| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe: We had frequent discourses of this kind, and abundance of
instances she gave me of the like. After some time, as she was
telling some stories of one that was transported but a few
weeks ago, I began in an intimate kind of way to ask her to
tell me something of her own story, which she did with the
utmost plainness and sincerity; how she had fallen into very ill
company in London in her young days, occasioned by her
mother sending her frequently to carry victuals and other relief
to a kinswoman of hers who was a prisoner in Newgate, and
who lay in a miserable starving condition, was afterwards
condemned to be hanged, but having got respite by pleading
Moll Flanders |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Tales of Unrest by Joseph Conrad: smoking under his chin. He had returned late from the market, where he
had overheard (not for the first time) whispers behind his back. He
revolved the words in his mind as he drove back. "Simple! Both of
them. . . . Never any use! . . . Well! May be, may be. One must see.
Would ask his wife." This was her answer. He felt like a blow on his
chest, but said only: "Go, draw me some cider. I am thirsty!"
She went out moaning, an empty jug in her hand. Then he arose, took up
the light, and moved slowly towards the cradle. They slept. He looked
at them sideways, finished his mouthful there, went back heavily, and
sat down before his plate. When his wife returned he never looked up,
but swallowed a couple of spoonfuls noisily, and remarked, in a dull
Tales of Unrest |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Vendetta by Honore de Balzac: his character and firmness. His face, seamed with deep wrinkles, had
taken, with age, a nobler expression, preserving the pallid tones
which inspire veneration. The ardor of passions still lived in the
fire of his eyes, while the eyebrows, which were not wholly whitened,
retained their terrible mobility. The aspect of the head was stern,
but it conveyed the impression that Piombo had a right to be so. His
kindness, his gentleness were known only to his wife and daughter. In
his functions, or in presence of strangers, he never laid aside the
majesty that time had impressed upon his person; and the habit of
frowning with his heavy eyebrows, contracting the wrinkles of his
face, and giving to his eyes a Napoleonic fixity, made his manner of
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