| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Ferragus by Honore de Balzac: will make our coming days celestial."
"You lay a spell upon me," cried Jules; "you fill me with remorse."
"Poor love! destiny is stronger than we, and I am not the accomplice
of mine. I shall go out to-morrow."
"At what hour?" asked Jules.
"At half-past nine."
"Clemence," he said, "take every precaution; consult Doctor Desplein
and old Haudry."
"I shall consult nothing but my heart and my courage."
"I shall leave you free; you will not see me till twelve o'clock."
"Won't you keep me company this evening? I feel so much better."
Ferragus |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Girl with the Golden Eyes by Honore de Balzac: for the present or the future.
In effect, the youth of Paris resemble the youth of no other town.
They may be divided into two classes: the young man who has something,
and the young man who has nothing; or the young man who thinks and he
who spends. But, be it well understood this applies only to those
natives of the soil who maintain in Paris the delicious course of the
elegant life. There exist, as well, plenty of other young men, but
they are children who are late in conceiving Parisian life, and who
remain its dupes. They do not speculate, they study; they /fag/, as
the others say. Finally there are to be found, besides, certain young
people, rich or poor, who embrace careers and follow them with a
The Girl with the Golden Eyes |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Duchesse de Langeais by Honore de Balzac: fact. He had been thrown, when little more than a boy, into the
hurricane of Napoleon's wars; his life had been spent on fields
of battle. Of women he knew just so much as a traveller knows of
a country when he travels across it in haste from one inn to
another. The verdict which Voltaire passed upon his eighty years
of life might, perhaps, have been applied by Montriveau to his
own thirty-seven years of existence; had he not thirty-seven
follies with which to reproach himself? At his age he was as
much a novice in love as the lad that has just been furtively
reading Faublas. Of women he had nothing to learn; of love he
knew nothing; and thus, desires, quite unknown before, sprang
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