| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson: nor divine; it but shook the doors of the prisonhouse of my
disposition; and like the captives of Philippi, that which stood
within ran forth. At that time my virtue slumbered; my evil, kept
awake by ambition, was alert and swift to seize the occasion; and
the thing that was projected was Edward Hyde. Hence, although I
had now two characters as well as two appearances, one was wholly
evil, and the other was still the old Henry Jekyll, that
incongruous compound of whose reformation and improvement I had
already learned to despair. The movement was thus wholly toward
the worse.
Even at that time, I had not conquered my aversions to the
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Options by O. Henry: incidents within the confines of a one-act, one-scene play, thereby
lessening the toil of the reader and the expenditure of the publisher.
So, if you have the courage to face four pages of type and Carteret &
Carteret's office boy, Percival, you shall sit on a varnished chair in
the inner office and peep at the little comedy of the Old Nigger Man,
the Hunting-Case Watch, and the Open-Faced Question--mostly borrowed
from the late Mr. Frank Stockton, as you will conclude.
First, biography (but pared to the quick) must intervene. I am for
the inverted sugar-coated quinine pill--the bitter on the outside.
The Carterets were, or was (Columbia College professors please rule),
an old Virginia family. Long time ago the gentlemen of the family had
Options |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Europeans by Henry James: lingered still. "I did n't believe you would come back," she said.
"Not come back!" cried Felix, laughing. "You did n't know, then,
the impression made upon this susceptible heart of mine."
She wondered whether he meant the impression her cousin Lizzie had made.
"Well," she said, "I did n't think we should ever see you again. "
"And pray what did you think would become of me?"
"I don't know. I thought you would melt away."
"That 's a compliment to my solidity! I melt very often,"
said Felix, "but there is always something left of me."
"I came and waited for you by the door, because the others did,"
Gertrude went on. "But if you had never appeared I should not
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