| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Boys' Life of Abraham Lincoln by Helen Nicolay: carried on. He must find out what has been done and is likely to
be done on a multitude of subjects new to him, must make the
acquaintance of his fellow-members, must visit the departments of
government almost daily to look after the interests of people
from his State and congressional district. Legally he is elected
for a term of two years. Practically a session of five or six
months during the first year, and of three months during the
second, further reduce his opportunities more than one-half.
Lincoln did not attempt to shine forth in debate, either by a
stinging retort, or burst of inspired eloquence. He went about
his task quietly and earnestly, performing his share of duty with
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson: [36]The Duke of Argyle.
Now I had made all these reasonings before and found no very good
reply to them; so I put on all the simplicity I could. "In that
case, sir," said I, "I would just have to be hanged -- would I
not?"
"My dear boy," cries he, "go in God's name, and do what you think
is right. It is a poor thought that at my time of life I should
be advising you to choose the safe and shameful; and I take it
back with an apology. Go and do your duty; and be hanged, if you
must, like a gentleman. There are worse things in the world than
to be hanged."
Kidnapped |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Massimilla Doni by Honore de Balzac: Venice, you may admire some lovely girl in rags, a poor child
belonging, perhaps, to one of the most famous patrician families. When
a nation of kings has fallen so low, naturally some curious characters
will be met with. It is not surprising that sparks should flash out
among the ashes.
These reflections, intended to justify the singularity of the persons
who figure in this narrative, shall not be indulged in any longer, for
there is nothing more intolerable than the stale reminiscences of
those who insist on talking about Venice after so many great poets and
petty travelers. The interest of the tale requires only this record of
the most startling contrast in the life of man: the dignity and
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