| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: saw me...
...No, madam, grandfather never got over it. He couldn't bear the sight of
me after. Couldn't eat his dinner, even, if I was there. So my aunt took
me. She was a cripple, an upholstress. Tiny! She had to stand on the
sofas when she wanted to cut out the backs. And it was helping her I met
my lady...
...Not so very, madam. I was thirteen, turned. And I don't remember ever
feeling--well--a child, as you might say. You see there was my uniform,
and one thing and another. My lady put me into collars and cuffs from the
first. Oh yes--once I did! That was--funny! It was like this. My lady
had her two little nieces staying with her--we were at Sheldon at the time-
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Call of the Canyon by Zane Grey: But she seldom walked anywhere on the trails and, never alone, and she
never climbed the mountains and never rode a horse.
Morrison arrived and added his attentions to those of other men. Carley
neither accepted nor repelled them. She favored the association with
married couples and older people, and rather shunned the pairing off
peculiar to vacationists at summer hotels. She had always loved to play and
romp with children, but here she found herself growing to avoid them,
somehow hurt by sound of pattering feet and joyous laughter. She filled the
days as best she could, and usually earned quick slumber at night. She
staked all on present occupation and the truth of flying time.
CHAPTER IX
The Call of the Canyon |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Essays of Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson: and indeed, if we drive briskly along a good, well-made road in an
open vehicle, we shall experience this sympathy almost at its
fullest. We feel the sharp settle of the springs at some curiously
twisted corner; after a steep ascent, the fresh air dances in our
faces as we rattle precipitately down the other side, and we find it
difficult to avoid attributing something headlong, a sort of ABANDON,
to the road itself.
The mere winding of the path is enough to enliven a long day's walk
in even a commonplace or dreary country-side. Something that we have
seen from miles back, upon an eminence, is so long hid from us, as we
wander through folded valleys or among woods, that our expectation of
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