|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Letters of Two Brides by Honore de Balzac:
of a natural process and to be common to most women, sometimes going
to most extravagant lengths.
When my situation is more marked, I shall not go beyond the grounds,
for I should not like to be seen under these circumstances. I have the
greatest curiosity to know at what precise moment the sense of
motherhood begins. It cannot possibly be in the midst of frightful
suffering, the very thought of which makes me shudder.
Farewell, favorite of fortune! Farewell, my friend, in whom I live
again, and through whom I am able to picture to myself this brave
love, this jealousy all on fire at a look, these whisperings in the
ear, these joys which create for women, as it were, a new atmosphere,
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Tattine by Ruth Ogden [Mrs. Charles W. Ide]:
like this, to stand on the same side as the wind comes from, even if you
haven't any skirts or fluffy hair to catch."
"Here's some more wood, grandfather," said Mabel solemnly, dumping an armful
down at his side; "I should think you were eighty to hear you talk," and then
Mabel had her punishment by being chased down the path and plumped down rather
hard in the veriest tangle of brambles and briars. It chanced, however, that
her corduroy skirt furnished all the protection needed from the sharp little
thorns, so that, like "Brer Rabbit," she called out exultingly, " 'Born and
bred in a briar-patch, Brer Rudolph, born and bred in a briar-patch,'" and
could have sat there quite comfortably, no one`knows how long, but that she
heard the maple sugar go tumbling into the kettle. And then she heard Tattine
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Golden Threshold by Sarojini Naidu:
Here, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre
Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red,
Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of fire.
We are weary, my heart, we are weary, so long we have borne
The heavy loved burden of dreams that are dead, let us rest,
Let us scatter their ashes away, for a while let us mourn;
We will rest, O my heart, till the shadows are gray in the west.
But soon we must rise, O my heart, we must wander again
Into the war of the world and the strife of the throng;
Let us rise, O my heart, let us gather the dreams that remain,