| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Almayer's Folly by Joseph Conrad: not hear. You must take care," he added meaningly.
Nina nodded to him with an uncertain smile, and was going to
speak, when a sharp report from the gun mounted in the bow of the
steam launch that was just then coming into view arrested the
words on her parted lips. The smile died out, and was replaced
by the old look of anxious attention. From the hills far away
the echo came back like a long-drawn and mournful sigh, as if the
land had sent it in answer to the voice of its masters.
CHAPTER VIII.
The news as to the identity of the body lying now in Almayer's
compound spread rapidly over the settlement. During the forenoon
Almayer's Folly |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Moon-Face and Other Stories by Jack London: Her voice betrayed her delight, as she cried, "Oh, good!"
"He is a beauty," Chris said.
But her face had suddenly gone grave, and apprehension brooded in her eyes.
"He's called Comanche," Chris went on. "A beauty, a regular beauty, the
perfect type of the Californian cow-pony. And his lines--why, what's the
matter?"
Don't let us ride any more," Lute said, "at least for a while. Really, I think
I am a tiny bit tired of it, too."
He was looking at her in astonishment, and she was bravely meeting his eyes.
"I see hearses and flowers for you," he began, "and a funeral oration; I see
the end of the world, and the stars falling out of the sky, and the heavens
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Altar of the Dead by Henry James: tenacity set apart. He had no arranged observance of it, but his
nerves made it all their own. They drove him forth without mercy,
and the goal of his pilgrimage was far. She had been buried in a
London suburb, a part then of Nature's breast, but which he had
seen lose one after another every feature of freshness. It was in
truth during the moments he stood there that his eyes beheld the
place least. They looked at another image, they opened to another
light. Was it a credible future? Was it an incredible past?
Whatever the answer it was an immense escape from the actual.
It's true that if there weren't other dates than this there were
other memories; and by the time George Stransom was fifty-five such
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