| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy: It was as usual barred and bolted, for the indoor servants
were not yet up; but her keen ears had detected the sound of voices
and the pawing of a horse's hoof against the flag-stones.
With nervous, trembling fingers Marguerite undid the bolts one
by one, bruising her hands, hurting her nails, for the locks were
heavy and stiff. But she did not care; her whole frame shook with
anxiety at the very thought that she might be too late; that he might
have gone without her seeing him and bidding him "God-speed!"
At last, she had turned the key and thrown open the door.
Her ears had not deceived her. A groom was standing close by holding
a couple of horses; one of these was Sultan, Sir Percy's favourite and
The Scarlet Pimpernel |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne: which is just within the bounds of possibility."
These last words were cowardly on my part; but, up to a certain point,
I wished to shelter my dignity as professor, and not give
too much cause for laughter to the Americans, who laugh well
when they do laugh. I reserved for myself a way of escape.
In effect, however, I admitted the existence of the "monster."
My article was warmly discussed, which procured it a high reputation.
It rallied round it a certain number of partisans. The solution
it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to the imagination.
The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings.
And the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the only medium
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Some Reminiscences by Joseph Conrad: and vanished by this time. These, if ever, are the brave, free
days of destroyed landmarks, while the ingenious minds are busy
inventing the forms of the new beacons which, it is consoling to
think, will be set up presently in the old places. But what is
interesting to a writer is the possession of an inward certitude
that literary criticism will never die, for man (so variously
defined) is, before everything else, a critical animal. And, as
long as distinguished minds are ready to treat it in the spirit
of high adventure, literary criticism shall appeal to us with all
the charm and wisdom of a well-told tale of personal experience.
For Englishmen especially, of all the races of the earth, a task,
Some Reminiscences |
