|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Child of Storm by H. Rider Haggard:
moon began to rise reached the spot that I had chosen for the ambush.
Certainly it was well suited to that purpose. Here the track or gully
bed narrowed to a width of not more than a hundred feet, while the steep
slopes of the kloof on either side were clothed with scattered bushes
and finger-like euphorbias which grew among stones. Behind these stones
and bushes we hid ourselves, a hundred men on one side and a hundred on
the other, whilst I and my three hunters, who were armed with guns, took
up a position under shelter of a great boulder nearly five feet thick
that lay but a little to the right of the gully itself, up which we
expected the cattle would come. This place I chose for two reasons:
first, that I might keep touch with both wings of my force, and,
Child of Storm
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Figure in the Carpet by Henry James:
whereupon he repeated his former advice: "Give it up, give it up!"
He evidently didn't think me intellectually equipped for the
adventure. I stayed half an hour, and he was most good-natured,
but I couldn't help pronouncing him a man of unstable moods. He
had been free with me in a mood, he had repented in a mood, and now
in a mood he had turned indifferent. This general levity helped me
to believe that, so far as the subject of the tip went, there
wasn't much in it. I contrived however to make him answer a few
more questions about it, though he did so with visible impatience.
For himself, beyond doubt, the thing we were all so blank about was
vividly there. It was something, I guessed, in the primal plan,
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Duchess of Padua by Oscar Wilde:
And there I will, being now sick of life,
Throw that poor life against some desperate spear.
[A groan from the DUKE'S chamber again.]
Did you not hear a voice?
I always hear,
From the dim confines of some sepulchre,
A voice that cries for vengeance. We waste time,
It will be morning soon; are you resolved
You will not kill the Duke?