| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Life of the Spider by J. Henri Fabre: lying in a state of complete inertia, numbed by the cold and by
lack of food. Well, the result is quite different. The instant
their cells are broken open, the anchorites run out and flee in
every direction as nimbly as at the best moments of their normal
liberty. It is marvellous to see them scampering about. No brood
of Partridges, stumbled upon by a Dog, scatters more promptly.
Chicks, while still no more than tiny balls of yellow fluff, hasten
up at the mother's call and scurry towards the plate of rice.
Habit has made us indifferent to the spectacle of those pretty
little animal machines, which work so nimbly and with such
precision; we pay no attention, so simple does it all appear to us.
The Life of the Spider |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy: everything that did not concern her, had a habit of never
listening to what interested her; she interrupted Anna:
"Yes, there's plenty of sorrow and evil in the world. I am so
worried today."
"Oh, why?" asked Anna, trying to suppress a smile.
"I'm beginning to be weary of fuitlessly championing the truth,
and sometimes I'm qquite unhinged by it. The Society of the
Little Sisters" (this was a religiously-patriotic, philanthropic
institution) "was going splendidly, but with these gentlemen it's
impossible to do anything," added Countess Lidia Ivanovna in a
tone of ironical submission to destiny. "They pounce on the
Anna Karenina |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Red Inn by Honore de Balzac: also educated, intelligent, full of talent and of charm, without the
slightest pedantry or the faintest tinge of assumption. She converses
with reserve, and her nature has a melancholy grace which no one can
resist. She loves me, or at least she lets me think so; she has a
certain smile which she keeps for me alone; for me, her voice grows
softer still. Oh, yes! she loves me! But she adores her father; she
tells me of his kindness, his gentleness, his excellent qualities.
Those praises are so many dagger-thrusts with which she stabs me to
the heart.
One day I came near making myself the accomplice, as it were, of the
crime which led to the opulence of the Taillefer family. I was on the
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