| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Dust by Mr. And Mrs. Haldeman-Julius: that's happened."
"Yes, Martin, I do," she returned fervently. "It's a wonderful
monument to leave behind you--this farm is."
His eyes grew somber. "That's what I've always thought it would
be," he answered, very low. "I've felt as if I was building
something that would last. Even the barns--they're ready to stand
for generations. But this minute, when the end is sitting at the
foot of this bed, I seem to see it all crumbling before me. You
won't stay here. Why should you --even if you do for a few years
you'll have to leave it sometime, and there's nothing that goes
to rack and ruin as quickly as a farm--even one like this."
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Touchstone by Edith Wharton: on others, which bore the English post-mark, it was still fresh.
She had been dead hardly three years, and she had written, at
lengthening intervals, to the last. . . .
He undid one of the earlier packets--little notes written during
their first acquaintance at Hillbridge. Glennard, on leaving
college, had begun life in his uncle's law office in the old
university town. It was there that, at the house of her father,
Professor Forth, he had first met the young lady then chiefly
distinguished for having, after two years of a conspicuously
unhappy marriage, returned to the protection of the paternal roof.
Mrs. Aubyn was at that time an eager and somewhat tragic young
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Les Miserables by Victor Hugo: his nose in his fingers, recoil. I grant to this age the device:
`Dirty Cleanliness.' Don't be vexed, Marius, give me permission
to speak; I say no evil of the people as you see, I am always
harping on your people, but do look favorably on my dealing a bit
of a slap to the bourgeoisie. I belong to it. He who loves well
lashes well. Thereupon, I say plainly, that now-a-days people marry,
but that they no longer know how to marry. Ah! it is true, I regret
the grace of the ancient manners. I regret everything about them,
their elegance, their chivalry, those courteous and delicate ways,
that joyous luxury which every one possessed, music forming part of
the wedding, a symphony above stairs, a beating of drums below stairs,
Les Miserables |
