| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from A Personal Record by Joseph Conrad: grave many honest hearts, many brilliant promises, many hopes
full of life."
He got up briskly, sighed, and left me saying, "We will dine in
half an hour."
Without moving, I listened to his quick steps resounding on the
waxed floor of the next room, traversing the anteroom lined with
bookshelves, where he paused to put his chibouk in the pipe-stand
before passing into the drawing-room (these were all en suite),
where he became inaudible on the thick carpet. But I heard the
door of his study-bedroom close. He was then sixty-two years old
and had been for a quarter of a century the wisest, the firmest,
A Personal Record |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: fiercely. "If it is weak." And her pale stare flew from the locked
writing-table--so safe--to the huge glittering wardrobe, and she began to
breathe in a queer, panting away. "Why shouldn't we be weak for once in
our lives, Jug? It's quite excusable. Let's be weak--be weak, Jug. It's
much nicer to be weak than to be strong."
And then she did one of those amazingly bold things that she'd done about
twice before in their lives: she marched over to the wardrobe, turned the
key, and took it out of the lock. Took it out of the lock and held it up
to Josephine, showing Josephine by her extraordinary smile that she knew
what she'd done--she'd risked deliberately father being in there among his
overcoats.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Merry Men by Robert Louis Stevenson: shake it as I pleased, I was a fast prisoner. Still the cries
continued. Now they would dwindle down into a moaning that seemed
to be articulate, and at these times I made sure they must be
human; and again they would break forth and fill the house with
ravings worthy of hell. I stood at the door and gave ear to them,
till at, last they died away. Long after that, I still lingered
and still continued to hear them mingle in fancy with the storming
of the wind; and when at last I crept to my bed, it was with a
deadly sickness and a blackness of horror on my heart.
It was little wonder if I slept no more. Why had I been locked in?
What had passed? Who was the author of these indescribable and
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