| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories by Alice Dunbar: there must have been as much oil spilled upon the table to-night
as was put in the vessels. The small brown hands trembled so
that most of the wicks were trimmed with points at one corner
which caused them to smoke that night.
"Oh, cher Seigneur," she sighed, giving an impatient polish to a
refractory chimney, "it is wicked and sinful, I know, but I am so
tired. I can't be happy and sing any more. It doesn't seem
right for le bon Dieu to have me all cooped up here with nothing
to see but stray visitors, and always the same old work, teaching
those mean little girls to sew, and washing and filling the same
old lamps. Pah!" And she polished the chimney with a sudden
The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from On the Origin of Species by Charles Darwin: acknowledged difficulty in the manipulation) half of these twenty plants
had their fertility in some degree impaired. Moreover, as Gartner during
several years repeatedly crossed the primrose and cowslip, which we have
such good reason to believe to be varieties, and only once or twice
succeeded in getting fertile seed; as he found the common red and blue
pimpernels (Anagallis arvensis and coerulea), which the best botanists rank
as varieties, absolutely sterile together; and as he came to the same
conclusion in several other analogous cases; it seems to me that we may
well be permitted to doubt whether many other species are really so
sterile, when intercrossed, as Gartner believes.
It is certain, on the one hand, that the sterility of various species when
On the Origin of Species |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy: to enjoy his downfall, to inflict upon him what moral and mental
torture a deadly hatred alone can devise. The brave eagle, captured,
and with noble wings clipped, was doomed to endure the gnawing of the
rat. And she, his wife, who loved him, and who had brought him to
this, could do nothing to help him.
Nothing, save to hope for death by his side, and for one brief
moment in which to tell him that her love--whole, true and
passionate--was entirely his.
Chauvelin was now sitting close to the table; he had taken off
his hat, and Marguerite could just see the outline of his thin profile
and pointed chin, as he bent over his meagre supper. He was evidently
The Scarlet Pimpernel |
