| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Sons of the Soil by Honore de Balzac: life-possessors on the ancient glories that they possess. Two windows
on the first floor were stuffed with hay. Through another, on the
ground-floor, was seen a room filled with tools and logs of wood;
while a cow pushed her muzzle through a fourth, proving that
Courtecuisse, to avoid having to walk from the pavilion to the
pheasantry, had turned the large hall of the central building into a
stable,--a hall with panelled ceiling, and in the centre of each panel
the arms of all the various possessors of Les Aigues!
Black and dirty palings disgraced the approach to the pavilion, making
square inclosures with plank roofs for pigs, ducks, and hens, the
manure of which was taken away every six months. A few ragged garments
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Snow Image by Nathaniel Hawthorne: out of snow. Come, wife; this little stranger must not stay out
in the bleak air a moment longer. We will bring her into the
parlor; and you shall give her a supper of warm bread and milk,
and make her as comfortable as you can. Meanwhile, I will inquire
among the neighbors; or, if necessary, send the city-crier about
the streets, to give notice of a lost child."
So saying, this honest and very kind-hearted man was going toward
the little white damsel, with the best intentions in the world.
But Violet and Peony, each seizing their father by the hand,
earnestly besought him not to make her come in.
"Dear father," cried Violet, putting herself before him, "it is
The Snow Image |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The White Moll by Frank L. Packard: she was known, and, she had reason to believe, was loved and trusted
by every crook in the underworld. It was a strange eulogy,
self-pronounced! But it was none the less true. Then, she had
been Rhoda Gray; now, even the Bussard, doubtless, had forgotten
her name in the one with which he himself, at that queer baptismal
font of crimeland, had christened her - the White Moll. It even
went further than that. It embraced what might be called the
entourage of the underworld, the police and the social workers with
whom she inevitably came in contact. These, too, had long known
her as the White Moll, and had come, since she had volunteered no
further information, tacitly to accept her as such, and nothing more.
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