| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne: discrepancy of dates. Readers should therefore refer to the note already
published on this point.
This artist, this philosopher, this man was, however, still cherishing
the hope instilled into him from his earliest days.
Prince Dakkar returned to Bundelkund in the year 1849. He married a noble
Indian lady, who was imbued with an ambition not less ardent than that by
which he was inspired. Two children were born to them, whom they tenderly
loved. But domestic happiness did not prevent him from seeking to carry out
the object at which he aimed. He waited an opportunity. At length, as he
vainly fancied, it presented itself.
Instigated by princes equally ambitious and less sagacious and more
The Mysterious Island |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Lost Continent by Edgar Rice Burroughs: followed by another and another, and it is needless to state
that we beat a hasty retreat to the launch.
The country was apparently infested by these huge Carnivora,
for after three other attempts to land and cook our food we
were forced to abandon the idea entirely, as each time we
were driven off by hunting tigers.
It was also equally impossible to obtain the necessary
ingredients for our chemical fuel, and, as we had very
little left aboard, we determined to step our folding mast
and proceed under sail, hoarding our fuel supply for use in
emergencies.
Lost Continent |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Heritage of the Desert by Zane Grey: under his hoofs, the storm-winds sweeping from his silver mane. He
dreamed of Mescal's brooding eyes. They were dark gateways of the desert
open only to him, and he entered to chase the alluring stars deep into
the purple distance. He dreamed of himself waiting in serene confidence
for some unknown thing to pass. He awakened late in the morning and
found the house hushed. The day wore on in a repose unstirred by breeze
and sound, in accord with the mourning of August Naab. At noon a solemn
procession wended its slow course to the shadow of the red cliff, and as
solemnly returned.
Then a long-drawn piercing Indian whoop broke the midday hush. It
heralded the approach of the Navajos. In single-file they rode up the
The Heritage of the Desert |
