| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Catriona by Robert Louis Stevenson: "Did ye so?" cries she. "Ye met Rob?"
"I passed the night with him," said I.
"He is a fowl of the night," said she.
"There was a set of pipes there," I went on, "so you may judge if the
time passed."
"You should be no enemy, at all events," said she. "That was his
brother there a moment since, with the red soldiers round him. It is
him that I call father."
"Is it so?" cried I. "Are you a daughter of James More's?"
"All the daughter that he has," says she: "the daughter of a prisoner;
that I should forget it so, even for one hour, to talk with strangers!"
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Louis Lambert by Honore de Balzac: shuts my mouth, and drags me in a direction opposite to my
vocation? I must leave Paris, bid farewell to the books in the
libraries, those noble centres of illumination, those kindly and
always accessible sages, and the younger geniuses with whom I
sympathize. Who is it that drives me away? Chance or Providence?
"The two ideas represented by those words are irreconcilable. If
Chance does not exist, we must admit fatalism, that is to say, the
compulsory co-ordination of things under the rule of a general
plan. Why then do we rebel? If man is not free, what becomes of
the scaffolding of his moral sense? Or, if he can control his
destiny, if by his own freewill he can interfere with the
Louis Lambert |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Soul of a Bishop by H. G. Wells: are less tired and have more time.... You have been reading
books.... When Caxton set up his printing-press he thrust a new
power between church and disciple and father and child.... And I
am tired. We must talk it over a little later."
The girl stood up. She took her father's hands. "Dear, dear
Daddy," she said, "I am so sorry to be a bother. I am so sorry I
went to that meeting.... You look tired out."
"We must talk--properly," said the bishop, patting
one hand, then discovering from her wincing face that it was the
sprained one. "Your poor wrist," he said.
"It's so hard to talk, but I want to talk to you, Daddy. It
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