|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Weir of Hermiston by Robert Louis Stevenson:
Cairn. For a while it was told that Francie walked. Aggic Hogg met him
in the gloaming by the cairnside, and he spoke to her, with chattering
teeth, so that his words were lost. He pursued Rob Todd (if any one
could have believed Robbie) for the space of half a mile with pitiful
entreaties. But the age is one of incredulity; these superstitious
decorations speedily fell off; and the facts of the story itself, like
the bones of a giant buried there and half dug up, survived, naked and
imperfect, in the memory of the scattered neighbours. To this day, of
winter nights, when the sleet is on the window and the cattle are quiet
in the byre, there will be told again, amid the silence of the young and
the additions and corrections of the old, the tale of the Justice-Clerk
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Marie by H. Rider Haggard:
"No, Allan," she answered, "it can't be helped; but oh! I wish my heart
were happier about your journey. I fear Dingaan, and if anything should
chance to you I shall die of grief."
"Why should anything chance, Marie? We are a strong and well-armed
party, and Dingaan looks on us peacefully."
"I don't know, husband, but they say Hernan Pereira is with the Zulus,
and he hates you."
"Then he had better mind his manners, or he will not be here long to
hate anybody," I answered grimly, for my gorge rose at the thought of
this man and his treacheries.
"Vrouw Prinsloo," I called to the old lady, who was near, "be pleased to
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde:
soon be going about like the converted, and the revivalist,
warning people against all the sins of which you have grown tired.
You are much too delightful to do that. Besides, it is no use.
You and I are what we are, and will be what we will be.
As for being poisoned by a book, there is no such thing as that.
Art has no influence upon action. It annihilates the desire
to act. It is superbly sterile. The books that the world
calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame.
That is all. But we won't discuss literature. Come round
to-morrow. I am going to ride at eleven. We might go together,
and I will take you to lunch afterwards with Lady Branksome.
The Picture of Dorian Gray