| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Domestic Peace by Honore de Balzac: Soulanges' pallor, went up to him, the Count was winning. Field-
Marshal the Duc d'Isemberg, Keller, and a famous banker rose from the
table completely cleaned out of considerable sums. Soulanges looked
gloomier than ever as he swept up a quantity of gold and notes; he did
not even count it; his lips curled with bitter scorn, he seemed to
defy fortune rather than be grateful for her favors.
"Courage," said the Colonel. "Courage, Soulanges!" Then, believing he
would do him a service by dragging him from play, he added: "Come with
me. I have some good news for you, but on one condition."
"What is that?" asked Soulanges.
"That you will answer a question I will ask you."
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Young Forester by Zane Grey: nose down to the water, so that he would drink. Then I cut packs off the
ponies, spilled the contents, and filled my pockets with whatever I could
lay my hands on in the way of eatables. I hung a canteen on the pommel, and
threw a bag of biscuits over the saddle and tied it fast. My fingers worked
swiftly. There was a fluttering in my throat, and my sight was dim. All the
time the roar of the forest fire grew louder and more ominous.
The ponies would be safe. I would be safe in the lee of the big rocks near
the pool. But I did not mean to stay. I could not stay with those men lying
tied up in the cabin. Herky had saved me. Still it was not that which
spurred me on.
Target snorted shrilly and started back from the water, ready to stampede.
The Young Forester |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from A Simple Soul by Gustave Flaubert: should be wasted of the loaf of bread weighing twelve pounds which was
baked especially for her and lasted three weeks.
Summer and winter she wore a dimity kerchief fastened in the back with
a pin, a cap which concealed her hair, a red skirt, grey stockings,
and an apron with a bib like those worn by hospital nurses.
Her face was thin and her voice shrill. When she was twenty-five, she
looked forty. After she had passed fifty, nobody could tell her age;
erect and silent always, she resembled a wooden figure working
automatically.
CHAPTER II
Like every other woman, she had had an affair of the heart. Her
A Simple Soul |
