| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lady Windermere's Fan by Oscar Wilde: more than doubtful character - is always calling upon her, lunching
with her, and probably paying her bills - do you think that the
wife should not console herself?
LADY WINDERMERE. [Frowning] Console herself?
LORD DARLINGTON. Yes, I think she should - I think she has the
right.
LADY WINDERMERE. Because the husband is vile - should the wife be
vile also?
LORD DARLINGTON. Vileness is a terrible word, Lady Windermere.
LADY WINDERMERE. It is a terrible thing, Lord Darlington.
LORD DARLINGTON. Do you know I am afraid that good people do a
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Pellucidar by Edgar Rice Burroughs: supply, but so quick was the little animal that I had no
time to draw and fit a shaft. In fact my dinner was a
hundred yards away and going like the proverbial bat
when I dropped my six-shooter on it. It was a pretty shot
and when coupled with a good dinner made me quite
contented with myself.
After eating I lay down and slept. When I awoke I
was scarcely so self-satisfied, for I had not more than
opened my eyes before I became aware of the presence,
barely a hundred yards from me, of a pack of some
twenty huge wolf-dogs--the things which Perry insisted
Pellucidar |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton by Edith Wharton: The resistance, the effort, had known their hour of violence; but
now they were at an end. Through her mind, long harried by
grotesque visions, fragmentary images of the life that she was
leaving, tormenting lines of verse, obstinate presentments of
pictures once beheld, indistinct impressions of rivers, towers,
and cupolas, gathered in the length of journeys half forgotten--
through her mind there now only moved a few primal sensations of
colorless well-being; a vague satisfaction in the thought that
she had swallowed her noxious last draught of medicine . . . and
that she should never again hear the creaking of her husband's
boots--those horrible boots--and that no one would come to bother
|
