| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Riders of the Purple Sage by Zane Grey: praised him to Jane. "He's a good man and loves children," she
said. How sad to hear this truth spoken of a man whom Jane
thought lost beyond all redemption! Yet ever and ever Lassiter
towered above her, and behind or through his black, sinister
figure shone something luminous that strangely affected Jane.
Good and evil began to seem incomprehensibly blended in her
judgment. It was her belief that evil could not come forth from
good; yet here was a murderer who dwarfed in gentleness,
patience, and love any man she had ever known.
She had almost lost track of her more outside concerns when early
one morning Judkins presented himself before her in the
Riders of the Purple Sage |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Chita: A Memory of Last Island by Lafcadio Hearn: Before the cheniere all the shell-beach slope was piled with
wreck--uptorn trees with the foliage still fresh upon them,
splintered timbers of mysterious origin, and logs in multitude,
scarred with gashes of the axe. Feliu and his comrades had saved
wood enough to build a little town,--working up to their waists
in the surf, with ropes, poles, and boat-hooks. The whole sea
was full of flotsam. Voto a Cristo!--what a wrecking there must
have been! And to think the Carmencita could not be taken out!
They had seen other luggers making eastward during the
morning--could recognize some by their sails, others by their
gait,--exaggerated in their struggle with the pitching of the
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Essays of Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson: opened out. Colzean plantations lay all along the steep shore, and
there was a wooded hill towards the centre, where the trees made a
sort of shadowy etching over the snow. The road went down and up,
and past a blacksmith's cottage that made fine music in the valley.
Three compatriots of Burns drove up to me in a cart. They were all
drunk, and asked me jeeringly if this was the way to Dunure. I told
them it was; and my answer was received with unfeigned merriment.
One gentleman was so much tickled he nearly fell out of the cart;
indeed, he was only saved by a companion, who either had not so fine
a sense of humour or had drunken less.
'The toune of Mayboll,' says the inimitable Abercrummie, 'stands upon
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