| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Call of the Canyon by Zane Grey: restless. Perhaps that change was for the better. At least it showed he'd
roused. Glenn saw you and your friends and the life you lead, and all the
present, with eyes from which the scales had dropped. He saw what was
wrong. He never said so to me, but I knew it. It wasn't only to get well
that he went West. It was to get away. . . . And, Carley Burch, if your
happiness depends on him you had better be up and doing--or you'll lose
him!"
"Aunt Mary!" gasped Carley.
"I mean it. That letter shows how near he came to the Valley of the
Shadow--and how he has become a man. . . . If I were you I'd go out West.
Surely there must be a place where it would be all right for you to stay."
The Call of the Canyon |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Russia in 1919 by Arthur Ransome: there was a squeal of protest from the photographer who
had just trained his apparatus. Some one remarked "The
Dictatorship of the Photographer," and, amid general
laughter, Trotsky had to return to the tribune and stand
silent while the unabashed photographer took two pictures.
The founding of the Third International had been
proclaimed in the morning papers, and an extraordinary
meeting in the Great Theatre announced for the evening. I
got to the theatre at about five, and had difficulty in getting
in, though I had a special ticket as a correspondent. There
were queues outside all the doors. The Moscow Soviet was
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Blix by Frank Norris: Captain, at the gate, his arm around K. D. B. "I've got to
schemin' again. Do you know," he added, in a low, confidential
tone, "that all the mines in California send their clean-ups and
gold bricks down to the Selby smeltin' works once every week? They
send 'em to San Francisco first, and they are taken up to Selby's
Wednesday afternoons on a little stern-wheel steamer called the
"Monticello." All them bricks are in a box--dumped in like so much
coal--and that box sets just under the wheel-house, for'ard. How
much money do you suppose them bricks represent? Well, I'll tell
you; last week they represented seven hundred and eighty thousand
dollars. Well, now, I got a chart of the bay near Vallejo; the
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