|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Hermione's Little Group of Serious Thinkers by Don Marquis:
But if his aura was blue, and her aura was yel-
low, then, of course, they would quarrel. That's
what makes so much domestic unhappiness.
But he said something that gave me the most
frightfully insecure feeling.
He said the aura CHANGES its color as the soul progresses.
Two people may be in harmony today, and both
have pink auras, and in a year hers may be green
and his golden.
What desperate chances a woman takes when
she marries, doesn't she?
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne:
soluble substances, the others, flint, burnt coal, and cinders, not being
While this chemical work was going on, Cyrus Harding proceeded with other
operations, which were pursued with more than zeal,--it was eagerness.
Neb and Pencroft had taken away the fat from the dugong, and placed it in
large earthen pots. It was then necessary to separate the glycerine from
the fat by saponifying it. Now, to obtain this result, it had to be treated
either with soda or lime. In fact, one or other of these substances, after
having attacked the fat, would form a soap by separating the glycerine, and
it was just this glycerine which the engineer wished to obtain. There was
no want of lime, only treatment by lime would give calcareous soap,
The Mysterious Island
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Padre Ignacio by Owen Wister:
his cloisters at the empty sea.
Once in the year the mother-world remembered him. Once in the year, from
Spain, tokens and home-tidings came to him, sent by certain beloved
friends of his youth. A barkentine brought him these messages. Whenever
thus the mother-world remembered him, it was like the touch of a warm
hand, a dear and tender caress; a distant life, by him long left behind,
seemed to be drawing the exile homeward from these alien shores. As the
time for his letters and packets drew near, the eyes of Padre Ignacio
would be often fixed wistfully upon the harbor, watching for the
barkentine. Sometimes, as to-day, he mistook other sails for hers, but
hers he mistook never. That Pacific Ocean, which, for all its hues and