| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Sesame and Lilies by John Ruskin: horses, and stout leather binding for his books. And I would urge
upon every young man, as the beginning of his due and wise provision
for his household, to obtain as soon as he can, by the severest
economy, a restricted, serviceable, and steadily--however slowly--
increasing, series of books for use through life; making his little
library, of all the furniture in his room, the most studied and
decorative piece; every volume having its assigned place, like a
little statue in its niche, and one of the earliest and strictest
lessons to the children of the house being how to turn the pages of
their own literary possessions lightly and deliberately, with no
chance of tearing or dog's ears.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Damnation of Theron Ware by Harold Frederic: After a turn or two she stopped in front of him, and looked
him full in the eye. The light from the windows was on her
countenance now, and its revelations vaguely troubled him.
It was a Celia he had never seen before who confronted him.
"I am much occupied by other matters," she said,
speaking with cold impassivity, "but still I find myself
curious to know just what limits you set to your dishonesty."
Theron stared up at her. His lips quivered, but no speech
came to them. If this was all merely fond playfulness,
it was being carried to a heart-aching point.
"I saw you hiding about in the depot at home last evening,"
The Damnation of Theron Ware |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from La Grande Breteche by Honore de Balzac: volume would scarcely contain it. Now, as the event of which she gave
me a confused account stands exactly midway between the notary's
gossip and that of Madame Lepas, as precisely as the middle term of a
rule-of-three sum stands between the first and third, I have only to
relate it in as few words as may be. I shall therefore be brief.
"The room at la Grande Breteche in which Madame de Merret slept was on
the ground floor; a little cupboard in the wall, about four feet deep,
served her to hang her dresses in. Three months before the evening of
which I have to relate the events, Madame de Merret had been seriously
ailing, so much so that her husband had left her to herself, and had
his own bedroom on the first floor. By one of those accidents which it
La Grande Breteche |
