| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Mosses From An Old Manse by Nathaniel Hawthorne: my perception. I have made the very stroke--the fatal
stroke--that I have dreaded from the first. It is all over--the
toil of months, the object of my life. I am ruined!"
And there he sat, in strange despair, until his lamp flickered in
the socket and left the Artist of the Beautiful in darkness.
Thus it is that ideas, which grow up within the imagination and
appear so lovely to it and of a value beyond whatever men call
valuable, are exposed to be shattered and annihilated by contact
with the practical. It is requisite for the ideal artist to
possess a force of character that seems hardly compatible with
its delicacy; he must keep his faith in himself while the
Mosses From An Old Manse |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from 1492 by Mary Johntson: The high grassy space ran upon one side to sheer precipice,
dropping clear two hundred feet. But there was camping
ground enough--and the sun almost touched the far,
violet earth.
The Indians threw themselves down. When they had
supper they would eat it, when they had it not they would
wait for breakfast. But Caonabo with twenty young men
came to us. He said something, and my arms were caught
from behind and held. He faced Beltran seated against a
pine. ``Aiya!'' he said. His voice was deep and harsh, and
be made a gesture of repugnance. There was a powerfully
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from My Aunt Margaret's Mirror by Walter Scott: one, and the suspense which some bear with constitutional
indifference or philosophical resignation, and some with a
disposition to believe and hope the best, was intolerable to Lady
Forester, at once solitary and sensitive, low-spirited, and
devoid of strength of mind, whether natural or acquired.
CHAPTER II.
As she received no further news of Sir Philip, whether directly
or indirectly, his unfortunate lady began now to feel a sort of
consolation even in those careless habits which had so often
given her pain. "He is so thoughtless," she repeated a hundred
times a day to her sister, "he never writes when things are going
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