| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Captain Stormfield by Mark Twain: discovered a tremendous long row of blinking lights away on the
horizon ahead. As I approached, they begun to tower and swell and
look like mighty furnaces. Says I to myself -
"By George, I've arrived at last - and at the wrong place, just as
I expected!"
Then I fainted. I don't know how long I was insensible, but it
must have been a good while, for, when I came to, the darkness was
all gone and there was the loveliest sunshine and the balmiest,
fragrantest air in its place. And there was such a marvellous
world spread out before me - such a glowing, beautiful, bewitching
country. The things I took for furnaces were gates, miles high,
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Deputy of Arcis by Honore de Balzac: as for the habit of her order, but she particularly counts among the
number of her most zealous servitors Monseigneur Troubert, bishop of
the diocese, who, though formerly a familiar of the Congregation [see
"The Vicar of Tours"], has nevertheless managed to secure from the
dynasty of July an archbishopric which will lead to a cardinalship.
When you have the clergy you have, or you are very near having, the
legitimist party with you,--a party which, while passionately desirous
of free education and filled with hatred for the July throne, is not
averse, when occasion offers, to yielding to a monstrous union with
the radical party. Now the head of the legitimists in Arcis and its
neighborhood is, of course, the family of Cinq-Cygne. Never does the
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Spirit of the Border by Zane Grey: The procession halted before this group, and two brawny braves pushed the
hunter forward. Simon Girty's face betrayed satisfaction; Elliott's shifty
eyes snapped, and the dark, repulsive face of the other Girty exhibited an
exultant joy. These desperadoes had feared this hunter.
Wingenund, with a majestic wave of his arm, silenced the yelling horde of
frenzied savage and stepped before the captive.
The deadly foes were once, again face to face. The chieftain's lofty figure
and dark, sleek head, now bare of plumes, towered over the other Indians, but
he was not obliged to lower his gaze in order to look straight into the
hunter's eyes.
Verily this hunter merited the respect which shone in the great chieftain's
The Spirit of the Border |
