| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Riders of the Purple Sage by Zane Grey: taking his lasso, he went to fetch him back. In crossing from one
ridge to another he saw where the horse had made muddy a pool of
water. It occurred to Venters then that Wrangle had drunk his
fill, and did not seem the worse for it, and might be anything
but easy to catch. And, true enough, he could not come within
roping reach of the sorrel. He tried for an hour, and gave up in
disgust. Wrangle did not seem so wild as simply perverse. In a
quandary Venters returned to the other horses, hoping much, yet
doubting more, that when Wrangle had grazed to suit himself he
might be caught.
As the afternoon wore away Venters's concern diminished, yet he
Riders of the Purple Sage |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Life of the Spider by J. Henri Fabre: victim as she would have done with a medium-sized Moth.
But with the Praying Mantis, sticking out her long legs and her
spreading wings, rotation is no longer feasible. Then, until the
quarry is thoroughly subdued, the spray of bandages goes on
continuously, even to the point of drying up the silk-glands. A
capture of this kind is ruinous. It is true that, except when I
interfered, I have never seen the Spider tackle that formidable
provender.
Be it feeble or strong, the game is now neatly trussed, by one of
the two methods. The next move never varies. The bound insect is
bitten, without persistency and without any wound that shows. The
The Life of the Spider |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Catriona by Robert Louis Stevenson: "Oh, Barbara, let me see her properly!" I pleaded. "YOU can - you see
her when you please; let me have half an hour."
"Who is it that is managing this love affair! You! Or me?" she asked,
and as I continued to press her with my instances, fell back upon a
deadly expedient: that of imitating the tones of my voice when I
called on Catriona by name; with which, indeed, she held me in
subjection for some days to follow.
There was never the least word heard of the memorial, or none by me.
Prestongrange and his grace the Lord President may have heard of it
(for what I know) on the deafest sides of their heads; they kept it to
themselves, at least - the public was none the wiser; and in course of
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