| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Child of Storm by H. Rider Haggard: on such a journey.
[*--For the story of this shooting of the vultures by Allan Quatermain,
see the book called "Marie."--EDITOR.]
A rough journey it proved to be indeed, over a series of bush-clad hills
that at their crests were covered with rugged stones among which no
horse could have travelled. Up and down these hills we went, and across
the valleys that divided them, following some path which I could not
see, for all that live-long day. I have always been held a good walker,
being by nature very light and active; but I am bound to say that my
companion taxed my powers to the utmost, for on he marched for hour
after hour, striding ahead of me at such a rate that at times I was
Child of Storm |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Some Reminiscences by Joseph Conrad: ships at sea, at all times, in all states of the weather. They
gave it to me to the full. And I have been invited to sit in
more than one tall, dark house of the old town at their
hospitable board, had the bouillabaisse ladled out into a thick
plate by their high-voiced, broad-browed wives, talked to their
daughters--thick-set girls, with pure profiles, glorious masses
of black hair arranged with complicated art, dark eyes, and
dazzlingly white teeth.
I had also other acquaintances of quite a different sort. One of
them, Madame Delestang, an imperious, handsome lady in a
statuesque style, would carry me off now and then on the front
Some Reminiscences |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Time Machine by H. G. Wells: to be recovered by boldly penetrating these underground
mysteries. Yet I could not face the mystery. If only I had had
a companion it would have been different. But I was so horribly
alone, and even to clamber down into the darkness of the well
appalled me. I don't know if you will understand my feeling, but
I never felt quite safe at my back.
`It was this restlessness, this insecurity, perhaps, that
drove me further and further afield in my exploring expeditions.
Going to the south-westward towards the rising country that is
now called Combe Wood, I observed far off, in the direction of
nineteenth-century Banstead, a vast green structure, different in
The Time Machine |
