|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Poems by Bronte Sisters:
What language can utter the feeling
Which rose, when in exile afar,
On the brow of a lonely hill kneeling,
I saw the brown heath growing there?
It was scattered and stunted, and told me
That soon even that would be gone:
It whispered, "The grim walls enfold me,
I have bloomed in my last summer's sun."
But not the loved music, whose waking
Makes the soul of the Swiss die away,
Has a spell more adored and heartbreaking
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The White Moll by Frank L. Packard:
now - but she would have it, stake all and everything in life she
had to have it, for it, in itself, literally meant everything and
all - and Danglar would make a written confession, or else - or
else - She smiled mirthlessly. That was all! Last night she had
failed. To-night she would not fail. Before morning came, if it
were humanly within her power, she and Danglar would have played
out their game - to the end.
And now a pucker came and gathered her forehead into little furrows,
and anxiety and perplexity crept into her eyes. Another thought
tormented her. In the exposure that was to come the Adventurer,
alias the Pug, was involved. Was there any way to save the man to
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Criminal Sociology by Enrico Ferri:
of a thief, or the attacks of a murderer for the sake of gain;
whereas there is less reason to fear a murder provoked by
vengeance, an outrage, an embezzlement of public money, or the
like. And Macchiavelli said that men would rather have blood
drawn from their veins than money from their pockets.
Besides, the same jury which will resist pressure from the
Government does not resist popular pressure, direct or indirect,
especially in view of the secrecy of their individual votes. No
doubt there are noble exceptions; but society is made up of
average virtues, and only upon them can it count.
 In Dublin, for the trial of the murderers of Burke and Lord