| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from A Start in Life by Honore de Balzac: unchained senses drive the wise counsels of his mother and Godeschal
completely out of his mind. To the shame of youth let it be added that
good advice is never lacking to it. In the matter of Georges, Oscar
himself had a feeling of aversion for him; he felt humiliated before a
witness of that scene in the salon at Presles when Moreau had flung
him at the count's feet. The moral senses have their laws, which are
implacable, and we are always punished for disregarding them. There is
one in particular, which the animals themselves obey without
discussion, and invariably; it is that which tells us to avoid those
who have once injured us, with or without intention, voluntarily or
involuntarily. The creature from whom we receive either damage or
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Chance by Joseph Conrad: of that."
Fyne was contemptuous either of me or of things at large.
"You didn't suppose he was to be kept in jail for life?"
At that moment I caught sight of Flora de Barral at the junction of
the two streets. Then some vehicles following each other in quick
succession hid from my sight the black slight figure with just a
touch of colour in her hat. She was walking slowly; and it might
have been caution or reluctance. While listening to Fyne I stared
hard past his shoulder trying to catch sight of her again. He was
going on with positive heat, the rags of his solemnity dropping off
him at every second sentence.
Chance |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Hidden Masterpiece by Honore de Balzac: the warm breath of life. If I put my hand on that firm, round throat I
shall find it cold as marble. No, no, my friend, blood does not run
beneath that ivory skin; the purple tide of life does not swell those
veins, nor stir those fibres which interlace like net-work below the
translucent amber of the brow and breast. This part palpitates with
life, but that other part is not living; life and death jostle each
other in every detail. Here, you have a woman; there, a statue; here
again, a dead body. Your creation is incomplete. You have breathed
only a part of your soul into the well-beloved work. The torch of
Prometheus went out in your hands over and over again; there are
several parts of your painting on which the celestial flame never
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