| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Vailima Prayers & Sabbath Morn by Robert Louis Stevenson: shameless disregard of all that is reputable in Samoan social life.
No doubt, to many, the evening service is no more than a duty
fulfilled. The child who says his prayer at his mother's knee can
have no real conception of the meaning of the words he lisps so
readily, yet he goes to his little bed with a sense of heavenly
protection that he would miss were the prayer forgotten. The
average Samoan is but a larger child in most things, and would lay
an uneasy head on his wooden pillow if he had not joined, even
perfunctorily, in the evening service. With my husband, prayer,
the direct appeal, was a necessity. When he was happy he felt
impelled to offer thanks for that undeserved joy; when in sorrow,
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Animal Farm by George Orwell: the raised platform, with the nine young dogs forming a semicircle round
them, and the other pigs sitting behind. The rest of the animals sat
facing them in the main body of the barn. Napoleon read out the orders for
the week in a gruff soldierly style, and after a single singing of 'Beasts
of England', all the animals dispersed.
On the third Sunday after Snowball's expulsion, the animals were somewhat
surprised to hear Napoleon announce that the windmill was to be built
after all. He did not give any reason for having changed his mind, but
merely warned the animals that this extra task would mean very hard work,
it might even be necessary to reduce their rations. The plans, however,
had all been prepared, down to the last detail. A special committee of
Animal Farm |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Virginian by Owen Wister: miniature portrait of the old Molly Stark, painted when that
far-off dame must have been scarce more than twenty. And when
each summer the young Molly went to Dunbarton, New Hampshire, to
pay her established family visit to the last survivors of her
connection who bore the name of Stark, no word that she heard in
the Dunbarton houses pleased her so much as when a certain
great-aunt would take her by the hand, and, after looking with
fond intentness at her, pronounce: "My dear, you're getting more
like the General's wife every year you live."
"I suppose you mean my nose," Molly would then reply.
"Nonsense, child. You have the family length of nose, and I've
The Virginian |
