| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Damnation of Theron Ware by Harold Frederic: all alone on their island, kept it alive and brooded
on it, and rooted their whole spiritual side in it.
Their religion is full of it; their blood is full of it;
our Celia is fuller of it than anybody else. The Ireland
of two thousand years ago is incarnated in her. They are
the merriest people and the saddest, the most turbulent and
the most docile, the most talented and the most unproductive,
the most practical and the most visionary, the most devout
and the most pagan. These impossible contradictions war
ceaselessly in their blood. When I look at Celia, I seem
to see in my mind's eye the fair young-ancestral mother of
The Damnation of Theron Ware |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Essays of Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson: with a pyremide [conical roof], and a row of ballesters round it
raised from the top of the staircase, into which they have mounted a
fyne clock. There be four lanes which pass from the principall
street; one is called the Black Vennel, which is steep, declining to
the south-west, and leads to a lower street, which is far larger than
the high chiefe street, and it runs from the Kirkland to the Well
Trees, in which there have been many pretty buildings, belonging to
the severall gentry of the countrey, who were wont to resort thither
in winter, and divert themselves in converse together at their owne
houses. It was once the principall street of the town; but many of
these houses of the gentry having been decayed and ruined, it has
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Beauty and The Beast by Bayard Taylor: tints for both. They were sent to different schools, to be
returned the next day, equally pale, suffering, and incapable of
study. Whatever device was employed, they evaded it by a mutual
instinct which rendered all external measures unavailing. To John
Vincent's mind their resemblance was an accidental misfortune,
which had been confirmed through their mother's fancy. He felt
that they were bound by some deep, mysterious tie, which, inasmuch
as it might interfere with all practical aspects of life, ought to
be gradually weakened. Two bodies, to him, implied two distinct
men, and it was wrong to permit a mutual dependence which
prevented either from exercising his own separate will and
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