| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Shadow out of Time by H. P. Lovecraft: theory. And a substantial number of eminent psychologists and
anthropologists gradually agreed with me.
The more I reflected,
the more convincing did my reasoning seem; till in the end I had
a really effective bulwark against the visions and impressions
which still assailed me. Suppose I did see strange things at night?
These were only what I had heard and read of. Suppose I did have
odd loathings and perspectives and pseudo-memories? These, too,
were only echoes of myths absorbed in my secondary state. Nothing
that I might dream, nothing that I might feel, could be of any
actual significance.
Shadow out of Time |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Trooper Peter Halket of Mashonaland by Olive Schreiner: subject. "It's curious how like my mother you are; I mean, your ways. She
was always saying to me, 'Don't be too anxious to make money, Peter. Too
much wealth is as bad as too much poverty.' You're very like her."
After a while Peter said, bending over a little towards the stranger, "If
you don't want to make money, what did you come to this land for? No one
comes here for anything else. Are you in with the Portuguese?"
"I am not more with one people than with another," said the stranger. "The
Frenchman is not more to me than the Englishman, the Englishman than the
Kaffir, the Kaffir than the Chinaman. I have heard," said the stranger,
"the black infant cry as it crept on its mother's body and sought for her
breast as she lay dead in the roadway. I have heard also the rich man's
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy: and vulgar, unintellectual occupations; and he, she felt, would
despise her still worse, because she had not been strong enough to do
right for right's sake, and to sacrifice her brother to the dictates
of her conscience.
Buried in her thoughts, Marguerite had found this hour in the
breezy summer night all too brief; and it was with a feeling of keen
disappointment, that she suddenly realised that the bays had turned
into the massive gates of her beautiful English home.
Sir Percy Blakeney's house on the river has become a historic
one: palatial in its dimensions, it stands in the midst of exquisitely
laid-out gardens, with a picturesque terrace and frontage to the
The Scarlet Pimpernel |
