| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Trooper Peter Halket of Mashonaland by Olive Schreiner: the power to perform. Nay, remember this one thing more:--Certain sons of
God are born on earth, named by men Children of Genius. In early youth
each stands at the parting of the way and chooses; he bears his gift for
others or for himself. But forget this never, whatever his choice may be;
that there is laid on him a burden that is laid not on others--all space is
open to him, and his choice is infinite--and if he falls beneath it, let
men weep rather than curse, for he was born a Son of God."
There was silence again. Then Peter Halket clasped his arms about the
stranger's feet. "My master," he cried, "I dare not take that message. It
is not that men may say, 'Here is Trooper Peter Halket, whom we all know, a
man who kept women and shot niggers, turned prophet.' But it is, that it
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Barnaby Rudge by Charles Dickens: their future fortunes; but time and experience enlightened her in
this respect.
'Mother,' said Barnaby, as they were sitting next day in a waggon
which was to take them within ten miles of the capital, 'we're
going to London first, you said. Shall we see that blind man
there?'
She was about to answer 'Heaven forbid!' but checked herself, and
told him No, she thought not; why did he ask?
'He's a wise man,' said Barnaby, with a thoughtful countenance. 'I
wish that we may meet with him again. What was it that he said of
crowds? That gold was to be found where people crowded, and not
Barnaby Rudge |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis: the recollection of the dark blue eyes and lithe figure of the
little Irish girl she had left in the cellar. The recollection
struck through even her stupid intellect with a vivid glow of
beauty and of grace. Little Janey, timid, helpless, clinging to
Hugh as her only friend: that was the sharp thought, the bitter
thought, that drove into the glazed eyes a fierce light of pain.
You laugh at it? Are pain and jealousy less savage realities
down here in this place I am taking you to than in your own
house or your own heart,--your heart, which they clutch at
sometimes? The note is the same, I fancy, be the octave high or
low.
Life in the Iron-Mills |
