| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne: not quitting those of his patient.
The latter was then led towards the mouth of the Mercy, and all climbing
the left bank of the river, reached Prospect Heights.
Arrived at the spot on which grew the first beautiful trees of the
forest, their foliage slightly agitated by the breeze, the stranger
appeared greedily to drink in the penetrating odor which filled the
atmosphere, and a long sigh escaped from his chest.
The settlers kept behind him, ready to seize him if he made any movement
to escape!
And, indeed, the poor creature was on the point of springing into the
creek which separated him from the forest, and his legs were bent for an
The Mysterious Island |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Voyage to Arcturus by David Lindsay: Maskull held it up with difficulty, directed it toward the gleaming
Arcturus, and snatched as long and as steady a glance at the star as
the muscles of his arm would permit. What he saw was this. The
star, which to the naked eye appeared as a single yellow point of
light, now became clearly split into two bright but minute suns, the
larger of which was still yellow, while its smaller companion was a
beautiful blue. But this was not all. Apparently circulating around
the yellow sun was a comparatively small and hardly distinguishable
satellite, which seemed to shine, not by its own, but by reflected
light.... Maskull lowered and raised his arm repeatedly. The same
spectacle revealed itself again and again, but he was able to see
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson by Robert Louis Stevenson: DEAR BOY, - I trust this finds you well; it leaves me so-so. The
weather is so cold that I must stick to bed, which is rotten and
tedious, but can't be helped.
I find in the blotting book the enclosed, which I wrote to you the
eve of my blood. Is it not strange? That night, when I naturally
thought I was coopered, the thought of it was much in my mind; I
thought it had gone; and I thought what a strange prophecy I had
made in jest, and how it was indeed like to be the end of many
letters. But I have written a good few since, and the spell is
broken. I am just as pleased, for I earnestly desire to live.
This pleasant middle age into whose port we are steering is quite
|
