|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from New Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson:
Or with white statues fill the atrium full.
The talking hearth, the rafters sweet with smoke,
Live fountains and rough grass, my line invoke:
A sturdy slave, not too learned wife,
Nights filled with slumber, and a quiet life.
DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS
MY Martial owns a garden, famed to please,
Beyond the glades of the Hesperides;
Along Janiculum lies the chosen block
Where the cool grottos trench the hanging rock.
The moderate summit, something plain and bare,
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Troll Garden and Selected Stories by Willa Cather:
"Poor fellow, no wonder he wants to get married to get
somebody to wash up his dishes. Batchin's pretty hard on a man."
It is easy to pity when once one's vanity has been tickled.
She looked at the windowsill and gave a little shudder and wondered
if the man were crazy. Then she sat down again and sat a long time
wondering what her Dick and Ole would do.
"It is queer Dick didn't come right over after me. He surely
came, for he would have left town before the storm began and he
might just as well come right on as go back. If he'd hurried he
would have gotten here before the preacher came. I suppose he was
afraid to come, for he knew Canuteson could pound him to jelly, the
The Troll Garden and Selected Stories
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Life of the Spider by J. Henri Fabre:
spend the winter packed in soft wadding. The mother continues to
watch and spin, lessening her activity from day to day. She
recruits herself with a Locust at longer intervals; she sometimes
scorns those whom I myself entangle in her trap. This increasing
abstemiousness, a sign of decrepitude, slackens and at last stops
the work of the spinnerets.
For four or five weeks longer, the mother never ceases her
leisurely inspection-rounds, happy at hearing the new-born Spiders
swarming in the wallet. At length, when October ends, she clutches
her offspring's nursery and dies withered. She has done all that
maternal devotion can do; the special providence of tiny animals
The Life of the Spider