| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from 1984 by George Orwell: movements and magnificent fair hair. His father he remembered more vaguely
as dark and thin, dressed always in neat dark clothes (Winston remembered
especially the very thin soles of his father's shoes) and wearing
spectacles. The two of them must evidently have been swallowed up in one
of the first great purges of the fifties.
At this moment his mother was sitting in some place deep down beneath him,
with his young sister in her arms. He did not remember his sister at all,
except as a tiny, feeble baby, always silent, with large, watchful eyes.
Both of them were looking up at him. They were down in some subterranean
place--the bottom of a well, for instance, or a very deep grave--but it
was a place which, already far below him, was itself moving downwards.
1984 |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from At the Mountains of Madness by H. P. Lovecraft: what made us pause again.
It was during that pause that we caught
- simultaneously this time - the other odor ahead. Paradoxically,
it was both a less frightful and more frightful odor - less frightful
intrinsically, but infinitely appalling in this place under the
known circumstances - unless, of course, Gedney - for the odor
was the plain and familiar one of common petrol - every-day gasoline.
Our motivation after that is something I will leave to psychologists.
We knew now that some terrible extension of the camp horrors must
have crawled into this nighted burial place of the aeons, hence
could not doubt any longer the existence of nameless conditions
At the Mountains of Madness |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Two Brothers by Honore de Balzac: due the celebrated cake of Issoudun,--one of the great creations of
French confectionery; which no chef, cook, pastry-cook, or
confectioner has ever been able to reproduce. Monsieur de Riviere,
ambassador at Constantinople, ordered enormous quantities every year
for the Seraglio.
Adolphine held a lacquer tray on which were a number of little old
glasses with engraved sides and gilt edges; and as her mother filled
each of them, she carried it to the company.
"It seems as though my father's turn were coming round!" exclaimed
Agathe, to whom this immutable provincial custom recalled the scenes
of her youth.
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