|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy:
orders have been given to blow it up. Otherwise we should long ago
have been in the mountains of Bohemia, and you and your army would
have spent a bad quarter of an hour between two fires."
"But still this does not mean that the campaign is over," said
"Well, I think it is. The bigwigs here think so too, but they
daren't say so. It will be as I said at the beginning of the campaign,
it won't be your skirmishing at Durrenstein, or gunpowder at all, that
will decide the matter, but those who devised it," said Bilibin
quoting one of his own mots, releasing the wrinkles on his forehead,
and pausing. "The only question is what will come of the meeting
War and Peace
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Gods of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs:
smoothest of lawns.
Knowing that attack from the tree was now improbable,
we determined to explore the cave, which we had every
reason to believe was but a continuation of the path we
had already traversed, leading the gods alone knew where,
but quite evidently away from this valley of grim ferocity.
As we advanced we found a well-proportioned tunnel cut from
the solid cliff. Its walls rose some twenty feet above the
floor, which was about five feet in width. The roof was arched.
We had no means of making a light, and so groped our way
slowly into the ever-increasing darkness, Tars Tarkas keeping
The Gods of Mars
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Duchesse de Langeais by Honore de Balzac:
anything whatsoever; they looked at the facts, not at the form.
But the men and women of those times, my heart, were quite as
remarkable as at any other period of the Monarchy. Not one of
your Werthers, none of your notabilities, as they are called,
never a one of your men in yellow kid gloves and trousers that
disguise the poverty of their legs, would cross Europe in the
dress of a travelling hawker to brave the daggers of a Duke of
Modena, and to shut himself up in the dressing-room of the
Regent's daughter at the risk of his life. Not one of your
little consumptive patients with their tortoiseshell eyeglasses
would hide himself in a closet for six weeks, like Lauzun, to