| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Master of the World by Jules Verne: go badly."
"We will rest an hour," said I.
"Yes; after working our lungs and our legs, we will make our stomachs
work."
We were all agreed on this point. A rest would certainty freshen us.
Our only cause for inquietude was now the appearance of the
precipitous slope above us. We looked up toward one of those bare
strips called in that region, slides. Amid this loose earth, these
yielding stones, and these abrupt rocks there was no roadway.
Harry Horn said to his comrade, "It will not be easy."
"Perhaps impossible," responded Bruck.
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories by Alice Dunbar: regretted the time lost from knitting.
THE FISHERMAN OF PASS CHRISTIAN
The swift breezes on the beach at Pass Christian meet and
conflict as though each strove for the mastery of the air. The
land-breeze blows down through the pines, resinous, fragrant,
cold, bringing breath-like memories of dim, dark woods shaded by
myriad pine-needles. The breeze from the Gulf is warm and soft
and languorous, blowing up from the south with its suggestion of
tropical warmth and passion. It is strong and masterful, and
tossed Annette's hair and whipped her skirts about her in bold
disregard for the proprieties.
The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: Ah-Aah! sounded the sleepy sea. And from the bush there came the sound of
little streams flowing, quickly, lightly, slipping between the smooth
stones, gushing into ferny basins and out again; and there was the
splashing of big drops on large leaves, and something else--what was it?--a
faint stirring and shaking, the snapping of a twig and then such silence
that it seemed some one was listening.
Round the corner of Crescent Bay, between the piled-up masses of broken
rock, a flock of sheep came pattering. They were huddled together, a
small, tossing, woolly mass, and their thin, stick-like legs trotted along
quickly as if the cold and the quiet had frightened them. Behind them an
old sheep-dog, his soaking paws covered with sand, ran along with his nose
|
