| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Land of Footprints by Stewart Edward White: We turned to descend the hill. In the very centre of the deep
shade of a clump of trees, I saw the gleam of a waterbuck's
horns. While I was telling of this, the beast stepped from his
concealment, trotted a short distance upstream and turned to
climb a little ridge parallel to that by which we were
descending. About halfway up he stopped, staring in our
direction, his head erect, the slight ruff under his neck
standing forward. He was a good four hundred yards away. B., who
wanted him, decided the shot too chancy. He and F. slipped
backward until they had gained the cover of the little ridge,
then hastened down the bed of the ravine. Their purpose was to
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The School For Scandal by Richard Brinsley Sheridan: become her serious Lover, so that I stand a chance of Committing
a Crime I never meditated--and probably of losing Maria by the
Pursuit!--Sincerely I begin to wish I had never made such a Point
of gaining so very good a character, for it has led me into so many
curst Rogueries that I doubt I shall be exposed at last.
[Exit.]
SCENE III.--At SIR PETER'S
--ROWLEY and SIR OLIVER--
SIR OLIVER. Ha! ha! ha! and so my old Friend is married, hey?--
a young wife out of the country!--ha! ha! that he should have stood
Bluff to old Bachelor so long and sink into a Husband at last!
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf: rain came in. But they never sent; never came. Some of the locks had
gone, so the doors banged. She didn't like to be up here at dusk alone
neither. It was too much for one woman, too much, too much. She
creaked, she moaned. She banged the door. She turned the key in the
lock, and left the house alone, shut up, locked.
9
The house was left; the house was deserted. It was left like a shell
on a sandhill to fill with dry salt grains now that life had left it.
The long night seemed to have set in; the trifling airs, nibbling, the
clammy breaths, fumbling, seemed to have triumphed. The saucepan had
rusted and the mat decayed. Toads had nosed their way in. Idly,
To the Lighthouse |
