| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Z. Marcas by Honore de Balzac: no longer exclusively a discussion of life on the colossal scale just
described by Marcas, the soldier of political warfare. Nor was it the
distressful monologue of the wrecked navigator, stranded in a garret
in the Hotel Corneille; it was a dialogue in which two well-informed
young men, having gauged the times they lived in, were endeavoring,
under the guidance of a man of talent, to gain some light on their own
future prospects.
"Why," asked Juste, "did you not wait patiently for an opportunity,
and imitate the only man who has been able to keep the lead since the
Revolution of July by holding his head above water?"
"Have I not said that we never know where the roots of chance lie?
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The United States Constitution: and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water;
To raise and support Armies, but no Appropriation of Money to that Use
shall be for a longer term than two Years;
To provide and maintain a Navy;
To make Rules for the Government and Regulation of the land and naval Forces;
To provide for calling forth the Militia to execute the Laws of the Union,
suppress Insurrections and repel Invasions;
To provide for organizing, arming, and disciplining, the Militia, and for
governing such Part of them as may be employed in the Service of the
United States, reserving to the States respectively, the Appointment
of the Officers, and the Authority of training the militia according
The United States Constitution |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Moon-Face and Other Stories by Jack London: appear again. They had fetched bottom.
Lute looked about her. She stood alone on the world. Her lover was gone. There
was naught to show of his existence, save the marks of Comanche's hoofs on the
road and of his body where it had slid over the brink.
"Chris!" she called once, and twice; but she called hopelessly.
Out of the depths, on the windless air, arose only the murmur of bees and of
running water
"Chris!" she called yet a third time, and sank slowly down in the dust of the
road.
She felt the touch of Dolly's muzzle on her arm, and she leaned her head
against the mare's neck and waited. She knew not why she waited, nor for what,
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