| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Around the World in 80 Days by Jules Verne: thought he would manifest it by executing a perilous vault in fine style;
but, tumbling upon some worm-eaten planks, he fell through them.
Put out of countenance by the manner in which he thus "set foot"
upon the New World, he uttered a loud cry, which so frightened
the innumerable cormorants and pelicans that are always perched
upon these movable quays, that they flew noisily away.
Mr. Fogg, on reaching shore, proceeded to find out at what hour the first
train left for New York, and learned that this was at six o'clock p.m.;
he had, therefore, an entire day to spend in the Californian capital.
Taking a carriage at a charge of three dollars, he and Aouda entered it,
while Passepartout mounted the box beside the driver, and they set out
Around the World in 80 Days |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Spirit of the Border by Zane Grey: the wound, which was on the right side, rather high up. Nell, who had followed
Zeisberger that she might be of some assistance if needed, saw him look at the
wound and then turn a pale face away for a second. That hurried, shuddering
movement of the sober, practical missionary was most significant. Then he bent
over Young and inserted on of the probes into the wound. He pushed the steel
an inch, two, three, four inches into Young's breast, but the latter neither
moved nor moaned. Zeisberger shook his head, and finally removed the
instrument. He raised the sufferer's shoulder to find the bed saturated with
blood. The bullet wound extended completely through the missionary's body, and
was bleeding from the back. Zeisberger folded strips of linsey cloth into
small pads and bound them tightly over both apertures of the wound.
The Spirit of the Border |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Charmides and Other Poems by Oscar Wilde: And birds are loud in Arcady,
The sheep lie bleating in the fold,
The wild goat runs across the wold,
But yesterday his love he told,
I know he will come back to me.
O rising moon! O Lady moon!
Be you my lover's sentinel,
You cannot choose but know him well,
For he is shod with purple shoon,
You cannot choose but know my love,
For he a shepherd's crook doth bear,
|
