| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Pocket Diary Found in the Snow by Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner: overthrown brain? It was undoubtedly, in spite of the difference,
the same hand that had penned the first pages of the book. A few
characteristic turns of the writing were plainly to be seen in both
parts of the story. But the ink was quite different also. The
first pages had been written with a delicate violet ink, the later
leaves were penned with a black ink of uneven quality, of the kind
used by poor people who write very seldom. The words of this later
portion of the book were blurred in many places, as if the writer
had not been able to dry them properly before she turned the leaves.
She therefore had had neither blotting paper nor sand at her disposal.
And then the weird title!
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Troll Garden and Selected Stories by Willa Cather: jest, anyway. He had autographed pictures of all the members of
the stock company which he showed his classmates, telling them
the most incredible stories of his familiarity with these people,
of his acquaintance with the soloists who came to Carnegie Hall,
his suppers with them and the flowers he sent them. When these
stories lost their effect, and his audience grew listless, he
became desperate and would bid all the boys good-by, announcing
that he was going to travel for a while; going to Naples, to
Venice, to Egypt. Then, next Monday, he would slip back,
conscious and nervously smiling; his sister was ill, and he
should have to defer his voyage until spring.
The Troll Garden and Selected Stories |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Three Taverns by Edwin Arlington Robinson: He censured, and is therefore silent now,
Agreed indifferently: "My friends are dead --
Or most of them."
"Remember one that isn't,"
I said, protesting. "Honor him for his ears;
Treasure him also for his understanding."
Ferguson sighed, and then talked on again:
"You have an overgrown alacrity
For saying nothing much and hearing less;
And I've a thankless wonder, at the start,
How much it is to you that I shall tell
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