| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Walking by Henry David Thoreau: myself, "There is one of us well, at any rate,"--and with a
sudden gush return to my senses.
We had a remarkable sunset one day last November. I was walking
in a meadow, the source of a small brook, when the sun at last,
just before setting, after a cold, gray day, reached a clear
stratum in the horizon, and the softest, brightest morning
sunlight fell on the dry grass and on the stems of the trees in
the opposite horizon and on the leaves of the shrub oaks on the
hillside, while our shadows stretched long over the meadow east-
ward, as if we were the only motes in its beams. It was such a
light as we could not have imagined a moment before, and the air
Walking |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle: carried it away, for I warrant thou didst not come honestly by it."
Then each stripped off his clothes and put on those of the other, and as
lusty a beggar was Robin Hood as e'er you could find of a summer's day.
But stout Riccon of Holywell skipped and leaped and danced for joy of the fair
suit of Lincoln green that he had so gotten. Quoth he, "I am a gay-feathered
bird now. Truly, my dear Moll Peascod would never know me in this dress.
Thou mayst keep the cold pieces of the feast, friend, for I mean to live
well and lustily while my money lasts and my clothes are gay."
So he turned and left Robin and, crossing the stile, was gone,
but Robin heard him singing from beyond the hedge as he strode away:
"_For Polly is smiling and Molly is glad
The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Under the Red Robe by Stanley Weyman: and boulders, over which the torrent plunged and eddied with a
deafening roar. In front the white gleam of waterfalls broke the
sombre ranks of climbing trunks. The snow line lay less than
half a mile away on either hand; and crowning all--at the end of
the pass, as it seemed to the eye--rose the pure white pillar of
the Pic du Midi shooting up six thousand feet into the blue of
heaven. Such a scene so suddenly disclosed, was enough to drive
the sense of danger from my mind; and for a moment I reined in my
horse. But 'Forward, Monsieur!' came the grating order. I fell
to earth again, and went on. What was to be done?
I was at my wits' end to know. The man refused to talk, refused
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