| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath by H. P. Lovecraft: the misty twilight of that northern world, and still the vile
bird winged meaningly through the cold and silence. At times the
slant-eyed man talked with his steed in a hateful and guttural
language, and the Shantak would answer with tittering tones that
rasped like the scratching of ground glass. AlI this while the
land was getting higher, and finally they came to a wind-swept
table-land which seemed the very roof of a blasted and tenantless
world. There, all alone in the hush and the dusk and the cold,
rose the uncouth stones of a squat windowless building, around
which a circle of crude monoliths stood. In all this arrangement
there was nothing human, and Carter surmised from old tales that
The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Frankenstein by Mary Shelley: Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and misery;
I left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine,
among its willow islands and over the summits of its hills. I have
dwelt many months in the heaths of England and among the deserts of Scotland.
I have endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger; do you dare destroy
my hopes?"
"Begone! I do break my promise; never will I create another like yourself,
equal in deformity and wickedness."
"Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself unworthy
of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe yourself
miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of day will
Frankenstein |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart: "Where customers wait." She still carried her violin, and slipped
back to her room to put it away. Peter had a glimpse of its
poverty and its meagerness. He drew a long breath.
Monia was at the opera, and the Hungarian sat in the kitchen
knitting a stocking. The reception room was warm from the day's
fire, and in order. All the pins and scraps of the day had been
swept up, and the portieres that made fitting-rooms of the
corners were pushed back. Peter saw only a big room with empty
corners, and that at a glance. His eyes were Harmony's.
He sat down awkwardly on a stiff chair, Harmony on a velvet
settee. They were suddenly two strangers meeting for the first
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