|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The People That Time Forgot by Edgar Rice Burroughs:
heavy, and though there were some who verged strongly upon the
Sto-lu type, there were others who were positively handsome and
whose bodies were quite hairless. The Alus are all bearded,
but among the Bo-lu the beard disappears in the women. The Sto-lu
men show a sparse beard, the Band-lu none; and there is little
hair upon the bodies of their women.
The members of the tribe showed great interest in me,
especially in my clothing, the like of which, of course, they
never had seen. They pulled and hauled upon me, and some of
them struck me; but for the most part they were not inclined
to brutality. It was only the hairier ones, who most closely
The People That Time Forgot
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Silverado Squatters by Robert Louis Stevenson:
infatuated with him, and spent their spare time and money,
driving him about in an open cab, between drinks, while he
blew himself scarlet at the pipes. This is a very sad story.
After he had borrowed money from every one, he and his pipes
suddenly disappeared from Sacramento, and when I last heard,
the police were looking for him.
I cannot say how this story amused me, when I felt myself so
thoroughly ripe on both sides to be duped in the same way.
It is at least a curious thing, to conclude, that the races
which wander widest, Jews and Scotch, should be the most
clannish in the world. But perhaps these two are cause and
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Elixir of Life by Honore de Balzac:
of contrast with the white pillows on which he lay. The muscles
about the toothless mouth had contracted with pain and drawn
apart the lips; the moans that issued between them with appalling
energy found an accompaniment in the howling of the storm
In spite of every sign of coming dissolution, the most striking
thing about the dying face was its incredible power. It was no
ordinary spirit that wrestled there with Death. The eyes glared
with strange fixity of gaze from the cavernous sockets hollowed
by disease. It seemed as if Bartolommeo sought to kill some enemy
sitting at the foot of his bed by the intent gaze of dying eyes.