness of articulation,
a growing disinclination to talk. My Monkey-man's jabber multiplied
in volume but grew less and less comprehensible, more and more simian.
Some of the others seemed altogether slipping their hold upon speech,
though they still understood what I said to them at that time.
(Can you imagine language, once clear-cut and exact, softening and
guttering, losing shape and import, becoming mere limps of sound again?)
The Island of Doctor Moreau |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Where There's A Will by Mary Roberts Rinehart: gone to bed at ten o'clock all his life and got up at seven, and
so he had a sneaking fondness for the one particular grandson who
often didn't go to bed at all. Twice to my knowledge when he was
in his teens did Dicky Carter run away from school, and twice his
grandfather kept him for a week hidden in the shelter-house on
the golf links. Naturally when Mr. Van Alstyne and I had to hide
him again, which is further on in the story, he went to the old
shelter-house like a dog to its kennel, only this time--but
that's ahead, too.
Well, the family went back to town in a buzz of indignation, and
I carried my waistcoat buttons and my Anatomy out to the
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