| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Hidden Masterpiece by Honore de Balzac: point; sea-green eyes, faded perhaps by age, but whose pupils,
contrasting with the pearl-white balls on which they floated, cast at
times magnetic glances of anger or enthusiasm. The face in other
respects was singularly withered and worn by the weariness of old age,
and still more, it would seem, by the action of thoughts which had
undermined both soul and body. The eyes had lost their lashes, and the
eyebrows were scarcely traced along the projecting arches where they
belonged. Imagine such a head upon a lean and feeble body, surround it
with lace of dazzling whiteness worked in meshes like a fish-slice,
festoon the black velvet doublet of the old man with a heavy gold
chain, and you will have a faint idea of the exterior of this strange
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery: get up and recite after that--never. Had she ever thought she
could recite? Oh, if she were only back at Green Gables!
At this unpropitious moment her name was called. Somehow
Anne--who did not notice the rather guilty little start of
surprise the white-lace girl gave, and would not have understood
the subtle compliment implied therein if she had--got on her
feet, and moved dizzily out to the front. She was so pale that
Diana and Jane, down in the audience, clasped each other's hands
in nervous sympathy.
Anne was the victim of an overwhelming attack of stage fright.
Often as she had recited in public, she had never before faced
Anne of Green Gables |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from A Princess of Parms by Edgar Rice Burroughs: "It were better that you held the key, Tars Tarkas," I replied
He smiled, and said no more, but that night as we were
making camp I saw him unfasten Dejah Thoris' fetters himself.
With all his cruel ferocity and coldness there was an
undercurrent of something in Tars Tarkas which he seemed
ever battling to subdue. Could it be a vestige of some human
instinct come back from an ancient forbear to haunt him
with the horror of his people's ways!
As I was approaching Dejah Thoris' chariot I passed Sarkoja,
and the black, venomous look she accorded me was the sweetest
balm I had felt for many hours. Lord, how she hated me!
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