| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Mansfield Park by Jane Austen: at present, foresee any occasion for writing."
"No, I dare say, nor if he were to be gone a twelvemonth,
would you ever write to him, nor he to you, if it could
be helped. The occasion would never be foreseen.
What strange creatures brothers are! You would not write
to each other but upon the most urgent necessity in the world;
and when obliged to take up the pen to say that such a horse
is ill, or such a relation dead, it is done in the fewest
possible words. You have but one style among you.
I know it perfectly. Henry, who is in every other respect
exactly what a brother should be, who loves me, consults me,
Mansfield Park |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Human Drift by Jack London: LORETTA. [Steadily.] It was all my fault. I should never have
let him. I was to blame.
NED. [Paces up and down for a minute, stops in front of her, and
speaks with resignation.] All right. I don't blame you in the
least, Loretta. And you have been very honest. It is . . . er .
. . commendable. But Billy is right, and you are wrong. You must
get married.
LORETTA. [In dim, far-away voice.] To Billy?
NED. Yes, to Billy. I'll see to it. Where does he live? I'll
make him. If he won't I'll . . . I'll shoot him!
LORETTA. [Crying out with alarm.] Oh, Ned, you won't do that?
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Ball at Sceaux by Honore de Balzac: the satisfaction of her playful desires, so now, at fourteen, she was
still obeyed when she rushed into the whirl of fashion.
Thus, accustomed by degrees to the enjoyment of money, elegance of
dress, of gilded drawing-rooms and fine carriages, became as necessary
to her as the compliments of flattery, sincere or false, and the
festivities and vanities of court life. Like most spoiled children,
she tyrannized over those who loved her, and kept her blandishments
for those who were indifferent. Her faults grew with her growth, and
her parents were to gather the bitter fruits of this disastrous
education. At the age of nineteen Emilie de Fontaine had not yet been
pleased to make a choice from among the many young men whom her
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