|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Golden Threshold by Sarojini Naidu:
Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed,
The laughter and beauty of women long dead;
The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings,
And happy and simple and sorrowful things.
What hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow?
Where the wind calls our wandering footsteps we go.
No love bids us tarry, no joy bids us wait:
The voice of the wind is the voice of our fate.
Weavers, weaving at break of day,
Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . .
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Westward Ho! by Charles Kingsley:
life and a merry one, and shall not the Lord's people pray for a
short death and a merry one? Let it come as it will to old Yeo.
Hark! there's the captain's voice!"
"Here she is!" thundered Amyas from the deck; and in an instant all
were scrambling up the hatchway as fast as the frantic rolling of
the ship would let them.
Yes. There she was. The cloud had lifted suddenly, and to the
south a ragged bore of blue sky let a long stream of sunshine down
on her tall masts and stately hull, as she lay rolling some four or
five miles to the eastward: but as for land, none was to be seen.
"There she is; and here we are," said Cary; "but where is here? and
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Dawn O'Hara, The Girl Who Laughed by Edna Ferber:
Grossmutter Pflugel's spinning-wheel. Behind cupboard
doors were ranged the carefully preserved blue-and-white
china dishes, and on the shelf below stood the clumsy
earthen set that Grosspapa Pflugel himself had modeled
for his young bride in those days of long ago. In the
linen chest there still lay, in neat, fragrant folds,
piles of the linen that had been spun on that
time-yellowed spinning-wheel. And because of the tragedy
in the honest face bent over these dear treasures, and
because she tried so bravely to hide her tears, I knew in
my heart that this could never be a newspaper story.