|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Golden Threshold by Sarojini Naidu:
Your hearts to wake and hunger after love,
And thirst with passionate longing for the things
That burn your brows with blood-red sufferings.
Till ye have battled with great grief and fears,
And borne the conflict of dream-shattering years,
Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife,
Children, ye have not lived: for this is life.
THE POET'S LOVE-SONG
In noon-tide hours, O Love, secure and strong,
I need thee not; mad dreams are mine to bind
The world to my desire, and hold the wind
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Touchstone by Edith Wharton:
the drawing-room he found her dressed to go out.
"Aren't you a little early for church?" he asked.
She replied that, on the way there, she meant to stop a moment at
her mother's; and while she drew on her gloves, he fumbled among
the knick-knacks on the mantel-piece for a match to light his
"Well, good-by," she said, turning to go; and from the threshold
she added: "By the way, I've sorted the papers you gave me. Those
that I thought you would like to keep are on your study-table."
She went downstairs and he heard the door close behind her.
She had sorted the papers--she knew, then--she MUST know--and she
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Dream Life and Real Life by Olive Schreiner:
ran along the river bank, where there were rocks, and holes, and willow
trees to hide among. And all down the river bank ran a little figure.
The river was swollen by the storm full to its banks, and the willow trees
dipped their half-drowned branches into its water. Wherever there was a
gap between them, you could see it flow, red and muddy, with the stumps
upon it. But the little figure ran on and on; never looking, never
thinking; panting, panting! There, where the rocks were the thickest;
there, where on the open space the moonlight shone; there, where the
prickly pears were tangled, and the rocks cast shadows, on it ran; the
little hands clinched, the little heart beating, the eyes fixed always