| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Ferragus by Honore de Balzac: troubles of hope betrayed, those futile expectations,--in short, the
whole procession of their feminine miseries. They hold Sir Charles
Grandison in horror. What can be more contrary to their nature than a
tranquil, perfect love? They want emotions; happiness without storms
is not happiness to them. Women with souls that are strong enough to
bring infinitude into love are angelic exceptions; they are among
women what noble geniuses are among men. Their great passions are rare
as masterpieces. Below the level of such love come compromises,
conventions, passing and contemptible irritations, as in all things
petty and perishable.
Amid the hidden disasters of his heart, and while he was still seeking
Ferragus |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Heritage of the Desert by Zane Grey: Sounds were wafted softly upward, the low voices of men in conversation,
a merry whistle, and then the humming of a tune. Hare's mouth was dry
and his temples throbbed as he asked himself what it was best to do. The
answer came instantaneously as though it had lain just below the level of
his conscious thought. "I'll watch till Holderness walks out into sight,
jump up with a yell when he comes, give him time to see me, to draw his
gun--then kill him!"
Hare slipped to the bush, drew in a deep long breath that stilled his
agitation, and peered over the cliff. The crude shingles of the cabin
first rose into sight; then beyond he saw the corral with a number of
shaggy mustangs and a great gray horse. Hare stared blankly. As in a
The Heritage of the Desert |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Tales of Unrest by Joseph Conrad: silence of the world.
The steersman dug his paddle into the stream, and held hard with
stiffened arms, his body thrown forward. The water gurgled aloud; and
suddenly the long straight reach seemed to pivot on its centre, the
forests swung in a semicircle, and the slanting beams of sunset
touched the broadside of the canoe with a fiery glow, throwing the
slender and distorted shadows of its crew upon the streaked glitter of
the river. The white man turned to look ahead. The course of the boat
had been altered at right-angles to the stream, and the carved
dragon-head of its prow was pointing now at a gap in the fringing
bushes of the bank. It glided through, brushing the overhanging twigs,
Tales of Unrest |
