| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath by H. P. Lovecraft: king and his companions ride on yaks or in yak-drawn chariots.
Carter and his guide climbed up an alley that was all steps, between
inlaid walls hearing strange signs in gold, and under balconies
and oriels whence sometimes floated soft strains of music or breaths
of exotic fragrance. Always ahead loomed those titan walls, mighty
buttresses, and clustered and bulbous domes for which the Veiled
King's palace is famous; and at length they passed under a great
black arch and emerged in the gardens of the monarch's pleasure.
There Carter paused in faintness at so much beauty, for the onyx
terraces and colonnaded walks, the gay porterres and delicate
flowering trees espaliered to golden lattices, the brazen urns
The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Woodlanders by Thomas Hardy: in a straight line, must inevitably have taken her out of the wood
to some remote village or other; but she had wasted her forces in
countermarches; and now, in much alarm, wondered if she would have
to pass the night here. She stood still to meditate, and fancied
that between the soughing of the wind she heard shuffling
footsteps on the leaves heavier than those of rabbits or hares.
Though fearing at first to meet anybody on the chance of his being
a friend, she decided that the fellow night-rambler, even if a
poacher, would not injure her, and that he might possibly be some
one sent to search for her. She accordingly shouted a rather
timid "Hoi!"
The Woodlanders |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Soul of the Far East by Percival Lowell: paradoxical though it sound, is principally due the peculiar
loneliness of childhood. For nothing is so isolating as a
persistent idea which one dares not confide.
And yet,--stranger paradox still,--was there ever any one
willing to exchange his personality for another's? Who can imagine
foregoing his own self? Nay, do we not cling even to its outward
appearance? Is there a man so poor in all that man holds dear that
he does not keenly resent being accidentally mistaken for his
neighbor? Surely there must be something more than mirage in this
deep-implanted, widespread instinct of human race.
But however strong the conviction now of one's individuality, is
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