| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Moby Dick by Herman Melville: mortal nourishment, be still spiritually feasting upon some unearthly
reminiscence;--even so did the young of these whales seem looking up
towards us, but not at us, as if we were but a bit of Gulfweed in
their new-born sight. Floating on their sides, the mothers also
seemed quietly eyeing us. One of these little infants, that from
certain queer tokens seemed hardly a day old, might have measured
some fourteen feet in length, and some six feet in girth. He was a
little frisky; though as yet his body seemed scarce yet recovered
from that irksome position it had so lately occupied in the maternal
reticule; where, tail to head, and all ready for the final spring,
the unborn whale lies bent like a Tartar's bow. The delicate
Moby Dick |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Touchstone by Edith Wharton: Erskine's house . . . she'll let us have it for almost nothing. . . ."
"Well, write her about it," he recommended, his eyes travelling on
in search of the weather report. He had turned to the wrong page;
and suddenly a line of black characters leapt out at him as from
an ambush.
"'Margaret Aubyn's Letters.' Two volumes. Out to-day. First
edition of five thousand sold out before leaving the press.
Second edition ready next week. THE BOOK OF THE YEAR. . . ."
He looked up stupidly. His wife still sat with her head thrown
back, her pure profile detached against the cushions. She was
smiling a little over the prospect his last words had opened.
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells: that at first I did not recognise him. There was a red cut
across the lower part of his face.
"Stop!" he cried, when I was within ten yards of him, and
I stopped. His voice was hoarse. "Where do you come from?"
he said.
I thought, surveying him.
"I come from Mortlake," I said. "I was buried near the
pit the Martians made about their cylinder. I have worked
my way out and escaped."
"There is no food about here," he said. "This is my coun-
try. All this hill down to the river, and back to Clapham,
War of the Worlds |
