| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Tales of Unrest by Joseph Conrad: shouting began and the excitement made them like mad we dropped out.
The water swallowed our fire, and we floated back to the shore that
was dark with only here and there the glimmer of embers. We could hear
the talk of slave-girls amongst the sheds. Then we found a place
deserted and silent. We waited there. She came. She came running along
the shore, rapid and leaving no trace, like a leaf driven by the wind
into the sea. My brother said gloomily, 'Go and take her; carry her
into our boat.' I lifted her in my arms. She panted. Her heart was
beating against my breast. I said, 'I take you from those people. You
came to the cry of my heart, but my arms take you into my boat against
the will of the great!' 'It is right,' said my brother. 'We are men
Tales of Unrest |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Scarecrow of Oz by L. Frank Baum: and is inhabited by many of the Ruler's especial friends
and those who have won her confidence and favor. As for
Ozma herself, there are no words in any dictionary I can
find that are fitted to describe this young girl's beauty
of mind and person. Merely to see her is to love her for
her charming face and manners; to know her is to love
her for her tender sympathy, her generous nature, her
truth and honor. Born of a long line of Fairy Queens,
Ozma is as nearly perfect as any fairy may be, and she is
noted for her wisdom as well as for her other qualities.
Her happy subjects adore their girl Ruler and each one
The Scarecrow of Oz |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Poems of William Blake by William Blake: Is this a Worm? I see they lay helpless & naked: weeping
And none to answer, none to cherish thee with mothers smiles.
The Clod of Clay heard the Worms voice & rais'd her pitying head:
She bowd over the weeping infant, and her life exhald
In milky fondness, then on Thel she fix'd her humble eyes
O beauty of the vales of Har, we live not for ourselves,
Thou seest me the meanest thing, and so I am indeed:
My bosom of itself is cold, and of itself is dark,
But he that loves the lowly, pours his oil upon my head
And kisses me, and binds his nuptial bands around my breast.
And says; Thou mother of my children, I have loved thee
Poems of William Blake |
