| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne: was out of the usual track, and also that it was unknown,--as was besides
proved by the maps,--for though there was no port, vessels might have
visited it for the purpose of renewing their store of water. But the
surrounding ocean was deserted as far as the eye could reach, and the
colonists must rely on themselves for regaining their native land.
However, one chance of rescue existed, and this chance was discussed one
day on the first week of April, when the colonists were gathered together
in the dining-room of Granite House.
They had been talking of America, of their native country, which they had
so little hope of ever seeing again.
"Decidedly we have only one way, said Spilett, "one single way for
The Mysterious Island |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Barnaby Rudge by Charles Dickens: in his narrow cell, was as much lifted up to God, while gazing on
the mild light, as the freest and most favoured man in all the
spacious city; and in his ill-remembered prayer, and in the
fragment of the childish hymn, with which he sung and crooned
himself asleep, there breathed as true a spirit as ever studied
homily expressed, or old cathedral arches echoed.
As his mother crossed a yard on her way out, she saw, through a
grated door which separated it from another court, her husband,
walking round and round, with his hands folded on his breast, and
his head hung down. She asked the man who conducted her, if she
might speak a word with this prisoner. Yes, but she must be quick
Barnaby Rudge |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf: And all the lives to be,
Are full of trees and changing leaves,
she murmured, sticking her needles into the stocking. And she opened
the book and began reading here and there at random, and as she did so,
she felt that she was climbing backwards, upwards, shoving her way up
under petals that curved over her, so that she only knew this is white,
or this is red. She did not know at first what the words meant at all.
Steer, hither steer your winged pines, all beaten Mariners
she read and turned the page, swinging herself, zigzagging this way and
that, from one line to another as from one branch to another, from one
red and white flower to another, until a little sound roused her--her
To the Lighthouse |
