| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Man in Lower Ten by Mary Roberts Rinehart: contemptuous regard until he gets sick, or an emergency like this
arises, and then turns meekly to the man who knows the ins and outs
of his mortal tenement, takes his pills or his patronage, ties to
him like a rudderless. ship in a gale.
"Suicide, is it, doctor?" I asked.
He stood erect, after drawing the bed-clothing over the face, and,
taking off his glasses, he wiped them slowly.
"No, it is not suicide," he announced decisively. "It is murder."
Of course, I had expected that, but the word itself brought a shiver.
I was just a bit dizzy. Curious faces through the car were turned
toward us, and I could hear the porter behind me breathing audibly.
The Man in Lower Ten |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Hellenica by Xenophon: at Sestos,[4] set off himself by land along the coast to visit his own
provinces. For here it should be mentioned that his old enemy
Dercylidas happened to be in Abydos at the time of the sea-fight;[5]
nor had he at a later date suffered eclipse with the other
governors,[6] but on the contrary, had kept tight hold of Abydos and
still preserved it in attachment to Lacedaemon. The course he had
adopted was to summon a meeting of the Abydenians, when he made them a
speech as follows: "Sirs, to-day it is possible for you, who have
before been friends to my city, to appear as benefactors of the
Lacedaemonians. For a man to prove faithful to his friends in the
heyday of their good fortune is no great marvel; but to prove
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Hated Son by Honore de Balzac: looking at the sea now gleaming in the moonlight,--
"The Ocean has passed into my soul!"
The sight of the lovely living statuette which was now advancing
towards him, silvered by the moon and wrapped in its light, redoubled
the palpitations of his heart, but without causing him to suffer.
"My child," said Beauvouloir, "this is monseigneur."
In a moment poor Etienne longed for his father's colossal figure; he
would fain have seemed strong, not puny. All the vanities of love and
manhood came into his heart like so many arrows, and he remained in
gloomy silence, measuring for the first time the extent of his
imperfections. Embarrassed by the salutation of the young girl, he
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