| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Iron Puddler by James J. Davis: any fight left in me.
Nature planned that when the cat ate the mother robin, the
young robins in the nest must starve. Nature had other robins
that would escape the enemy. But among men it is wrong for the
little ones to suffer when the hand that feeds them is destroyed.
For man has sympathy, which beasts have not. Sympathy is the iron
fiber in man that welds him to his fellows. Envy is the sulphur
that pollutes these bonds and makes them brittle. Suppose some
master puddler of humanity could gather thousands of men into a
melting-pot, a fraternity whose purpose was to boil out the envy,
greed and malice as much as possible, and purify the good metal
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Travels with a Donkey in the Cevenne by Robert Louis Stevenson: length I understood. It was blowing stiffly from the south upon
the other slope of the Lozere, and every step that I took I was
drawing nearer to the wind.
Although it had been long desired, it was quite unexpectedly at
last that my eyes rose above the summit. A step that seemed no way
more decisive than many other steps that had preceded it - and,
'like stout Cortez when, with eagle eyes, he stared on the
Pacific,' I took possession, in my own name, of a new quarter of
the world. For behold, instead of the gross turf rampart I had
been mounting for so long, a view into the hazy air of heaven, and
a land of intricate blue hills below my feet.
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Man in Lower Ten by Mary Roberts Rinehart: things are spilled around!"
But she ate nothing, after all, and pretty soon I put the tray down
in the sand. I said little; there was no hurry. We were together,
and time meant nothing against that age-long wash of the sea. The
air blew her hair in small damp curls against her face, and little
by little the tide retreated, leaving our boat an oasis in a waste
of gray sand.
"If seven maids with seven mops swept it for half a year
Do you suppose, the walrus said, that they could get it clear?"
she threw at me once when she must have known I was going to speak.
I held her hand, and as long as I merely held it she let it lie warm
The Man in Lower Ten |
