| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Pool in the Desert by Sara Jeanette Duncan: Lady Bloomfield, you might just mention this. Val has eight hundred
a year of his own, so it is perfectly practicable. Of course, he
will send in his papers. WHATEVER HAPPENS, Val and I will never
bind ourselves in any way. We both think it wrong and enslaving. I
have nothing more to add, except that I am depending on you to
explain to Simla that I never was Mrs. Innes.
'Yours sincerely,
'Violet Prendergast.
'P.S.--I have written to Horace, telling him everything about
everything, and sent my letter off to him in the wilds by a runner.
If you see him you might try and smooth him down. I don't want him
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad: of blue, a little green, smears of orange, and, on the East Coast,
a purple patch, to show where the jolly pioneers of progress drink
the jolly lager-beer. However, I wasn't going into any of these.
I was going into the yellow. Dead in the centre. And the river
was there--fascinating--deadly--like a snake. Ough! A door opened,
ya white-haired secretarial head, but wearing a compassionate expression,
appeared, and a skinny forefinger beckoned me into the sanctuary.
Its light was dim, and a heavy writing-desk squatted in the middle.
From behind that structure came out an impression of pale plumpness
in a frock-coat. The great man himself. He was five feet six,
I should judge, and had his grip on the handle-end of ever
Heart of Darkness |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Lay Morals by Robert Louis Stevenson: What is the man? There is Something that was before hunger
and that remains behind after a meal. It may or may not be
engaged in any given act or passion, but when it is, it
changes, heightens, and sanctifies. Thus it is not engaged
in lust, where satisfaction ends the chapter; and it is
engaged in love, where no satisfaction can blunt the edge of
the desire, and where age, sickness, or alienation may deface
what was desirable without diminishing the sentiment. This
something, which is the man, is a permanence which abides
through the vicissitudes of passion, now overwhelmed and now
triumphant, now unconscious of itself in the immediate
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