| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The People That Time Forgot by Edgar Rice Burroughs: giant cave-bear, stunned and broken. It is a stupid, simple,
gentle beast--one of the few within Caspak which such a
description might even remotely fit.
For three nights we slept in trees, finding no caves or other
places of concealment. Here we were free from the attacks of
the large land carnivora; but the smaller flying reptiles, the
snakes, leopards, and panthers were a constant menace, though
by no means as much to be feared as the huge beasts that roamed
the surface of the earth.
At the close of the third day Ajor and I were able to converse
with considerable fluency, and it was a great relief to both of
The People That Time Forgot |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Domestic Peace by Honore de Balzac: stranger, and then looking at the Countess with embarrassing scrutiny.
"You have guessed it," replied the coquette, hiding her face behind
her fan, which she began to play with. "Old Madame de Lansac, who is,
you know, as malicious as an old monkey," she went on, after a pause,
"has just told me that Monsieur de la Roche-Hugon is running into
danger by flirting with that stranger, who sits here this evening like
a skeleton at a feast. I would rather see a death's head than that
face, so cruelly beautiful, and as pale as a ghost. She is my evil
genius.--Madame de Lansac," she added, after a flash and gesture of
annoyance, "who only goes to a ball to watch everything while
pretending to sleep, has made me miserably anxious. Martial shall pay
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Intentions by Oscar Wilde: the middle and lower classes of this country, there has been a
tendency in literature to appeal more and more to the eye, and less
and less to the ear which is really the sense which, from the
standpoint of pure art, it should seek to please, and by whose
canons of pleasure it should abide always. Even the work of Mr.
Pater, who is, on the whole, the most perfect master of English
prose now creating amongst us, is often far more like a piece of
mosaic than a passage in music, and seems, here and there, to lack
the true rhythmical life of words and the fine freedom and richness
of effect that such rhythmical life produces. We, in fact, have
made writing a definite mode of composition, and have treated it as
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