| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Lock and Key Library by Julian Hawthorne, Ed.: except the master and a female servant. She was a woman of
courage, and blessed with the firmest nerves; so that she might
have been relied on for reporting accurately everything seen or
heard. But things took another course. The first warning that she
had of the murderers' presence was from their steps and voices
already in the hall. She heard her master run hastily into the
hall, crying out, "Lord Jesus!--Mary, Mary, save me!" The servant
resolved to give what aid she could, seized a large poker, and was
hurrying to his assistance, when she found that they had nailed up
the door of communication at the head of the stairs. What passed
after this she could not tell; for, when the impulse of intrepid
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from On Horsemanship by Xenophon: As an exercise, we recommend what is called the volte,[17] since it
habituates the animal to turn to either hand; while a variation in the
order of the turn is good as involving an equalisation of both sides
of the mouth, in first one, and then the other half of the
exercise.[18] But of the two we commend the oval form of the volte
rather than the circular; for the horse, being already sated with the
straight course, will be all the more ready to turn, and will be
practised at once in the straight course and in wheeling. At the
curve, he should be held up,[19] because it is neither easy nor indeed
safe when the horse is at full speed to turn sharp, especially if the
ground is broken[20] or slippery.
On Horsemanship |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Twelve Stories and a Dream by H. G. Wells: the order of things must be insane. But he could think of nothing
to do. He shut himself carefully into his room, lit his fire--it was
a gas fire with asbestos bricks--and, fearing fresh dreams if he
went to bed, remained bathing his injured face, or holding up books
in a vain attempt to read, until dawn. Throughout that vigil he had
a curious persuasion that Mr. Bessel was endeavouring to speak
to him, but he would not let himself attend to any such belief.
About dawn, his physical fatigue asserted itself, and he went to bed
and slept at last in spite of dreaming. He rose late, unrested
and anxious, and in considerable facial pain. The morning papers
had no news of Mr. Bessel's aberration--it had come too late for them.
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