| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Muse of the Department by Honore de Balzac: evil!"
"The English aristocracy," said Lousteau, hastening to put a word in,
for he foresaw a Byronic paragraph, "has the advantage over ours of
assimilating every form of superiority; it lives in the midst of
magnificent parks; it is in London for no more than two months. It
lives in the country, flourishing there, and making it flourish."
"Yes," said Madame de la Baudraye, "London is the capital of trade and
speculation and the centre of government. The aristocracy hold a
'mote' there for sixty days only; it gives and takes the passwords of
the day, looks in on the legislative cookery, reviews the girls to
marry, the carriages to be sold, exchanges greetings, and is away
The Muse of the Department |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad: purposeful contemplation of the valuable and trusted officer he
drew a conviction so sudden that it moved him like an inspiration.
"I have reason to think that when you came into this room," he said
in measured tones, "it was not Michaelis who was in your mind; not
principally - perhaps not at all."
"You have reason to think, sir?" muttered Chief Inspector Heat,
with every appearance of astonishment, which up to a certain point
was genuine enough. He had discovered in this affair a delicate
and perplexing side, forcing upon the discoverer a certain amount
of insincerity - that sort of insincerity which, under the names of
skill, prudence, discretion, turns up at one point or another in
The Secret Agent |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte: clapped on the head of his stick, and began in an elevated tone, as
if anticipating opposition -
'Hathecliff has sent me for his lad, and I munn't goa back 'bout
him.'
Edgar Linton was silent a minute; an expression of exceeding sorrow
overcast his features: he would have pitied the child on his own
account; but, recalling Isabella's hopes and fears, and anxious
wishes for her son, and her commendations of him to his care, he
grieved bitterly at the prospect of yielding him up, and searched
in his heart how it might be avoided. No plan offered itself: the
very exhibition of any desire to keep him would have rendered the
Wuthering Heights |
