| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Mother by Owen Wister: "But I do want to know. Richard has had such interesting experiences, so
many of them. And I do so want him to tell a thoroughly nice one. There's
the one when he saved a man from drowning just below our house, the
second summer, and the man turned out to be a burglar and broke into the
pantry that very night, and Richard caught him in the dark with just as
much courage as he had caught him in the water and just as few clothes,
only it was so different. Richard makes it quite thrilling. And I
mentioned another to him. But he just went on shaving. And now he has gone
out walking, and I believe it's going to be something I would rather not
hear. But I mean to hear it."
At lunch Mrs. Field made a better meal, although it was clear to Mrs.
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Running a Thousand Miles for Freedom by William and Ellen Craft: black pigs more alike than your boy and my
Ned."
After the disappointed lady had resumed her
seat, and the train had moved off, she closed her
eyes, slightly raising her hands, and in a sanctified
tone said to my master, "Oh! I hope, sir, your
boy will not turn out to be so worthless as my Ned
has. Oh! I was as kind to him as if he had been
my own son. Oh! sir, it grieves me very much to
think that after all I did for him he should go off
without having any cause whatever."
Running a Thousand Miles for Freedom |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis: and some inflammation. She's never had her appendix out has she? Um. Well,
no use worrying. I'll be here first thing in the morning, and meantime she'll
get some rest. I've given her a hypo. Good night."
Then was Babbitt caught up in the black tempest.
Instantly all the indignations which had been dominating him and the spiritual
dramas through which he had struggled became pallid and absurd before the
ancient and overwhelming realities, the standard and traditional realities, of
sickness and menacing death, the long night, and the thousand steadfast
implications of married life. He crept back to her. As she drowsed away in
the tropic languor of morphia, he sat on the edge of her bed, holding her
hand, and for the first time in many weeks her hand abode trustfully in his.
|
