| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Heritage of the Desert by Zane Grey: seemed ever drawn to the quiet couple in the corner, and his ear was
unconsciously strained to catch a passing word. That hour was a
miserable one for him, yet he could not bring himself to leave the room.
He never saw Snap touch her; he never heard Mescal's voice; he believed
that she spoke very little. When the hour was over and Mescal rose to
pass to her room, then his doubt, his fear, his misery, were as though
they had never been, for as Mescal said good-night she would give him one
look, swift as a flash, and in it were womanliness and purity, and some-
thing beyond his comprehension. Her Indian serenity and mysticism veiled
yet suggested some secret, some power by which she might yet escape the
iron band of this Mormon rule. Hare could not fathom it. In that
The Heritage of the Desert |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Letters from England by Elizabeth Davis Bancroft: Diplomatic Corps, and when the turn would come for us who were to be
newly presented. The room soon filled up and it was like a pleasant
party, only more amusing, as the costumes of both gentlemen and
ladies were so splendid. I got a seat in the window with Madam Van
de Weyer and saw the Queen's train drive up. At the end of this
room are two doors: at the left hand everybody enters the next
apartment where the Queen and her suite stand, and after going round
the circle, come out at the right-hand door. After those who are
privileged to go FIRST into the ANTE-ROOM leave it, the general
circle pass in, and they also go in and out the same doors. But to
go back. The left-hand door opens and Sir Edward Cust leads in the
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Vailima Letters by Robert Louis Stevenson: sentiment being very intense, and already very much handled
in letters, positively calls for a little pawing and gracing.
With a writer of my prosaic literalness and pertinency of
point of view, this all shoves toward grossness - positively
even towards the far more damnable CLOSENESS. This has kept
me off the sentiment hitherto, and now I am to try: Lord! Of
course Meredith can do it, and so could Shakespeare; but with
all my romance, I am a realist and a prosaist, and a most
fanatical lover of plain physical sensations plainly and
expressly rendered; hence my perils. To do love in the same
spirit as I did (for instance) D. Balfour's fatigue in the
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