| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from 1984 by George Orwell: He heard Julia snap her teeth together. 'I suppose we may as well say
good-bye,' she said.
'You may as well say good-bye,' said the voice. And then another quite
different voice, a thin, cultivated voice which Winston had the impression
of having heard before, struck in; 'And by the way, while we are on the
subject, "Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to
chop off your head"!'
Something crashed on to the bed behind Winston's back. The head of a ladder
had been thrust through the window and had burst in the frame. Someone was
climbing through the window. There was a stampede of boots up the stairs.
The room was full of solid men in black uniforms, with iron-shod boots on
1984 |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Story of an African Farm by Olive Schreiner: home, nodding his head in a manner that would have made any other man
dizzy.
"I wish he would not come back tonight," said Em, her face wet with tears.
"It will be just the same if he comes back tomorrow," said Lyndall.
The two girls sat on the step of the cabin weeping for the German's return.
Lyndall shaded her eyes with her hand from the sunset light.
"There he comes," she said, "whistling 'Ach Jerusalem du schone' so loud I
can hear him from here."
"Perhaps he has found the sheep."
"Found them!" said Lyndall. "He would whistle just so if he knew he had to
die tonight."
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Stories From the Old Attic by Robert Harris: a beautiful Old Master painting depicting youths and maidens
frolicking in a wood. The directors were only too glad to pay
millions for this painting because they were captivated by its
beauty and elegance. How delightfully the maidens' hair and mouths
were drawn, how perfectly the hands and arms of the youths, how
life-like the bare feet on the forest floor. But the curator of the
museum was the happiest one of all, for he had now become guardian
and protector of a famous work by a famous painter. "Every time I
look at that painting," he would say, "I see new beauties and
excellences. Just look at these leaves here, the sweep of the
branches from this tree, capturing just the hint of a breeze and
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