| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Juana by Honore de Balzac: communicated with a parlor lighted from an interior courtyard, a large
room breathing the very spirit of the middle-ages, with smoky old
pictures, old tapestries, antique "brazero," a plumed hat hanging to a
nail, the musket of the guerrillas, and the cloak of Bartholo. The
kitchen adjoined this unique living-room, where the inmates took their
meals and warmed themselves over the dull glow of the brazier, smoking
cigars and discoursing bitterly to animate all hearts with hatred
against the French. Silver pitchers and precious dishes of plate and
porcelain adorned a buttery shelf of the old fashion. But the light,
sparsely admitted, allowed these dazzling objects to show but
slightly; all things, as in pictures of the Dutch school, looked
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Island Nights' Entertainments by Robert Louis Stevenson: them, and, if either dozed off, it would be to wake and find the
other silently weeping in the dark, or, perhaps, to wake alone, the
other having fled from the house and the neighbourhood of that
bottle, to pace under the bananas in the little garden, or to
wander on the beach by moonlight.
One night it was so when Kokua awoke. Keawe was gone. She felt in
the bed and his place was cold. Then fear fell upon her, and she
sat up in bed. A little moonshine filtered through the shutters.
The room was bright, and she could spy the bottle on the floor.
Outside it blew high, the great trees of the avenue cried aloud,
and the fallen leaves rattled in the verandah. In the midst of
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Call of the Canyon by Zane Grey: high altitude. Spring is here when the sun shines. But it's only shinin' in
streaks these days. That means winter, really. Please be good."
"Well, it doesn't require much self-denial to stay here awhile longer,"
replied Carley, lazily.
Flo left with a parting admonition not to let the stove get red-hot. And
Carley lay snuggled in the warm blankets, dreading the ordeal of getting
out into that cold bare room. Her nose was cold. When her nose grew cold,
it being a faithful barometer as to temperature, Carley knew there was
frost in the air. She preferred summer. Steam-heated rooms with hothouse
flowers lending their perfume had certainly not trained Carley for
primitive conditions. She had a spirit, however, that was waxing a little
The Call of the Canyon |
