| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Ozma of Oz by L. Frank Baum: "I beg your pardon, I'm sure Mrs.--Mrs.--by the way, may I inquire
your name, ma'am?" asked the little girl.
"My name is Bill," said the yellow hen, somewhat gruffly.
"Bill! Why, that's a boy's name."
"What difference does that make?"
"You're a lady hen, aren't you?"
"Of course. But when I was first hatched out no one could tell
whether I was going to be a hen or a rooster; so the little boy at the
farm where I was born called me Bill, and made a pet of me because I
was the only yellow chicken in the whole brood. When I grew up, and
he found that I didn't crow and fight, as all the roosters do, he did
Ozma of Oz |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Death of the Lion by Henry James: paper!" she sighed all resignedly at the door.
CHAPTER VIII.
I BLUSH to confess it, but I invited Mr. Paraday that very day to
transcribe into the album one of his most characteristic passages.
I told him how I had got rid of the strange girl who had brought it
- her ominous name was Miss Hurter and she lived at an hotel; quite
agreeing with him moreover as to the wisdom of getting rid with
equal promptitude of the book itself. This was why I carried it to
Albemarle Street no later than on the morrow. I failed to find her
at home, but she wrote to me and I went again; she wanted so much
to hear more about Neil Paraday. I returned repeatedly, I may
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Silverado Squatters by Robert Louis Stevenson: weather, like a Lapland witch.
By noon we had come in sight of the mill: a great brown
building, half-way up the hill, big as a factory, two stories
high, and with tanks and ladders along the roof; which, as a
pendicle of Silverado mine, we held to be an outlying
province of our own. Thither, then, we went, crossing the
valley by a grassy trail; and there lunched out of the
basket, sitting in a kind of portico, and wondering, while we
ate, at this great bulk of useless building. Through a chink
we could look far down into the interior, and see sunbeams
floating in the dust and striking on tier after tier of
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