| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Ursula by Honore de Balzac: light of a window. As Madame Minoret came in sight of him the doctor's
blue eyes with their reddened lids were raised to heaven; a new
conviction had given them a new expression. His spectacles lay in his
prayer-book and marked the place where he had ceased to pray. The tall
and spare old man, his arms crossed on his breast, stood erect in an
attitude which bespoke the full strength of his faculties and the
unshakable assurance of his faith. He gazed at the altar humbly with a
look of renewed hope, and took no notice of his nephew's wife, who
planted herself almost in front of him as if to reproach him for
coming back to God.
Zelie, seeing all eyes turned upon her, made haste to leave the church
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions by Edwin A. Abbot: to applause, he invited Chromatistes, the leader of the Sedition,
into the centre of the hall, to receive in the name of his followers
the submission of the Hierarchy. Then followed a speech,
a masterpiece of rhetoric, which occupied nearly a day
in the delivery, and to which no summary can do justice.
With a grave appearance of impartiality he declared that as
they were now finally committing themselves to Reform or Innovation,
it was desirable that they should take one last view of the perimeter
of the whole subject, its defects as well as its advantages.
Gradually introducing the mention of the dangers to the Tradesmen,
the Professional Classes and the Gentlemen, he silenced
Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Vailima Prayers & Sabbath Morn by Robert Louis Stevenson: foreign dictators of distracted Samoa. On another occasion the
chief himself brought the service to a sudden check. He had just
learned of the treacherous conduct of one in whom he had every
reason to trust. That evening the prayer seemed unusually short
and formal. As the singing stopped he arose abruptly and left the
room. I hastened after him, fearing some sudden illness. 'What is
it?' I asked. 'It is this,' was the reply; 'I am not yet fit to
say, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass
against us."'
It is with natural reluctance that I touch upon the last prayer of
my husband's life. Many have supposed that he showed, in the
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