| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from She Stoops to Conquer by Oliver Goldsmith: flutter. Young, handsome: these he put last; but I put them foremost.
Sensible, good-natured; I like all that. But then reserved and
sheepish; that's much against him. Yet can't he be cured of his
timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and can't
I--But I vow I'm disposing of the husband before I have secured the
lover.
Enter MISS NEVILLE.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me,
Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there anything whimsical
about me? Is it one of my well-looking days, child? Am I in face
to-day?
She Stoops to Conquer |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from War and the Future by H. G. Wells: peace. But any peace that does not provide for these things will
be merely laying down of the sword in order to take up the
cudgel. And a "peace" that did not rehabilitate industrial
Belgium, Poland, and the north of France would call imperatively
for the imposition upon the Allies of a system of tariffs in the
interests of these countries, and for a bitter economic "war
after the war" against Germany. That restoration is, of course,
an implicit condition to any attempt to set up an economic peace
in the world.
These things being arranged for the future, it would be further
necessary to set up an International Boundary Commission, subject
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Across The Plains by Robert Louis Stevenson: with dry rose-leaves, drew in my chair to the table and proceeded
to pour forth literature, at such a speed, and with such
intimations of early death and immortality, as I now look back upon
with wonder. Then it was that I wrote VOCES FIDELIUM, a series of
dramatic monologues in verse; then that I indited the bulk of a
covenanting novel - like so many others, never finished. Late I
sat into the night, toiling (as I thought) under the very dart of
death, toiling to leave a memory behind me. I feel moved to thrust
aside the curtain of the years, to hail that poor feverish idiot,
to bid him go to bed and clap VOCES FIDELIUM on the fire before he
goes; so clear does he appear before me, sitting there between his
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