|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Young Forester by Zane Grey:
paled and died. I heard the clinking of the hobbles on Target, and a step,
now and then, of the other horses. The sky grew ever bluer and colder, the
stars brighter and larger, and the night wind moaned in the pines. I heard
a coyote bark, a trout splash in the pool, and the hoot of an owl. Then the
sounds and the clear, cold night seemed to fade away.
When Dick roused me the forest was shrouded in gray, cold fog. No time was
lost in getting breakfast, driving in the horses, and packing. Hardly any
words were exchanged. My comrades appeared even soberer than on the day
before. The fog lifted quickly that morning, and soon the sun was shining.
We got under way at once, and took to the trail at a jog-trot. I knew my
horse better and he was more used to me, which made it at least bearable to
The Young Forester
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Bronte Sisters:
soaking in a deeply tinctured pool of water - for much rain had
fallen in the interim.
Bad news flies fast: it was hardly four o'clock when I got home,
but my mother gravely accosted me with - 'Oh, Gilbert! - Such an
accident! Rose has been shopping in the village, and she's heard
that Mr. Lawrence has been thrown from his horse and brought home
This shocked me a trifle, as you may suppose; but I was comforted
to hear that he had frightfully fractured his skull and broken a
leg; for, assured of the falsehood of this, I trusted the rest of
the story was equally exaggerated; and when I heard my mother and
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Phoenix and the Turtle by William Shakespeare:
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle, feather'd king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-defying swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak'st