| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence: for anything on earth. A sort of obstinacy, that gets itself killed.
You see he didn't really care. I lay it down to the pit. He ought never
to have been down pit. But his dad made him go down, as a lad; and
then, when you're over twenty, it's not very easy to come out.'
'Did he say he hated it?'
'Oh no! Never! He never said he hated anything. He just made a funny
face. He was one of those who wouldn't take care: like some of the
first lads as went off so blithe to the war and got killed right away.
He wasn't really wezzle-brained. But he wouldn't care. I used to say to
him: ''You care for nought nor nobody!'' But he did! The way he sat
when my first baby was born, motionless, and the sort of fatal eyes he
Lady Chatterley's Lover |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Marie by H. Rider Haggard: none of the other white people were to come, I was led through the fence
of the vast town in which stood two thousand huts--the "multitude of
houses" as the Zulus called it--and across a vast open space in the
middle.
On the farther side of this space, where, before long, I was fated to
witness a very tragic scene, I entered a kind of labyrinth. This was
called "siklohlo", and had high fences with numerous turns, so that it
was impossible to see where one was going or to find the way in or out.
Ultimately, however, I reached a great hut named "intunkulu", a word
that means the "house of houses," or the abode of the king, in front of
which I saw a fat man seated on a stool, naked except for the moocha
Marie |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from American Notes by Rudyard Kipling: route. My fear was that in his delight in finding me so
responsive he would make remarks about New York and the Windsor
which I could not understand. And, indeed, he adventured in this
direction once or twice, asking me what I thought of such and
such streets, which from his tone I gathered to be anything but
respectable. It is trying to talk unknown New York in almost
unknown San Francisco. But my friend was merciful. He protested
that I was one after his own heart, and pressed upon me rare and
curious drinks at more than one bar. These drinks I accepted
with gratitude, as also the cigars with which his pockets were
stored. He would show me the life of the city. Having no desire
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