| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Rescue by Joseph Conrad: left alone by that man in charge of two ships entangled amongst
the Shallows and environed by some sinister mystery. Since that
man had come back, instead of welcome relief Carter felt his
responsibility rest on his young shoulders with tenfold weight.
His profound conviction was that Lingard should be roused.
"Captain Lingard," he burst out in desperation; "you can't say I
have worried you very much since this morning when I received you
at the side, but I must be told something. What is it going to be
with us? Fight or run?"
Lingard stopped short and now there was no doubt in Carter's mind
that the Captain was looking at him. There was no room for any
The Rescue |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Last War: A World Set Free by H. G. Wells: arrived. What seemed for a time an unending column of men
marched wearily, marched with a kind of implacable futility,
along the roadway underneath him. He was, he says, moved to join
them, but instead he remained watching. They were a dingy,
shabby, ineffective-looking multitude, for the most part
incapable of any but obsolete and superseded types of labour.
They bore a few banners with the time-honoured inscription:
'Work, not Charity,' but otherwise their ranks were unadorned.
They were not singing, they were not even talking, there was
nothing truculent nor aggressive in their bearing, they had no
definite objective they were just marching and showing themselves
The Last War: A World Set Free |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Padre Ignacio by Owen Wister: contains none of the masses and all of the operas in the world!"
"I will make you a little confession," said Padre Ignacio, "and then you
shall give me a little absolution."
"For a penance," said Gaston, "you must play over some of these things to
me."
"I suppose I could not permit myself this luxury," began the Padre,
pointing to his operas, "and teach these to my choir, if the people had
any worldly associations with the music. But I have reasoned that the
music cannot do them harm--"
The ringing of a bell here interrupted him. "In fifteen minutes," he
said, "our poor meal will be ready for you." The good Padre was not quite
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