| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald: still haunted him. For a moment I suspected that he was pulling my leg,
but a glance at him convinced me otherwise.
"After that I lived like a young rajah in all the capitals of
Europe--Paris, Venice, Rome--collecting jewels, chiefly rubies, hunting
big game, painting a little, things for myself only, and trying to
forget something very sad that had happened to me long ago."
With an effort I managed to restrain my incredulous laughter. The very
phrases were worn so threadbare that they evoked no image except that of a
turbaned "character." leaking sawdust at every pore as he pursued a
tiger through the Bois de Boulogne.
"Then came the war, old sport. It was a great relief, and I tried very
The Great Gatsby |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Land that Time Forgot by Edgar Rice Burroughs: one came. At last I became disgusted, and cutting off all the
meat that I could conveniently carry, I set off in the direction
of the cliffs. I must have gone about a mile before the truth
dawn upon me--I was lost, hopelessly lost.
The entire sky was still completely blotted out by dense clouds;
nor was there any landmark visible by which I might have taken
my bearings. I went on in the direction I thought was south but
which I now imagine must have been about due north, without
detecting a single familiar object. In a dense wood I suddenly
stumbled upon a thing which at first filled me with hope and later
with the most utter despair and dejection. It was a little mound
The Land that Time Forgot |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Elizabeth and her German Garden by Marie Annette Beauchamp: Happiness is so wholesome; it invigorates and warms me into piety
far more effectually than any amount of trials and griefs, and an
unexpected pleasure is the surest means of bringing me to my knees.
In spite of the protestations of some peculiarly constructed
persons that they are the better for trials, I don't believe it.
Such things must sour us, just as happiness must sweeten us,
and make us kinder, and more gentle. And will anybody affirm that it
behoves us to be more thankful for trials than for blessings?
We were meant to be happy, and to accept all the happiness offered
with thankfulness--indeed, we are none of us ever thankful enough,
and yet we each get so much, so very much, more than we deserve.
Elizabeth and her German Garden |
