| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Father Goriot by Honore de Balzac: gazing at the poor girl; the sorrow in her face was
unmistakable,--the slighted love of a child whose father would
not recognize her.
"We are mistaken about Father Goriot, my dear boy," said Eugene
in a low voice. "He is not an idiot, nor wanting in energy. Try
your Gall system on him, and let me know what you think. I saw
him crush a silver dish last night as if it had been made of wax;
there seems to be something extra-ordinary going on in his mind
just now, to judge by his face. His life is so mysterious that it
must be worth studying. Oh! you may laugh, Bianchon; I am not
joking."
Father Goriot |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Alexandria and her Schools by Charles Kingsley: Ptolemies had pursued toward the Jews. Soter had not only allowed but
encouraged them to settle in Alexandria and Egypt, granting them the
same political privileges with the Macedonians and other Greeks. Soon
they built themselves a temple there, in obedience to some supposed
prophecy in their sacred writings, which seems most probably to have
been a wilful interpolation. Whatsoever value we may attach to the
various myths concerning the translation of their Scriptures into Greek,
there can be no doubt that they were translated in the reign of Soter,
and that the exceedingly valuable Septuagint version is the work of that
period. Moreover, their numbers in Alexandria were very great. When
Amrou took Constantinople in A.D. 640, there were 40,000 Jews in it; and
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence: an emptiness, an indifference to everything gradually spread in her
soul. When Clifford was roused, he could still talk brilliantly and, as
it were, command the future: as when, in the wood, he talked about her
having a child, and giving an heir to Wragby. But the day after, all
the brilliant words seemed like dead leaves, crumpling up and turning
to powder, meaning really nothing, blown away on any gust of wind. They
were not the leafy words of an effective life, young with energy and
belonging to the tree. They were the hosts of fallen leaves of a life
that is ineffectual.
So it seemed to her everywhere. The colliers at Tevershall were talking
again of a strike, and it seemed to Connie there again it was not a
Lady Chatterley's Lover |
