| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Montezuma's Daughter by H. Rider Haggard: the scarlet ring painted upon my breast within some fifteen
minutes. Meanwhile the clamour of battle grew louder and nearer.
Shifting myself so far as the cords would allow, I strained my head
upwards and saw that the Spaniards had gained the crest of the
pyramid, since the battle now raged upon its edge, and I have
rarely seen so terrible a fight, for the Aztecs fought with the
fury of despair, thinking little of their own lives if they could
only bring a Spaniard to his death. But for the most part their
rude weapons would not pierce the coats of mail, so that there
remained only one way to compass their desire, namely, by casting
the white men over the edge of the teocalli to be crushed like
Montezuma's Daughter |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas: his course toward M. de Treville's.
M. de Treville was not at his hotel. His company was on guard at
the Louvre; he was at the Louvre with his company.
It was necessary to reach M. de Treville; it was important that
he should be informed of what was passing. D'Artagnan resolved
to try and enter the Louvre. His costume of Guardsman in the
company of M. Dessessart ought to be his passport.
He therefore went down the Rue des Petits Augustins, and came up
to the quay, in order to take the New Bridge. He had at first an
idea of crossing by the ferry; but on gaining the riverside, he
had mechanically put his hand into his pocket, and perceived that
The Three Musketeers |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Europeans by Henry James: umbrage have received the ineffectual refreshment of a dull,
moist snow-fall. If, while the air is thickened by this
frosty drizzle, the calendar should happen to indicate that
the blessed vernal season is already six weeks old, it will be
admitted that no depressing influence is absent from the scene.
This fact was keenly felt on a certain 12th of May, upwards of
thirty years since, by a lady who stood looking out of one of
the windows of the best hotel in the ancient city of Boston.
She had stood there for half an hour--stood there, that is,
at intervals; for from time to time she turned back into
the room and measured its length with a restless step.
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