| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Ozma of Oz by L. Frank Baum: "What became of the Cowardly Lion?" and "What did Ozma do
afterward?"--meaning, of course, after she became the Ruler of Oz.
And some of them suggest plots to me, saying: "Please have Dorothy go
to the Land of Oz again"; or, "Why don't you make Ozma and Dorothy
meet, and have a good time together?" Indeed, could I do all that my
little friends ask, I would be obliged to write dozens of books to
satisfy their demands. And I wish I could, for I enjoy writing these
stories just as much as the children say they enjoy reading them.
Well, here is "more about Dorothy," and about our old friends the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, and about the Cowardly Lion, and Ozma,
and all the rest of them; and here, likewise, is a good deal about
Ozma of Oz |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy: The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already received
from Masha, the lady's maid, the necessary report of how handsome
the minister's son was, with his rosy cheeks and dark eyebrows, and
with what difficulty the father had dragged his legs upstairs while
the son had followed him like an eagle, three steps at a time.
Having received this information, the little princess and Mademoiselle
Bourienne, whose chattering voices had reached her from the
corridor, went into Princess Mary's room.
"You know they've come, Marie?" said the little princess, waddling
in, and sinking heavily into an armchair.
She was no longer in the loose gown she generally wore in the
War and Peace |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Under the Red Robe by Stanley Weyman: seemed a thing apart from the roar of the torrent and not to be
broken by it--awed me. The vastness of the solitude in which we
sat, the dark void above, through which the stars kept shooting,
the black gulf below in which the unseen waters boiled and
surged, the absence of other human company or other signs of
human existence, put such a face upon the deed that I gave up the
thought of it with a shudder, and resigned myself, instead, to
watch through the night--the long, cold, Pyrenean night.
Presently he curled himself up like a dog and slept in the blaze,
and then for a couple of hours I sat opposite him, thinking. It
seemed years since I had seen Zaton's or thrown the dice. The
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