| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Chance by Joseph Conrad: before him but duties, that he knew what he would have to do as soon
as the dawn broke and for a long succession of days. A most
soothing certitude. He enjoyed it in the dark, stretched out in his
bunk with his new blankets pulled over him. Some clock ashore
beyond the dock-gates struck two. And then he heard nothing more,
because he went off into a light sleep from which he woke up with a
start. He had not taken his clothes off, it was hardly worth while.
He jumped up and went on deck.
The morning was clear, colourless, grey overhead; the dock like a
sheet of darkling glass crowded with upside-down reflections of
warehouses, of hulls and masts of silent ships. Rare figures moved
Chance |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Tristram Shandy by Laurence Sterne: precipitation, to take possession of the spot of ground we have so often
spoke of, in order to open their campaign as early as the rest of the
allies; that they had forgot one of the most necessary articles of the
whole affair, it was neither a pioneer's spade, a pickax, or a shovel--
--It was a bed to lie on: so that as Shandy-Hall was at that time
unfurnished; and the little inn where poor Le Fever died, not yet built; my
uncle Toby was constrained to accept of a bed at Mrs. Wadman's, for a night
or two, till corporal Trim (who to the character of an excellent valet,
groom, cook, sempster, surgeon, and engineer, super-added that of an
excellent upholsterer too), with the help of a carpenter and a couple of
taylors, constructed one in my uncle Toby's house.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Damaged Goods by Upton Sinclair: the truth, and the while truth, about George Dupont; and that it
is not customary to tell this about men, either in real life or
in novels. There is a great deal of concealment in the world
about matters of sex; and in such matters the truth-telling man
is apt to suffer in reputation in comparison with the truth-
concealing one.
Nor had George really been altogether callous about the thing.
It had happened that his best friend had died in his arms; and
this had so affected the guilty pair that they had felt their
relationship was no longer possible. She had withdrawn to nurse
her grief alone, and George had been so deeply affected that he
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