| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Virginibus Puerisque by Robert Louis Stevenson: approval, the sum of these anticipations does not amount to
anything like a general view of life's possibilities and
issues; nor are those who cherish them most vividly, at all
the most scrupulous of their personal safety. To be deeply
interested in the accidents of our existence, to enjoy keenly
the mixed texture of human experience, rather leads a man to
disregard precautions, and risk his neck against a straw. For
surely the love of living is stronger in an Alpine climber
roping over a peril, or a hunter riding merrily at a stiff
fence, than in a creature who lives upon a diet and walks a
measured distance in the interest of his constitution.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Old Indian Legends by Zitkala-Sa: spasmodically till all of a sudden it gave way and Manstin fell
headlong into the water.
"En! En!" he grunted kicking frantically amid stream. All
along the slippery bank he vainly tried to climb, till at last he
chanced upon the old stake and the deeply worn footpath. Exhausted
and inwardly disgusted with his mishaps, he crawled more cautiously
on all fours to his wigwam door. Dripping with his recent plunge
he sat with chattering teeth within his unfired wigwam.
The sun had set and the night air was chilly, but there was no
fire-wood in the dwelling. "Hin!" murmured Manstin and bravely
tried the other rope. "I go for some fire-wood!" he said,
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Jerusalem Delivered by Torquato Tasso: That outward scorn showed store of grace within:
Thus with false hope their longing hearts she fired,
For hardest gotten things are most desired.
XC
Alone sometimes she walked in secret where,
To ruminate upon her discontent,
Within her eyelids sate the swelling tear,
Not poured forth, though sprung from sad lament,
And with this craft a thousand souls well near
In snares of foolish ruth and love she hent,
And kept as slaves, by which we fitly prove
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