| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Virginian by Owen Wister: Opinion. But this changeful deity was no longer with him, and he
heard it variously assenting, "That's so," and "She's a lady,"
and otherwise excellently moralizing. So he held his peace. When,
however, the Virginian had departed to the roasting steer, and
Public Opinion relaxed into that comfort which we all experience
when the sermon ends, Trampas sat down amid the reviving
cheerfulness, and ventured again to be facetious.
"Shut your rank mouth," said Wiggin to him, amiably. "I don't
care whether he knows her or if he done it on principle. I'll
accept the roundin' up he gave us--and say! You'll swallo' your
dose, too! Us boys'll stand in with him in this."
The Virginian |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Letters of Two Brides by Honore de Balzac: the desire of perpetuating a name, a race, an estate. How tenderly
must not a woman cherish the child who has been the first to open up
to her these joys, the first to call forth the energies of her nature
and to instruct her in the grand art of motherhood! The right of the
eldest, which in the earliest times formed a part of the natural order
and was lost in the origins of society, ought never, in my opinion, to
have been questioned. Ah! how much a mother learns from her child! The
constant protection of a helpless being forces us to so strict an
alliance with virtue, that a woman never shows to full advantage
except as a mother. Then alone can her character expand in the
fulfilment of all life's duties and the enjoyment of all its
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Life of the Spider by J. Henri Fabre: tardy period of their emancipation, just as they were when they
left the bag.
During the bad season, the mother herself is extremely abstemious.
At long intervals, she accepts, in my jars, a belated Locust, whom
I have captured, for her benefit, in the sunnier nooks. In order
to keep herself in condition, as when she is dug up in the course
of my winter excavations, she must therefore sometimes break her
fast and come out in search of prey, without, of course, discarding
her live mantilla.
The expedition has its dangers. The youngsters may be brushed off
by a blade of grass. What becomes of them when they have a fall?
The Life of the Spider |
