| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from At the Mountains of Madness by H. P. Lovecraft: that new, unknown odor whose cause only a diseased fancy could
envisage - clung to those bodies and sparkled less voluminously
on a smooth part of the accursedly resculptured wall in a series
of grouped dots - we understood the quality of cosmic fear to
its uttermost depths. It was not fear of those four missing others
- for all too well did we suspect they would do no harm again.
Poor devils! Alter all, they were not evil things of their kind.
They were the men of another age and another order of being. Nature
had played a hellish jest on them - as it will on any others that
human madness, callousness, or cruelty may hereafter dig up in
that hideously dead or sleeping polar waste - and this was their
At the Mountains of Madness |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Simple Soul by Gustave Flaubert: should be wasted of the loaf of bread weighing twelve pounds which was
baked especially for her and lasted three weeks.
Summer and winter she wore a dimity kerchief fastened in the back with
a pin, a cap which concealed her hair, a red skirt, grey stockings,
and an apron with a bib like those worn by hospital nurses.
Her face was thin and her voice shrill. When she was twenty-five, she
looked forty. After she had passed fifty, nobody could tell her age;
erect and silent always, she resembled a wooden figure working
automatically.
CHAPTER II
Like every other woman, she had had an affair of the heart. Her
A Simple Soul |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Lay Morals by Robert Louis Stevenson: loss. So he was still sitting when Mr. Archer entered the
kitchen. At this a light came into his face, and after some
seconds of rumination he dispatched Nance upon an errand.
'Mr. Archer,' said he, as soon as they were alone together,
'would you give me a guinea-piece for silver?'
'Why, sir, I believe I can,' said Mr. Archer.
And the exchange was just effected when Nance re-entered the
apartment. The blood shot into her face.
'What's to do here?' she asked rudely.
'Nothing, my dearie,' said old Jonathan, with a touch of
whine.
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