| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The First Men In The Moon by H. G. Wells: world as I have always been accustomed to face it since I came to years of
discretion. And so I got away to Italy, and there it is I am writing this
story. If the world will not have it as fact, then the world may take it
as fiction. It is no concern of mine.
And now that the account is finished, I am amazed to think how completely
this adventure is gone and done with. Everybody believes that Cavor was a
not very brilliant scientific experimenter who blew up his house and
himself at Lympne, and they explain the bang that followed my arrival at
Littlestone by a reference to the experiments with explosives that are
going on continually at the government establishment of Lydd, two miles
away. I must confess that hitherto I have not acknowledged my share in the
The First Men In The Moon |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Z. Marcas by Honore de Balzac: Marcas seemed to us so great--nay, so terrible; there was something
awful in the gaze which saw another world than that which strikes the
eye of ordinary men. To us he was a subject of contemplation and
astonishment; for the young--which of us has not known it?--the young
have a keen craving to admire; they love to attach themselves, and are
naturally inclined to submit to the men they feel to be superior, as
they are to devote themselves to a great cause.
Our surprise was chiefly roused by his indifference in matters of
sentiment; women had no place in his life. When we spoke of this
matter, a perennial theme of conversation among Frenchmen, he simply
remarked:
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Malbone: An Oldport Romance by Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the ranks, nor give her the "make-up" of a waiting-maid. Yet as
her father was a New York merchant of the precarious or
spasmodic description, she had been used from childhood to the
wildest fluctuations of wardrobe;--a year of Paris
dresses,--then another year spent in making over ancient
finery, that never looked like either finery or antiquity when
it came from her magic hands. Without a particle of vanity or
fear, secure in health and good-nature and invariable
prettiness, she cared little whether the appointed means of
grace were ancient silk or modern muslin. In her periods of
poverty, she made no secret of the necessary devices; the other
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