| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas: they passed rapidly to examine the third compartment.
This was the room appropriated to the sailors. Two or three
hammocks hung upon the ceiling, a table and two benches
composed the entire furniture. D'Artagnan picked up two or
three old sails hung on the walls, and meeting nothing to
suspect, regained by the hatchway the deck of the vessel.
"And this room?" he asked, pointing to the captain's cabin.
"That's my room," replied Groslow.
"Open the door."
The captain obeyed. D'Artagnan stretched out his arm in
which he held the lantern, put his head in at the half
Twenty Years After |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Door in the Wall, et. al. by H. G. Wells: forgotten valley the disease ran its course. The old became
groping, the young saw but dimly, and the children that were born
to them never saw at all. But life was very easy in that
snow-rimmed basin, lost to all the world, with neither thorns nor
briers, with no evil insects nor any beasts save the gentle breed
of llamas they had lugged and thrust and followed up the beds of
the shrunken rivers in the gorges up which they had come. The
seeing had become purblind so gradually that they scarcely noticed
their loss. They guided the sightless youngsters hither and
thither until they knew the whole valley marvellously, and when at
last sight died out among them the race lived on. They had even
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia by Samuel Johnson: to swim in a subtler. We are only to proportion our power of
resistance to the different density of matter through which we are
to pass. You will be necessarily up-borne by the air if you can
renew any impulse upon it faster than the air can recede from the
pressure."
"But the exercise of swimming," said the Prince, "is very
laborious; the strongest limbs are soon wearied. I am afraid the
act of flying will be yet more violent; and wings will be of no
great use unless we can fly further than we can swim."
"The labour of rising from the ground," said the artist, "will be
great, as we see it in the heavier domestic fowls; but as we mount
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