| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Montezuma's Daughter by H. Rider Haggard: that which you began to-day.'
'Spare to curse me, father, who am accursed by my own conscience.
Turn your horses rather and ride for Yarmouth, for there his ship
lies and thither he has gone with two hours' start. Perhaps you
may still trap him before he sets sail.'
Without another word my father and brother wheeled their horses
round and departed at full gallop into the gloom of the gathering
night.
They rode so fiercely that, their horses being good, they came to
the gates of Yarmouth in little more than an hour and a half, and
that is fast riding. But the bird was flown. They tracked him to
Montezuma's Daughter |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: oneself. He got on to his feet and began to wade towards the shore,
pressing his toes into the firm, wrinkled sand. To take things easy, not
to fight against the ebb and flow of life, but to give way to it--that was
what was needed. It was this tension that was all wrong. To live--to
live! And the perfect morning, so fresh and fair, basking in the light, as
though laughing at its own beauty, seemed to whisper, "Why not?"
But now he was out of the water Jonathan turned blue with cold. He ached
all over; it was as though some one was wringing the blood out of him. And
stalking up the beach, shivering, all his muscles tight, he too felt his
bathe was spoilt. He'd stayed in too long.
Chapter 1.III.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Spirit of the Border by Zane Grey: people might have found perfect happiness in this new and novel life, if only
Joe had returned. His disappearance and subsequent absence furnished a theme
for many talks and many a quiet hour of dreamy sadness. The fascination of
his personality had been so impelling that long after it was withdrawn a charm
lingered around everything which reminded them of him; a subtle and sweet
memory, with perverse and half bitter persistence, returned hauntingly. No
trace of Joe had been seen by any of the friendly Indian runners. He was gone
into the mazes of deep-shadowed forests, where to hunt for him would be like
striving to trail the flight of a swallow. Two of those he had left behind
always remembered him, and in their thoughts followed him in his wanderings.
Jim settled down to his study of Indians with single-heartedness of purpose.
The Spirit of the Border |
