|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Songs of Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson:
A master passed in mastership,
He learned, without the spur of need,
To write, to cipher, and to read;
From all that touch on his prone shore
Augments his treasury of lore,
Eager in age as erst in youth
To catch an art, to learn a truth,
To paint on the internal page
A clearer picture of the age.
His age, you say? But ah, not so!
In his lone isle of long ago,
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Virginian by Owen Wister:
grease wood in our short cut. A piece of stray wire sprang from
some hole and hung caracoling about my ankle. Tin cans spun from
my stride. But we made a conspicuous race. Two of us waved hats,
and there was no moment that some one of us was not screeching.
It meant twenty-four hours to us.
Perhaps we failed to catch the train's attention, though the
theory seems monstrous. As it moved off in our faces, smooth and
easy and insulting, Scipio dropped instantly to a walk, and we
two others outstripped him and came desperately to the empty
track. There went the train. Even still its puffs were the
separated puffs of starting, that bitten-off, snorty kind, and
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Coxon Fund by Henry James:
irreproachable and insufferable person. She often appeared at my
chambers to talk over his lapses; for if, as she declared, she had
washed her hands of him, she had carefully preserved the water of
this ablution, which she handed about for analysis. She had arts
of her own of exciting one's impatience, the most infallible of
which was perhaps her assumption that we were kind to her because
we liked her. In reality her personal fall had been a sort of
social rise--since I had seen the moment when, in our little
conscientious circle, her desolation almost made her the fashion.
Her voice was grating and her children ugly; moreover she hated the
good Mulvilles, whom I more and more loved. They were the people