| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from A Hero of Our Time by M.Y. Lermontov: "Kazbich halted and gave ear to the sentry --
probably thinking that we were going to parley
with him. Quite the contrary! . . . My grena-
dier took aim. . . Bang! . . . Missed! . . .
Just as the powder flashed in the pan Kazbich
jogged his horse, which gave a bound to one side.
He stood up in his stirrups, shouted something
in his own language, made a threatening gesture
with his whip -- and was off.
"'Aren't you ashamed of yourself?' I said
to the sentry.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Arizona Nights by Stewart Edward White: cryin' like woman.
"First chance," claims Larry, and dropped to his hands and knees
at the entrance.
"Well, damn me!" he cries, and crawls in at once, payin' no
attention to me tellin' him to be more cautious. In a minute he
backs out, carryin' a three-year-old goat.
"We seem to he in for adventures to-day," says he. "Now, where
do you suppose that came from, and how did it get here?"
"Well," says I, "I've followed lion tracks where they've carried
yearlin's across their backs like a fox does a goose. They're
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Camille by Alexandre Dumas: so true to life that I feel as if I had known her; and thus the
sort of comparison between her and Marguerite gave me an unusual
inclination to read it, and my indulgence passed into pity,
almost into a kind of love for the poor girl to whom I owed the
volume. Manon died in the desert, it is true, but in the arms of
the man who loved her with the whole energy of his soul; who,
when she was dead, dug a grave for her, and watered it with his
tears, and buried his heart in it; while Marguerite, a sinner
like Manon, and perhaps converted like her, had died in a
sumptuous bed (it seemed, after what I had seen, the bed of her
past), but in that desert of the heart, a more barren, a vaster,
Camille |
