| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Under the Andes by Rex Stout: particular.
On awaking, and after breaking our fast, we were both filled
with an odd contentment. I really believe that we had abandoned
hope, and that the basis of our listlessness was despair; and
surely not without reason. For what chance had we to escape from
the Incas, handicapped as we were by the darkness, and our want of
weapons, and their overwhelming numbers?
And beyond that--if by some chance lucky we did escape--what
remained? To wander about in the endless caves of darkness and
starve to death. At the time I don't think I stated the case, even
to myself, with such brutal frankness, but facts make their
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Grey: so thick and heavy as to have substance blanketed the black
willow brake. He could not see a star or a branch or tree-trunk
or even his hand before his eyes. He lay there waiting,
listening, sure that he had been awakened by an unusual sound.
Ordinary noises of the night in the wilderness never disturbed
his rest. His faculties, like those of old fugitives and hunted
creatures, had become trained to a marvelous keenness. A long
low breath of slow wind moaned through the willows, passed
away; some stealthy, soft-footed beast trotted by him in the
darkness; there was a rustling among dry leaves; a fox barked
lonesomely in the distance. But none of these sounds had broken
The Lone Star Ranger |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The First Men In The Moon by H. G. Wells: eighteen-gallon cask of beer on credit, and a trustful baker came each
day. It was not, perhaps, in the style of Sybaris, but I have had worse
times. I was a little sorry for the baker, who was a very decent man
indeed, but even for him I hoped.
Certainly if any one wants solitude, the place is Lympne. It is in the
clay part of Kent, and my bungalow stood on the edge of an old sea cliff
and stared across the flats of Romney Marsh at the sea. In very wet
weather the place is almost inaccessible, and I have heard that at times
the postman used to traverse the more succulent portions of his route with
boards upon his feet. I never saw him doing so, but I can quite imagine
it. Outside the doors of the few cottages and houses that make up the
The First Men In The Moon |
